calumet "k" by merwin-webster chapter i the contract for the two million bushel grain elevator, calumet k, had been let to macbride & company, of minneapolis, in january, but the superstructure was not begun until late in may, and at the end of october it was still far from completion. ill luck had attended peterson, the constructor, especially since august. macbride, the head of the firm, disliked unlucky men, and at the end of three months his patience gave out, and he telegraphed charlie bannon to leave the job he was completing at duluth and report at once at the home office. rumors of the way things were going at calumet under the hands of his younger co-laborer had reached bannon, and he was not greatly surprised when macbride told him to go to chicago sunday night and supersede peterson. at ten o'clock monday morning, bannon, looking out through the dusty window of the trolley car, caught sight of the elevator, the naked cribbing of its huge bins looming high above the huddled shanties and lumber piles about it. a few minutes later he was walking along a rickety plank sidewalk which seemed to lead in a general direction toward the elevator. the sidewalks at calumet are at the theoretical grade of the district, that is, about five feet above the actual level of the ground. in winter and spring they are necessary causeways above seas of mud, but in dry weather every one abandons them, to walk straight to his destination over the uninterrupted flats. bannon set down his hand bag to button his ulster, for the wind was driving clouds of smoke and stinging dust and an occasional grimy snowflake out of the northwest. then he sprang down from the sidewalk and made his way through the intervening bogs and, heedless of the shouts of the brakemen, over a freight train which was creaking its endless length across his path, to the elevator site. the elevator lay back from the river about sixty yards and parallel to it. between was the main line of the c. & s. c, four clear tracks unbroken by switch or siding. on the wharf, along with a big pile of timber, was the beginning of a small spouting house, to be connected with the main elevator by a belt gallery above the c. & s. c. tracks. a hundred yards to the westward, up the river, the belt line tracks crossed the river and the c. & s. c. right of way at an oblique angle, and sent two side tracks lengthwise through the middle of the elevator and a third along the south side, that is, the side away from the river. bannon glanced over the lay of the land, looked more particularly at the long ranges of timber to be used for framing the cupola, and then asked a passing workman the way to the office. he frowned at the wretched shanty, evidently an abandoned belt line section house, which peterson used for headquarters. then, setting down his bag just outside the door, he went in. "where's the boss?" he asked. the occupant of the office, a clerk, looked up impatiently, and spoke in a tone reserved to discourage seekers for work. "he ain't here. out on the job somewhere." "palatial office you've got," bannon commented. "it would help those windows to have 'em ploughed." he brought his bag into the office and kicked it under a desk, then began turning over a stack of blue prints that lay, weighted down with a coupling pin, on the table. "i guess i can find peterson for you if you want to see him," said the clerk. "don't worry about my finding him," came from bannon, deep in his study of the plans. a moment later he went out. a gang of laborers was engaged in moving the timbers back from the railroad siding. superintending the work was a squat little man-- bannon could not see until near by that he was not a boy--big-headed, big-handed, big-footed. he stood there in his shirt-sleeves, his back to bannon, swearing good-humoredly at the men. when he turned toward him bannon saw that he had that morning played an unconscious joke upon his bright red hair by putting on a crimson necktie. bannon asked for peterson. "he's up on the framing of the spouting house, over on the wharf there." "what are you carrying that stuff around for?" asked bannon. "moving it back to make room by the siding. we're expecting a big bill of cribbing. you're mr. bannon, ain't you?" bannon nodded. "peterson had a telegram from the office saying to expect you." "you're still expecting that cribbing, eh?" "harder than ever. that's most all we've been doing for ten days. there's peterson, now; up there with the sledge." bannon looked in time to see the boss spring out on a timber that was still balancing and swaying upon the hoisting rope. it was a good forty feet above the dock. clinging to the rope with one hand, with the other peterson drove his sledge against the side of the timber which swung almost to its exact position in the framing. "slack away!" he called to the engineers, and he cast off the rope sling. then cautiously he stepped out to the end of the timber. it tottered, but the lithe figure moved on to within striking distance. he swung the twenty-four pound sledge in a circle against the butt of the timber. every muscle in his body from the ankles up had helped to deal the blow, and the big stick bucked. the boss sprang erect, flinging his arms wide and using the sledge to recover his balance. he struck hard once more and again lightly. then he hammered the timber down on the iron dowel pins. "all right," he shouted to the engineer; "send up the next one." a few minutes later bannon climbed out on the framing beside him. "hello, charlie!" said the boss, "i've been looking for you. they wired me you was coming." "well, i'm here," said bannon, "though i 'most met my death climbing up just now. where do you keep your ladders?" "what do i want of a ladder? i've no use for a man who can't get up on the timbers. if a man needs a ladder, he'd better stay abed." "that's where i get fired first thing," said bannon. "why, you come up all right, with your overcoat on, too." "i had to wear it or scratch up the timbers with my bones. i lost thirty-two pounds up at duluth." another big timber came swinging up to them at the end of the hoisting rope. peterson sprang out upon it. "i'm going down before i get brushed off," said bannon. "i'll be back at the office as soon as i get this corbel laid." "no hurry. i want to look over the drawings. go easy there," he called to the engineer at the hoist; "i'm coming down on the elevator." peterson had already cast off the rope, but bannon jumped for it and thrust his foot into the hook, and the engineer, not knowing who he was, let him down none too gently. on his way to the office he spoke to two carpenters at work on a stick of timber. "you'd better leave that, i guess, and get some four-inch cribbing and some inch stuff and make some ladders; i guess there's enough lying 'round for that. about four'll do." it was no wonder that the calumet k job had proved too much for peterson. it was difficult from the beginning. there was not enough ground space to work in comfortably, and the proper bestowal of the millions of feet of lumber until time for it to be used in the construction was no mean problem. the elevator was to be a typical "chicago" house, built to receive grain from cars and to deliver it either to cars or to ships. as has been said, it stood back from the river, and grain for ships was to be carried on belt conveyors running in an inclosed bridge above the railroad tracks to the small spouting house on the wharf. it had originally been designed to have a capacity for twelve hundred thousand bushels, but the grain men who were building it, page & company, had decided after it was fairly started that it must be larger; so, in the midst of his work, peterson had received instructions and drawings for a million bushel annex. he had done excellent work--work satisfactory even to macbride & company--on a smaller scale, and so he had been given the opportunity, the responsibility, the hundreds of employees, the liberal authority, to make what he could of it all. there could be no doubt that he had made a tangle; that the big job as a whole was not under his hand, but was just running itself as best it could. bannon, who, since the days when he was chief of the wrecking gang on a division of the grand trunk, had made a business of rising to emergencies, was obviously the man for the situation. he was worn thin as an old knife-blade, he was just at the end of a piece of work that would have entitled any other man to a vacation; but macbride made no apologies when he assigned him the new task--"go down and stop this fiddling around and get the house built. see that it's handling grain before you come away. if you can't do it, i'll come down and do it myself." bannon shook his head dubiously. "well, i'm not sure--" he began. but macbride laughed, whereupon bannon grinned in spite of himself. "all right," he said. it was no laughing matter, though, here on the job this monday morning, and, once alone in the little section house, he shook his head again gravely. he liked peterson too well, for one thing, to supersede him without a qualm. but there was nothing else for it, and he took off his overcoat, laid aside the coupling pin, and attacked the stack of blue prints. he worked rapidly, turning now and then from the plans for a reference to the building book or the specifications, whistling softly, except when he stopped to growl, from force of habit, at the office, or, with more reasonable disapproval, at the man who made the drawings for the annex. "regular damn bird cage," he called it. it was half an hour before peterson came in. he was wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, and drawing long breaths with the mere enjoyment of living. "i feel good," he said. "that's where i'd like to work all day. you ought to go up and sledge them timbers for a while. that'd warm you through, i bet." "you ought to make your timekeeper give you one of those brass checks there and pay you eighteen cents an hour for that work. that's what i'd do." peterson laughed. it took more than a hint to reach him. "i have to do it. those laborers are no good. honest, i can lift as much as any three men on the job." "that's all right if those same three don't stop to swap lies while you're lifting." "well, i guess they don't come any of that on me," said peterson, laughing again. "how long are you going to stay with us?" the office, then, had not told him. bannon was for a moment at a loss what to say. luckily there was an interruption. the red-headed young man he had spoken to an hour before came in, tossed a tally board on the desk, and said that another carload of timber had come in. "mr. bannon," said peterson, "shake hands with mr. max vogel, our lumber checker." that formality attended to, he turned to bannon and repeated his question. by that time the other had his answer ready. "oh, it all depends on the office," he said. "they're bound to keep me busy at something. i'll just stay until they tell me to go somewhere else. they ain't happy except when they've just put me in a hole and told me to climb out. generally before i'm out they pick me up and chuck me down another one. old macbride wouldn't think the company was prosperous if i wasn't working nights and sundays." "you won't be doing that down here." "i don't know about that. why, when i first went to work for 'em, they hired me by the day. my time cards for the first years figured up four hundred and thirty-six days." peterson laughed. "oh, that's straight," said bannon. "next time you're at the office, ask brown about it. since then they've paid me a salary. they seem to think they'd have to go out of business if i ever took a vacation. i've been with 'em twelve years and they've never given me one yet. they made a bluff at it once. i was down at newport news, been doing a job for the c.&o., and fred brown was down that way on business. he--" "what does brown look like?" interrupted peterson. "i never saw him." "you didn't! oh, he's a good-looking young chap. dresses kind of sporty. he's a great jollier. you have to know him a while to find out that he means business. well, he came 'round and saw i was feeling pretty tired, so he asked me to knock off for a week and go fishing with him. i did, and it was the hardest work i ever tackled." "did you get any fish?" "fish? whales! you'd no sooner threw your line over than another one'd grab it--great, big, heavy fish, and they never gave us a minute's rest. i worked like a horse for about half a day and then i gave up. told brown i'd take a duplex car-puller along next time i tackled that kind of a job, and i went back to the elevator." "i'd like to see brown. i get letters from him right along, of course. he's been jollying me about that cribbing for the last two weeks. i can't make it grow, and i've written him right along that we was expecting it, but that don't seem to satisfy him." "i suppose not," said bannon. "they're mostly out for results up at the office. let's see the bill for it." vogel handed him a thin typewritten sheet and bannon looked it over thoughtfully. "big lot of stuff, ain't it? have you tried to get any of it here in chicago?" "course not. it's all ordered and cut out up to ledyard." "cut out? then why don't they send it?" "they can't get the cars." "that'll do to tell. 'can't get the cars!' what sort of a railroad have they got up there?" "max, here, can tell you about that, i guess," said peterson. "it's the g.&m.," said the lumber checker. "that's enough for any one who's lived in michigan. it ain't much good." "how long have they kept 'em waiting for the cars?" "how long is it, max?" asked peterson. "let's see. it was two weeks ago come tuesday." "sure?" "yes. we got the letter the same day the red-headed man came here. his hair was good and red." max laughed broadly at the recollection. "he came into the office just as we was reading it." "oh, yes. my friend, the walking delegate." "what's that?" bannon snapped the words out so sharply that peterson looked at him in slow surprise. "oh, nothing," he said. "a darn little rat of a red-headed walking delegate came out here--had a printed card with business agent on it--and poked his long nose into other people's business for a while, and asked the men questions, and at last he came to me. i told him that we treated our men all right and didn't need no help from him, and if i ever caught him out here again i'd carry him up to the top of the jim pole and leave him there. he went fast enough." "i wish he'd knocked you down first, to even things up," said bannon. "him! oh, i could have handled him with three fingers." "i'm going out for a look around," said bannon, abruptly. he left peterson still smiling good-humoredly over the incident. it was not so much to look over the job as to get where he could work out his wrath that bannon left the office. there was no use in trying to explain to peterson what he had done, for even if he could be made to understand, he could undo nothing. bannon had known a good many walking delegates, and he had found them, so far, square. but it would be a large-minded man who could overlook what peterson had done. however, there was no help for it. all that remained was to wait till the business agent should make the next move. so bannon put the whole incident out of his mind, and until noon inspected the job in earnest. by the time the whistle blew, every one of the hundreds of men on the job, save peterson himself, knew that there was a new boss. there was no formal assumption of authority; bannon's supremacy was established simply by the obvious fact that he was the man who knew how. systematizing the confusion in one corner, showing another gang how to save handling a big stick twice, finally putting a runway across the drillage of the annex, and doing a hundred little things between times, he made himself master. the afternoon he spent in the little office, and by four o'clock had seen everything there was in it, plans, specifications, building book, bill file, and even the pay roll, the cash account, and the correspondence. the clerk, who was also timekeeper, exhibited the latter rather grudgingly. "what's all this stuff?" bannon asked, holding up a stack of unfiled letters. "letters we ain't answered yet." "well, we'll answer them now," and bannon commenced dictating his reply to the one on top of the stack. "hold on," said the clerk, "i ain't a stenographer." "so?" said bannon. he scribbled a brief memorandum on each sheet. "there's enough to go by," he said. "answer 'em according to instructions." "i won't have time to do it till tomorrow some time." "i'd do it tonight, if i were you," said bannon, significantly. then he began writing letters himself. peterson and vogel came into the office a few minutes later. "writing a letter to your girl?" said peterson, jocularly. "we ought to have a stenographer out here, pete." "stenographer! i didn't know you was such a dude. you'll be wanting a solid silver electric bell connecting with the sody fountain next." "that's straight," said bannon. "we ought to have a stenographer for a fact." he said nothing until he had finished and sealed the two letters he was writing. they were as follows:-- dear mr. brown: it's a mess and no mistake. i'm glad mr. macbride didn't come to see it. he'd have fits. the whole job is tied up in a hard knot. peterson is wearing out chair bottoms waiting for the cribbing from ledyard. i expect we will have a strike before long. i mean it. the main house is most up to the distributing floor. the spouting house is framed. the annex is up as far as the bottom, waiting for cribbing. yours, bannon. p.s. i hope this letter makes you sweat to pay you for last saturday night. i am about dead. can't get any sleep. and i lost thirty-two pounds up to duluth. i expect to die down here. c. b. p.s. i guess we'd better set fire to the whole damn thing and collect the insurance and skip. c. the other was shorter. macbride & company, minneapolis: gentlemen: i came on the calumet job today. found it held up by failure of cribbing from ledyard. will have at least enough to work with by end of the week. we will get the house done according to specifications. yours truly, macbride & company. charles bannon. chapter ii the five o'clock whistle had sounded, and peterson sat on the bench inside the office door, while bannon washed his hands in the tin basin. the twilight was already settling; within the shanty, whose dirty, small-paned windows served only to indicate the lesser darkness without, a wall lamp, set in a dull reflector, threw shadows into the corners. "you're, coming up with me, ain't you?" said peterson. "i don't believe you'll get much to eat. supper's just the pickings from dinner." "well, the dinner was all right. but i wish you had a bigger bed. i ain't slept for two nights." "what was the matter?" "i was on the sleeper last night; and i didn't get in from the duluth job till seven o'clock saturday night, and brown was after me before i'd got my supper. those fellows at the office wouldn't let a man sleep at all if they could help it. here i'd been working like a nigger 'most five months on the duluth house--and the last three weeks running night shifts and sundays; didn't stop to eat, half the time--and what does brown do but-- 'well,' he says, 'how're you feeling, charlie?' 'middling,' said i. 'are you up to a little job tomorrow?' 'what's that?' i said. 'seems to me if i've got to go down to the calumet job sunday night i might have an hour or so at home.' 'well, charlie,' he says, 'i'm mighty sorry, but you see we've been putting in a big rope drive on a water-power plant over at stillwater. we got the job on the high bid,' he says, 'and we agreed to have it running on monday morning. it'll play the devil with us if we can't make good.' 'what's the matter?' said i. 'well,' he says, 'murphy's had the job and has balled himself up.'" by this time the two men had their coats on, and were outside the building. "let's see," said bannon, "we go this way, don't we?" "yes." there was still the light, flying flakes of snow, and the biting wind that came sweeping down from the northwest. the two men crossed the siding, and, picking their way between the freight cars on the belt line tracks, followed the path that wound across the stretch of dusty meadow. "go ahead," said peterson; "you was telling about murphy." "well, that was the situation. i could see that brown was up on his hind legs about it, but it made me tired, all the same. of course the job had to be done, but i wasn't letting him have any satisfaction. i told him he ought to give it to somebody else, and he handed me a lot of stuff about my experience. finally i said: 'you come around in the morning, mr. brown. i ain't had any sleep to speak of for three weeks. i lost thirty-two pounds,' i said, 'and i ain't going to be bothered tonight.' well, sir, he kind of shook his head, but he went away, and i got to thinking about it. long about half-past seven i went down and got a time-table. there was a train to stillwater at eight-forty-two." "that night?" "sure. i went over to the shops with an express wagon and got a thousand feet of rope--had it in two coils so i could handle it--and just made the train. it was a mean night. there was some rain when i started, but you ought to have seen it when i got to stillwater--it was coming down in layers, and mud that sucked your feet down halfway to your knees. there wasn't a wagon anywhere around the station, and the agent wouldn't lift a finger. it was blind dark. i walked off the end of the platform, and went plump into a mudhole. i waded up as far as the street crossing, where there was an electric light, and ran across a big lumber yard, and hung around until i found the night watchman. he was pretty near as mean as the station agent, but he finally let me have a wheelbarrow for half a dollar, and told me how to get to the job. "he called it fifty rods, but it was a clean mile if it was a step, and most of the way down the track, i wheeled her back to the station, got the rope, and started out. did you ever try to shove two five hundred foot coils over a mile of crossties? well, that's what i did. i scraped off as much mud as i could, so i could lift my feet, and bumped over those ties till i thought the teeth were going to be jarred clean out of me. after i got off the track there was a stretch of mud that left the road by the station up on dry land. "there was a fool of a night watchman at the power plant--i reckon he thought i was going to steal the turbines, but he finally let me in, and i set him to starting up the power while i cleaned up murphy's job and put in the new rope." "all by yourself?" asked peterson. "sure thing. then i got her going and she worked smooth as grease. when we shut down and i came up to wash my hands, it was five minutes of three. i said, 'is there a train back to minneapolis before very long?' 'yes,' says the watchman, 'the fast freight goes through a little after three.' 'how much after?' i said. 'oh,' he says, 'i couldn't say exactly. five or eight minutes, i guess.' i asked when the next train went, and he said there wasn't a regular passenger till six-fifty-five. well, sir, maybe you think i was going to wait four hours in that hole! i went out of that building to beat the limited--never thought of the wheelbarrow till i was halfway to the station. and there was some of the liveliest stepping you ever saw. couldn't see a thing except the light on the rails from the arc lamp up by the station. i got about halfway there--running along between the rails-- and banged into a switch--knocked me seven ways for sunday. lost my hat picking myself up, and couldn't stop to find it." peterson turned in toward one of a long row of square frame houses. "here we are," he said. as they went up the stairs he asked: "did you make the train?" "caught the caboose just as she was swinging out. they dumped me out in the freight yards, and i didn't get home till 'most five o'clock. i went right to bed, and along about eight o'clock brown came in and woke me up. he was feeling pretty nervous. 'say, charlie,' he said, 'ain't it time for you to be starting?' 'where to?' said i. 'over to stillwater,' he said. 'there ain't any getting out of it. that drive's got to be running tomorrow.' 'that's all right,' said i, 'but i'd like to know if i can't have one day's rest between jobs--sunday, too. and i lost thirty-two pounds.' well, sir, he didn't know whether to get hot or not. i guess he thought himself they were kind of rubbing it in. 'look here,' he said, 'are you going to stillwater, or ain't you?' 'no,' said i, 'i ain't. not for a hundred rope drives.' well, he just got up and took his hat and started out. 'mr. brown,' i said, when he was opening the door, 'i lost my hat down at stillwater last night. i reckon the office ought to stand for it.' he turned around and looked queer, and then he grinned. 'so you went over?' he said. 'i reckon i did,' said i. 'what kind of a hat did you lose?' he asked, and he grinned again. 'i guess it was a silk one, wasn't it?' 'yes,' said i, 'a silk hat--something about eight dollars.'" "did he mean he'd give you a silk hat?" asked peterson. "couldn't say." they were sitting in the ten-by-twelve room that peterson rented for a dollar a week. bannon had the one chair, and was sitting tipped back against the washstand. peterson sat on the bed. bannon had thrown his overcoat over the foot of the bed, and had dropped his bag on the floor by the window. "ain't it time to eat, pete?" he said. "yes, there's the bell." the significance of bannon's arrival, and the fact that he was planning to stay, was slow in coming to peterson. after supper, when they had returned to the room, his manner showed constraint. finally he said:-- "is there any fuss up at the office?" "what about?" "why--do they want to rush the job or something?" "well, we haven't got such a lot of time. you see, it's november already." "what's the hurry all of a sudden? they didn't say nothing to me." "i guess you haven't been crowding it very hard, have you?" peterson flushed. "i've been working harder than i ever did before," he said. "if it wasn't for the cribbing being held up like this, i'd 'a' had the cupola half done before now. i've been playing in hard luck." bannon was silent for a moment, then he said:-- "how long do you suppose it would take to get the cribbing down from ledyard?" "not very long if it was rushed, i should think--a couple of days, or maybe three. and they'll rush it all right when they can get the cars. you see, it's only ten or eleven hours up there, passenger schedule; and they could run it right in on the job over the belt line." "it's the belt line that crosses the bridge, is it?" "yes." bannon spread his legs apart and drummed on the front of his chair. "what's the other line?" he asked--"the four track line?" "that's the c. & s. c. we don't have nothing to do with them." they were both silent for a time. the flush had not left peterson's face. his eyes were roving over the carpet, lifting now and then to bannon's face with a quick glance. "guess i'll shave," said bannon. "do you get hot water here?" "why, i don't know," replied peterson. "i generally use cold water. the folks here ain't very obliging. kind o' poor, you know." bannon was rummaging in his grip for his shaving kit. "you never saw a razor like that, pete," he said. "just heft it once." "light, ain't it," said peterson, taking it in his hand. "you bet it's light. and look here"--he reached for it and drew it back and forth over the palm of his hand--"that's the only stropping i ever give it." "don't you have to hone it?" "no, sir; it's never been touched to a stone or leather. you just get up and try it once. those whiskers of yours won't look any the worse for a chopping." peterson laughed, and lathered his face, while bannon put an edge on the razor, testing it with a hair. "say, that's about the best yet," said peterson, after the first stroke. "you're right it is." bannon looked on for a few minutes, then he took a railroad "pathfinder" from his grip and rapidly turned the pages. peterson saw it in the mirror, and asked, between strokes:-- "what are you going to do?" "looking up trains." while peterson was splashing in the washbowl, bannon took his turn at the mirror. "how's the duluth job getting on?" asked peterson, when bannon had finished, and was wiping his razor. "all right--'most done. just a little millwright work left, and some cleaning up." "there ain't any marine leg on the house, is there?" "no." "how big a house is it?" "eight hundred thousand bushels." "that so? ain't half as big as this one, is it?" "guess not. built for the same people, though, page & company." "they must be going in pretty heavy." "they are. there's a good deal of talk about it. some of the boys up at the office say there's going to be fun with december wheat before they get through with it. it's been going up pretty steadily since the end of september--it was seventy-four and three-eighths saturday in minneapolis. it ain't got up quite so high down here yet, but the boys say there's going to be a lot of money in it for somebody." "be a kind of a good thing to get in on, eh?" said peterson, cautiously. "maybe, for those that like to put money in wheat. i've got no money for that sort of thing myself." "yes, of course," was peterson's quick reply. "a fellow doesn't want to run them kind o' chances. i don't believe in it myself." "the fact's this,--and this is just between you and me, mind you; i don't know anything about it, it's only what i think,--somebody's buying a lot of december wheat, or the price wouldn't keep going up. and i've got a notion that, whoever he is, it's page & company that's selling it to him. that's just putting two and two together, you see. it's the real grain that the pages handle, and if they sell to a man it means that they're going to make a mighty good try at unloading it on him and making him pay for it. that's all i know about it. i see the pages selling--or what looks mighty like it--and i see them beginning to look around and talk on the quiet about crowding things a little on their new houses, and it just strikes me that there's likely to be a devil of a lot of wheat coming into chicago before the year runs out; and if that's so, why, there's got to be a place to put it when it gets here." "do they have to have an elevator to put it in?" asked peterson. "can't they deliver it in the cars? i don't know much about that side of the business." "i should say not. the board of trade won't recognize grain as delivered until it has been inspected and stored in a registered house." "when would the house have to be ready?" "well, if i'm right, if they're going to put december wheat in this house, they'll have to have it in before the last day of december." "we couldn't do that," said peterson, "if the cribbing was here." bannon, who had stretched out on the bed, swung his feet around and sat up. the situation was not easy, but he had been sent to calumet to get the work done in time, and he meant to do it. "now, about this cribbing, pete," he said; "we've got to have it before we can touch the annex?" "i guess that's about it," peterson replied. "i've been figuring a little on this bill. i take it there's something over two million feet altogether. is that right?" "it's something like that. couldn't say exactly. max takes care of the lumber." bannon's brows came together. "you ought to know a little more about this yourself, pete. you're the man that's building the house." "i guess i've been pushing it along as well as any one could," said peterson, sullenly. "that's all right. i ain't hitting at you. i'm talking business, that's all. now, if vogel's right, this cribbing ought to have been here fourteen days ago--fourteen days tomorrow." peterson nodded. "that's just two weeks of lost time. how've you been planning to make that up?" "why--why--i reckon i can put things together soon's i get the cribbing." "look here, pete. the office has contracted to get this house done by a certain date. they've got to pay $ for every day that we run over that date. there's no getting out of that, cribbing or no cribbing. when they're seeing ten or twenty thousand dollars slipping out of their hands, do you think they're going to thank you for telling 'em that the g.&m. railroad couldn't get cars? they don't care what's the matter--all they want of you is to do the work on time." "now, look here, charlie--" "hold on, pete. don't get mad. it's facts, that's all. here's these two weeks gone. you see that, all right enough. now, the way this work's laid out, a man's got to make every day count right from the start if he wants to land on his feet when the house is done. maybe you think somebody up in the sky is going to hand you down a present of two extra weeks so the lost time won't count. that would be all right, only it ain't very likely to happen." "well," said peterson, "what are you getting at? what do you want me to do? perhaps you think it's easy." "no, i don't. but i'll tell you what to do. in the first place you want to quit this getting out on the job and doing a laborer's work. the office is paying out good money to the men that should do that. you know how to lay a corbel, but just now you couldn't tell me how much cribbing was coming. you're paid to direct this whole job and to know all about it, not to lay corbels. if you put in half a day swinging a sledge out there on the spouting house, how're you going to know that the lumber bills tally, and the carpenters ain't making mistakes, and that the timber's piled right. here today you had a dozen men throwing away their time moving a lot of timber that ought to have been put in the right place when it first came in." peterson was silent. "now tomorrow, pete, as soon as you've got the work moving along, you'd better go over to the electric light company and see about having the whole ground wired for arc lamps,--so we can be ready to put on a night shift the minute the cribbing comes in. you want to crowd 'em, too. they ought to have it ready in two days." bannon sat for a moment, then he arose and looked at his watch. "i'm going to leave you, pete," he said, as he put on his collar. "where're you going?" "i've got to get up to the city to make the ten o'clock train. i'm going up to ledyard to get the cribbing. be back in a couple of days." he threw his shaving kit into his grip, put on his overcoat, said good-night, and went out. chapter iii next morning at eight o'clock charlie bannon walked into the office of c. h. dennis, the manager of the ledyard salt and lumber company. "i'm bannon," he said, "of macbride & company. come up to see why you don't get out our bill of cribbing." "told you by letter," retorted dennis. "we can't get the cars." "i know you did. that's a good thing to say in a letter. i wanted to find out how much of it really was cut." "it's all cut and stacked by the siding, taking up half the yard. want to see it?" bannon smiled and nodded. "here's a good cigar for you," he said, "and you're a good fellow, but i think i'd like to see the cribbing." "oh, that's all right," laughed dennis. "i'd have said the same thing if it wasn't cut. come out this way." bannon followed him out into the yard. "there it is," said the manager. there was no need of pointing it out. it made a pile more than three hundred feet long. it was nothing but rough hemlock, two inches thick, and from two to ten inches wide, intended to be spiked together flatwise for the walls of the bins, but its bulk was impressive. bannon measured it with his eye and whistled. "i wish that had been down on our job ten days ago," he said, presently. "i'd be taking a vacation now if it had." "well, it was ready then. you can tell by the color." "what's the matter with the g.&m. anyway? they don't seem to be hauling very much. i noticed that last night when i came up. i'm no good at sleeping on the train." "search me," said dennis. "they've tied us up for these two weeks. i've kicked for cars, and the old man--that's sloan--he's kicked, but here we are yet--can't move hand or foot." "who's sloan?" "oh, he's the whole thing. owns the first national bank and the trolley line and the ledyard salt and lumber company and most of the downtown real estate." "where can i find him? is he in town?" "i guess so. he's got an office across the river. just ask anybody where the sloan building is." "likely to be there as early as this?" asked bannon, looking at his watch. "sure, if he's in town." bannon slipped his watch into his pocket. "much obliged," he said. "glad to have met you. good morning;" and, turning, he walked rapidly away down the plank wagon road. in sloan's office he stated his errand as briefly as on the former occasion, adding only that he had already seen dennis. "i guess he told you all there is to tell," said the magnate. "we can't make the g.&m. give us cars. i've told dennis to stir 'em up as hard as he could. i guess we'll have to wait." "i can't wait." "what else can you do? it's every bit as bad for us as it is for you, and you can rest assured that we'll do all we can." as if the cadence of his last sentence were not sufficiently recognizable as a formula of dismissal, he picked up a letter that lay on his desk and began reading it. "this isn't an ordinary kick," said bannon sharply. "it isn't just a case of us having to pay a big delay forfeit. there's a reason why our job's got to be done on time. i want to know the reason why the g.&m. won't give you cars. it ain't because they haven't got them." "what makes you say that?" "because there's three big strings of empties within twenty miles of here this minute. i saw them when i came up this morning." for a minute sloan said nothing, only traced designs on the blotter with his pencil. bannon saw that there was no longer any question of arousing his interest. at last he spoke:-- "i've suspected that there was something in the wind, but i've been too busy with other things to tend to it, so i turned it over to dennis. perhaps he's done as well as i could i don't know much about g.&m. these days. for a long time they were at me to take a big block of treasury stock, but the road seemed to me in bad shape, so i wouldn't go in. lately they've reorganized--have got a lot of new money in there--i don't know whose, but they've let me alone. there's been no row, you understand. that ain't the reason they've tied us up, but i haven't known much about what was going on inside." "would they be likely to tell you if you asked? i mean if you took it to headquarters?" "i couldn't get any more out of them than you could--that is, not by asking." "i guess i'll go look 'em up myself. where can i find anybody that knows anything?" "the division offices are at blake city. that's only about twenty miles. you could save time by talking over the 'phone." "not me," said bannon. "in a case like this i couldn't express myself properly unless i saw the fellow i was talking to." sloan laughed. "i guess you're right. but i'll call up the division superintendent and tell him you're coming. then you'll be sure of finding him." bannon shook his head. "i'd find him with his little speech all learned. no, i'll take my chances on his being there. when's the train?" "nine-forty-six." "that gives me fifteen minutes. can i make it?" "not afoot, and you ain't likely to catch a car. i'll drive you down. i've got the fastest mare in pottawatomie county." the fact that the g.&m. had been rescued from its poverty and was about to be "developed" was made manifest in blake city by the modern building which the railroad was erecting on the main street. eventually the division officials were to be installed in office suites of mahogany veneer, with ground glass doors lettered in gold leaf. for the present, as from the beginning, they occupied an upper floor of a freight warehouse. bannon came in about eleven o'clock, looked briefly about, and seeing that one corner was partitioned off into a private office, he ducked under the hand rail intended to pen up ordinary visitors, and made for it. a telegraph operator just outside the door asked what his business was, but he answered merely that it was with the superintendent, and went in. he expected rather rough work. the superintendent of a railroad, or of a division, has to do with the employees, never with the customers, and his professional manner is not likely to be distinguished by suavity. so he unconsciously squared his shoulders when he said, "i'm bannon, of macbride & company." the superintendent dismissed his stenographer, swept with his arm a clear space on the desk, and then drummed on it with his fingers, but he did not look up immediately. when he did, it was with an expression of grave concern. "mr. bannon," he said, "i'm mighty sorry. i'll do anything i can for you. you can smoke ten cent cigars on me from now till christmas, and light them with passes. anything--" "if you feel like that," said bannon, "we can fix things all comfortable in three minutes. all i want is cars." the superintendent shook his head. "there's where you stump me," he said. "i haven't got 'em." "mr. superintendent, that's what they told me in chicago, and that's what they told me at ledyard. i didn't come up here to blake city to be told the same thing and then go back home." "well, i don't know what else i can tell you. that's just the size of it. i hope we'll be able to fix you in a few days, but we can't promise anything." bannon frowned, and after an expectant pause, the superintendent went on talking vaguely about the immense rush of traffic. finally he asked, "why do you think we'd hold you up if we had the cars?" "that's what i came here to find out. i think you're mistaken about not having them." the superintendent laughed. "you can't expect to know more about that than i do. you doubtless understand your business, but this is my business. if you can tell me where the cars are, you can have them." "well, as you say, that's your business. but i can tell you. there's a big string of empties--i counted fourteen--on the siding at victory." the superintendent looked out of the window and again drummed on the desk. when he spoke again, his manner was more what one would expect from a division superintendent. "you don't know anything about it. when we want advice how to run our road we'll ask you for it. victory isn't in my division anyway." "then wire the general manager. he ought to know something about it." "wire him yourself, if you like. i can't bother about it. i'm sorry i can't do anything, but i haven't got time." "i haven't begun sending telegrams yet. and i haven't very much more time to fool away. i'd like to have you find out if the ledyard salt and lumber company can have those cars that are on the siding at victory." "all right," said the superintendent, rising. at the door he turned back to ask, "when was it you saw them?" bannon decided to chance it. "yesterday morning," he said. the superintendent returned presently, and, turning to his desk, resumed his work. a few minutes later the telegraph operator came in and told him that the cars at victory had been loaded with iron truss work the night before, and had gone off down the state. "just too late, wasn't i?" said bannon. "that's hard luck." he went to the window and, staring out into the yards, began tapping idly with his pencil on the glass. the office door was open, and when he paused he heard the telegraph instrument just without, clicking out a message. "anything else i can do for you?" asked the superintendent. his good humor was returning at the sight of his visitor's perplexity. "i wish you'd just wire the general manager once more and ask him if he can't possibly let us have those cars." "all right," said the other, cheerfully. he nodded to the operator. "for the ledyard salt and lumber company," he said. bannon dropped into a chair, stretched himself, and yawned. "i'm sleepy," he said; "haven't had any sleep in three weeks. lost thirty-two pounds. if you fellows had only got that cribbing down on time, i'd be having a vacation--" another yawn interrupted him. the telegraph receiver had begun giving out the general manager's answer. tell-ledyard-we-hope-to-have-cars-in-a-few-days- the superintendent looked at bannon, expecting him to finish his sentence, but he only yawned again. obey-previous-instructions.--do-not-give-ledyard-cars-in-any-case- bannon's eyes were half closed, but the superintendent thought he was turning a little toward the open doorway. "do you feel cold?" he asked. "i'll shut the door." he rose quickly and started toward it, but bannon was there before him. he hesitated, his hand on the knob. "why don't you shut it?" snapped the superintendent. "i think i'll--i think i'll send a telegram." "here's a blank, in here. come in." but bannon had slipped out and was standing beside the operator's table. from the doorway the superintendent saw him biting his pencil and frowning over a bit of paper. the general manager's message was still coming in. we-don't-help-put-up-any-grain-elevator-in-chicago-these-days. as the last click sounded, bannon handed his message to the operator. "send it collect," he said. with that he strode away, over the hand rail, this time, and down the stairs. the operator carried the message to the superintendent. "it seems to be for you," he said. the superintendent read-- div. supt. g.&m., blake city. tell manager it takes better man than him to tie us up. macbride & company. bannon had nearly an hour to wait for the next train back to ledyard, but it was not time wasted, for as he paced the smoky waiting room, he arrived at a fairly accurate estimate of the meaning of the general manager's message. it was simply a confirmaton of the cautious prediction he had made to peterson the night before. why should any one want to hinder the construction of an elevator in chicago "these days" except to prevent its use for the formal delivery of grain which the buyer did not wish delivered? and why had page & company suddenly ordered a million bushel annex? why had they suddenly become anxious that the elevator should be ready to receive grain before january first, unless they wished to deliver a vast amount of december wheat? before bannon's train came in he understood it all. a clique of speculators had decided to corner wheat, an enterprise nearly enough impossible in any case, but stark madness unless they had many millions at command. it was a long chance, of course, but after all not wonderful that some one in their number was a power in the reorganized g.&m. already the immense amount of wheat in chicago was testing the capacity of the registered warehouses, and plainly, if the calumet k should be delayed long enough, it might prevent page & company from carrying out their contract to deliver two million bushels of the grain, even though it were actually in the cars in chicago. bannon knew much of page & company; that dotted all over the vast wheat tracts of minnesota and montana were their little receiving elevators where they bought grain of the farmers; that miles of wheat-laden freight cars were already lumbering eastward along the railroad lines of the north. he had a touch of imagination, and something of the enormous momentum of that northern wheat took possession of him. it would come to chicago, and he must be ready for it. it would be absurd to be balked by the refusal of a little single-track road up in michigan to carry a pile of planks. he paused before the grated window of the ticket and telegraph office and asked for a map. he studied it attentively for a while; then he sent a telegram:-- macbride & company, minneapolis: g.&m. r.r. wants to tie us up. will not furnish cars to carry our cribbing. can't get it elsewhere inside of three weeks. find out if page will o.k. any bill of extras i send in for bringing it down. if so, can they have one or more steam barges at manistogee within forty-eight hours? wire ledyard hotel. c. h. bannon. it was an hour's ride back to ledyard. he went to the hotel and persuaded the head waiter to give him something to eat, although it was long after the dinner hour. as he left the dining room, the clerk handed him two telegrams. one read:-- get cribbing down. page pays the freight. brown. the other:-- steam barge demosthenes leaves milwaukee tonight for manistogee. page & co. chapter iv as bannon was paying for his dinner, he asked the clerk what sort of a place manistogee was. the clerk replied that he had never been there, but that he understood it was quite a lively town. "good road over there?" "pretty fair." "that means you can get through if you're lucky." the clerk smiled. "it won't be so bad today. you see we've been getting a good deal of rain. that packs down the sand. you ought to get there all right. were you thinking of driving over?" "that's the only way to go, is it? well, i'll see. maybe a little later. how far is it?" "the farmers call it eighteen miles." bannon nodded his thanks and went back to sloan's office. "well, it didn't take you long," said the magnate. "find out what was the matter with'em?" illustration [he cursed the whole g.&m. system, from the ties up] he enjoyed his well-earned reputation for choler, and as bannon told him what he had discovered that morning, the old man paced the room in a regular beat, pausing every time he came to a certain tempting bit of blank wall to deal it a thump with his big fist. when the whole situation was made clear to him, he stopped walking and cursed the whole g.&m. system, from the ties up. "i'll make 'em smart for that," he said. "they haul those planks whether they want to or not. you hear me say it. there's a law that covers a case like that. i'll prosecute 'em. they'll see whether j. b. sloan is a safe kind of man to monkey with. why, man," he added, turning sharply to bannon, "why don't you get mad? you don't seem to care--no more than the angel gabriel." "i don't care a damn for the g.&m. i want the cribbing." "don't you worry. i'll have the law on those fellows--" "and i'd get the stuff about five years from now, when i was likely enough dead." "what's the best way to get it, according to your idea?" "take it over to manistogee in wagons and then down by barges." sloan snorted. "you'd stand a chance to get some of it by fourth of july that way." "do you want to bet on that proposition?" sloan made no reply. he had allowed his wrath to boil for a few minutes merely as a luxury. now he was thinking seriously of the scheme. "it sounds like moonshine," he said at last, "but i don't know as it is. how are you going to get your barges?" "i've got one already. it leaves milwaukee tonight." sloan looked him over. "i wish you were out of a job," he said. then abruptly he went on: "where are your wagons coming from? you haven't got them all lined up in the yard now, have you? it'll take a lot of them." "i know it. well, we'll get all there are in ledyard. there's a beginning. and the farmers round here ain't so very fond of the g.&m., are they? don't they think the railroad discriminates against them--and ain't they right about it? i never saw a farmer yet that wouldn't grab a chance to get even with a railroad." "that's about right, in this part of the country, anyway." "you get up a regular circus poster saying what you think of the g.&m., and call on the farmers to hitch up and drive to your lumber yard. we'll stick that up at every crossroads between here and manistogee." sloan was scribbling on a memorandum pad before bannon had finished speaking. he made a false start or two, but presently got something that seemed to please him. he rang for his office boy, and told him to take it to the eagle office. "it's got to be done in an hour," said bannon. "that's when the procession moves," he added, as sloan looked at him questioningly. the other nodded. "in an hour," he said to the office boy. "what are you going to do in an hour?" he asked, as the boy went out. "why, it'll be four o'clock then, and we ought to start for manistogee as early as we can." "we! well, i should think not!" said sloan. "you're going to drive me over with that fast mare of yours, aren't you?" sloan laughed. "look at it rain out there." "best thing in the world for a sand road," said bannon. "and we'll wash, i guess. both been wet before." "but it's twenty-five miles over there--twenty-five to thirty." bannon looked at his watch. "we ought to get there by ten o'clock, i should think." "ten o'clock! what do you think she is--a sawhorse! she never took more than two hours to manistogee in her life." the corners of bannon's mouth twitched expressively. sloan laughed again. "i guess it's up to me this time," he said. before they started sloan telephoned to the eagle office to tell them to print a full-sized reproduction of his poster on the front page of the ledyard evening eagle. "crowd their news a little, won't it?" bannon asked. sloan shook his head. "that helps 'em out in great shape." the eagle did not keep them waiting. the moment sloan pulled up his impatient mare before the office door, the editor ran out, bareheaded, in the rain, with the posters. "they're pretty wet yet," he said. "that's all right. i only want a handful. send the others to my office. they know what to do with 'em." "i was glad to print them," the editor went on deferentially. "you have expressed our opinion of the g.&m. exactly." "guess i did," said sloan as they drove away. "the reorganized g.&m. decided they didn't want to carry him around the country on a pass." bannon pulled out one of the sheets and opened it on his knee. he whistled as he read the first sentence, and swore appreciatively over the next. when he had finished, he buttoned the waterproof apron and rubbed his wet hands over his knees. "it's grand," he said. "i never saw anything like it." sloan spoke to the mare. he had held her back as they jolted over the worn pavement of cedar blocks, but now they had reached the city limits and were starting out upon the rain-beaten sand. she was a tall, clean-limbed sorrel, a kentucky-bred morgan, and as she settled into her stride, bannon watched her admiringly. her wet flanks had the dull sheen of bronze. "don't tell me," said sloan, "that michigan roads are no good for driving. you never had anything finer than this in your life." they sped along as on velvet, noiselessly save when their wheels sliced through standing pools of water. "she can keep this up till further notice, i suppose," said bannon. sloan nodded. soon they reached the first crossroad. there was a general store at one corner, and, opposite, a blacksmith's shop. sloan pulled up and bannon sprang out with a hammer, a mouthful of tacks, and three or four of the posters. he put them up on the sheltered side of conspicuous trees, left one with the storekeeper, and another with the smith. then they drove on. they made no pretence at conversation. bannon seemed asleep save that he was always ready with his hammer and his posters whenever sloan halted the mare. the west wind freshened as the evening came on and dashed fine, sleety rain into their faces. bannon huddled his wet coat closer about him. sloan put the reins between his knees and pulled on a pair of heavy gloves. it had been dark for half an hour--bannon could hardly distinguish the moving figure of the mare--when sloan spoke to her and drew her to a walk. bannon reached for his hammer. "no crossroad here," said sloan. "bridge out of repair. we've got to fetch a circle here up to where she can wade it." "hold on," said bannon sharply. "let me get out." "don't be scared. we'll make it all right." "we! yes, but will fifteen hundred feet of lumber make it? i want to take a look." he splashed forward in the dark, but soon returned. "it's nothing that can't be fixed in two hours. where's the nearest farmhouse?" "fifty rods up the road to your right." again bannon disappeared. presently sloan heard the deep challenge of a big dog. he backed the buggy around up against the wind so that he could have shelter while he waited. then he pulled a spare blanket from under the seat and threw it over the mare. at the end of twenty minutes, he saw a lantern bobbing toward him. the big farmer who accompanied bannon held the lantern high and looked over the mare. "it's her all right," he said. then he turned so that the light shone full in sloan's face. "good evening, mr. sloan," he said. "you'll excuse me, but is what this gentleman tells me all straight?" "guess it is," sloan smiled. "i'd bank on him myself." the farmer nodded with satisfaction. "all right then, mr. what's-your-name. i'll have it done for you." sloan asked no questions until they had forded the stream and were back on the road. then he inquired, "what's he going to do?" "mend the bridge. i told him it had to be done tonight. said he couldn't. hadn't any lumber. couldn't think of it. i told him to pull down the lee side of his house if necessary; said you'd give him the lumber to build an annex on it." "what!" "oh, it's all right. send the bill to macbride. i knew your name would go down and mine wouldn't." the delay had proved costly, and it was half-past seven before they reached the manistogee hotel. "now," said bannon, "we'll have time to rub down the mare and feed her before i'm ready to go back." sloan stared at him for a moment in unfeigned amazement. then slowly he shook his head. "all right, i'm no quitter. but i will say that i'm glad you ain't coming to ledyard to live." bannon left the supper table before sloan had finished, and was gone nearly an hour. "it's all fixed up," he said when he returned. "i've cinched the wharf." they started back as they had come, in silence, bannon crowding as low as possible in his ulster, dozing. but he roused when the mare, of her own accord, left the road at the detour for the ford. "you don't need to do that," he said. "the bridge is fixed." so they drove straight across, the mare feeling her way cautiously over the new-laid planks. the clouds were thinning, so that there was a little light, and bannon leaned forward and looked about. "how did you get hold of the message from the general manager?" asked sloan abruptly. "heard it. i can read morse signals like print. used to work for the grand trunk." "what doing?" "boss of a wrecking gang." bannon paused. presently he went on. "yes, there was two years when i slept with my boots on. didn't know a quiet minute. never could tell what i was going to get up against. i never saw two wrecks that were anything alike. there was a junction about fifty miles down the road where they used to have collisions regular; but they were all different. i couldn't figure out what i was going to do till i was on the ground, and then i didn't have time to. my only order was, 'clear the road--and be damn quick about it.' what i said went. i've set fire to fifty thousand dollars' worth of mixed freight just to get it out of the way--and they never kicked. that ain't the kind of life for me, though. no, nor this ain't, either. i want to be quiet. i've never had a chance yet, and i've been looking for it ever since i was twelve years old. i'd like to get a little farm and live on it all by myself. i'd raise garden truck, cabbages, and such, and i'd take piano lessons." "is that why you quit the grand trunk? so that you could take piano lessons?" sloan laughed as he asked the question, but bannon replied seriously:-- "why, not exactly. there was a little friction between me and the master mechanic, so i resigned. i didn't exactly resign, either," he added a moment later. "i wired the superintendent to go to hell. it came to the same thing." "i worked for a railroad once myself," said sloan. "was a hostler in the roundhouse at syracuse, new york. i never worked up any higher than that. i had ambitions to be promoted to the presidency, but it didn't seem very likely, so i gave it up and came west." "you made a good thing of it. you seem to own most all potfawatomie county." "pretty much." "i wish you would tell me how to do it. i have worked like an all-the-year-round blast furnace ever since i could creep, and never slighted a job yet, but here i am--can't call my soul my own. i have saved fifteen thousand dollars, but that ain't enough to stop with. i don't see why i don't own a county too." "there's some luck about it. and then i don't believe you look very sharp for opportunities. i suppose you are too busy. you've got a chance this minute to turn your fifteen thousand to fifty; maybe lot more." "i'm afraid i'm too thick-headed to see it." "why, what you found out this morning was the straightest kind of a straight tip on the wheat market for the next two months. a big elevator like yours will be almost decisive. the thing's right in your own hands. if page & company can't make that delivery, why, fellows who buy wheat now are going to make money." "i see," said bannon, quickly. "all i'd have to do would be to buy all the wheat i could get trusted for and then hold back the job a little. and while i was at it, i might just as well make a clean job and walk off with the pay roll." he laughed. "i'd look pretty, wouldn't i, going to old macbride with my tail between my legs, telling him that the job was too much for me and i couldn't get it done on time. he'd look me over and say: 'bannon, you're a liar. you've never had to lay down yet, and you don't now. go back and get that job done before new year's or i'll shoot you.'" "you don't want to get rich, that's the trouble with you," said sloan, and he said it almost enviously. bannon rode to manistogee on the first wagon. the barge was there, so the work of loading the cribbing into her began at once. there were numerous interruptions at first, but later in the day the stream of wagons became almost continuous. farmers living on other than the manistogee roads came into ledyard and hurried back to tell their neighbors of the chance to get ahead of the railroad for once. dennis, who was in charge at the yard, had hard work to keep up with the supply of empty wagons. sloan disappeared early in the morning, but at five o'clock bannon had a telephone message from him. "i'm here at blake city," he said, "raising hell. the general manager gets here at nine o'clock tonight to talk with me. they're feeling nervous about your getting that message. i think you'd better come up here and talk to him." so a little after nine that night the three men, sloan, bannon, and the manager, sat down to talk it over. and the fact that in the first place an attempt to boycott could be proved, and in the second that page & company were getting what they wanted anyway--while they talked a long procession of cribbing was creaking along by lantern light to manistogee--finally convinced the manager that the time had come to yield as gracefully as possible. "he means it this time," said sloan, when he and bannon were left alone at the blake city hotel to talk things over. "yes, i think he does. if he don't, i'll come up here again and have a short session with him." chapter v illustration [map of the elevator site] it was nearly five o'clock when bannon appeared at the elevator on thursday. he at once sought peterson. "well, what luck did you have?" he asked. "did you get my message?" "your message? oh, sure. you said the cribbing was coming down by boat. i don't see how, though. ledyard ain't on the lake." "well, it's coming just the same, two hundred thousand feet of it. what have you done about it?" "oh, we'll be ready for it, soon's it gets here." they were standing at the north side of the elevator near the paling fence which bounded the c. & s. c. right of way. bannon looked across the tracks to the wharf; the pile of timber was still there. "did you have any trouble with the railroad when you took your stuff across for the spouting house?" he asked. "not much of any. the section boss came around and talked a little, but we only opened the fence in one place, and that seemed to suit him." bannon was looking about, calculating with his eye the space that was available for the incoming lumber. "how'd you manage that business, anyway?" asked peterson. "what business?" "the cribbing. how'd you get it to the lake?" "oh, that was easy. i just carried it off." "yes, you did!" "look here, pete, that timber hasn't got any business out there on the wharf. we've got to have that room for the cribbing." "that's all right. the steamer won't get in much before tomorrow night, will it?" "we aren't doing any banking on that. i've got a notion that the pages aren't sending out any six-mile-an-hour scow to do their quick work. that timber's got to come over here tonight. may as well put it where the carpenters can get right at it. we'll be on the cupola before long, anyhow." "but it's five o'clock already. there's the whistle." bannon waited while the long blast sounded through the crisp air. then he said:-- "offer the men double pay, and tell them that any man can go home that wants to, right now, but if they say they'll stay, they've got to see it through." already the laborers were hurrying toward the tool house in a long, irregular line. peterson started toward the office, to give the word to the men before they could hand in their time checks. "mr. bannon." the foreman turned; vogel was approaching. "i wanted to see about that cribbing bill. how much of it's coming down by boat?" "two hundred thousand. you'd better help peterson get that timber out of the way. we're holding the men." "yes, i've been waiting for directions about that. we can put a big gang on it, and snake it across in no time." "you'll have to open up the fence in half a dozen places, and put on every man you've got. there's no use in making an all-night job of it." "i'm afraid we'll have trouble with the railroad." "no, we won't. if they kick, you send them to me. are your arc lights in?" "yes, all but one or two. they were going to finish it today, but they ain't very spry about it." "tell you what you do, max; you call them up and tell them we want a man to come out here and stay for a while. i may want to move the lights around a little. and, anyhow, they may as well clean up their job and have it done with." he was starting back after the returning laborers when max said:--. "mr. bannon." "hello?" "i heard you speaking about a stenographer the other day." "yes--what about it? haven't you got one yet?" "no, but i know of one that could do the work first-rate." "i want a good one--he's got to keep time besides doing the office work." "yes, i thought of that. i don't suppose she--" "she? we can't have any shes on this job." "well, it's like this, mr. bannon; she's an a stenographer and bookkeeper; and as for keeping the time, why, i'm out on the job all day anyhow, and i reckon i could take care of it without cutting into my work." bannon looked quizzically down at him. "you don't know what you're talking about," he said slowly. "just look around at this gang of men--you know the likes of them as well as i do-- and then talk to me about bringing a girl on the job." he shook his head. "i reckon it's some one you're interested in." "yes," said max, "it's my sister." max evidently did not intend to be turned off. as he stood awaiting a reply--his broad, flat features, his long arms and bow legs with their huge hands and feet, his fringe of brick-red hair cropping out behind his cap, each contributing to the general appearance of utter homeliness--a faint smile came over bannon's face. the half-formed thought was in his mind, "if she looks anything like that, i guess she's safe." he was silent for a moment, then he said abruptly:-- "when can she start?" "right away." "all right. we'll try it for a day or so and see how it goes. tell that boy in the office that he can charge his time up to saturday night, but he needn't stay around any longer." max hurried away. group after group of laborers, peavies or cant-hooks on shoulders, were moving slowly past him toward the wharf. it was already nearly dark, and the arc lights on the elevator structure, and on the spouting house, beyond the tracks, were flaring. he started toward the wharf, walking behind a score of the laborers. from the east, over the flats and marshes through which the narrow, sluggish river wanders to lake michigan, came the hoarse whistle of a steamer. bannon turned and looked. his view was blocked by some freight cars that were standing on the c. & s. c. tracks at some distance to the east. he ran across the tracks and out on the wharf, climbing on the timber pile, where peterson and his gang were, rolling down the big sticks with cant-hooks. not a quarter of a mile away was a big steamer, ploughing slowly up the river; the cough of her engines and the swash of the churning water at her bow and stern could be plainly heard. peterson stopped work for a moment, and joined him. "well," bannon said, "we're in for it now. i never thought they'd make such time as this." "she can lay up here all night till morning, i guess." bannon was thinking hard. "no," he finally said, "she can't. there ain't any use of wasting all day tomorrow unloading that cribbing and getting it across." peterson, too, was thinking; and his eyebrows were coming together in a puzzled scowl. "oh," he said, "you mean to do it tonight?" "yes, sir. we don't get any sleep till every piece of that cribbing is over at the annex, ready for business in the morning. your sills are laid--there's nothing in the way of starting those bins right up. this ain't an all-night job if we hustle it." the steamer was a big lake barge, with high bow and stern, and a long, low, cargo deck amidships that was piled squarely and high with yellow two-inch plank. her crew had clearly been impressed with the need of hurry, for long before she could be worked into the wharf they had rigged the two hoists and got the donkey engines into running order. the captain stood by the rail on the bridge, smoking a cigar, his hand on the bell-pull. "where do you want it?" he called to bannon. "right here, where i'm standing. you can swing your bow in just below the bridge there." the captain pulled the bell, and the snub-nosed craft, stirring up a whirl of mud from the bottom of the river, was brought alongside the wharf. "where are you going to put it?" the captain called. "here. we'll clean this up as fast as we can. i want that cribbing all unloaded tonight, sure." "that suits me," said the captain. "i don't want to be held up here--ought to pull out the first thing in the morning." "all right, you can do it." bannon turned to peterson and vogel (who had just reached the wharf). "you want to rush this, boys. i'll go over and see to the piling." he hurried away, pausing at the office long enough to find the man sent by the electric light company, and to set him at work. the arc lamps had been placed, for the most part, where they would best illuminate the annex and the cupola of the elevator, and there was none too much light on the tracks, where the men were stumbling along, hindered rather than helped by the bright light before them. on the wharf it was less dark, for the lights of the steamer were aided by two on the spouting house. before seven o'clock bannon had succeeded in getting two more lights up on poles, one on each side of the track. it was just at seven that the timbers suddenly stopped coming in. bannon looked around impatiently. the six men that had brought in the last stick were disappearing around the corner of the great, shadowy structure that shut off bannon's view of the wharf. he waited for a moment, but no more gangs appeared, and then he ran around the elevator over the path the men had already trampled. within the circle of light between him and the c. & s. c. tracks stood scattered groups of the laborers, and others wandered about with their hooks over their shoulders. there was a larger, less distinct crowd out on the tracks. bannon ran through an opening in the fence, and pushed into the largest group. here peterson and vogel were talking to a stupid-looking man with a sandy mustache. "what does this mean, pete?" he said shortly. "we can't be held up this way. get your men back on the work." "no, he won't," said the third man. "you can't go on with this work." bannon sharply looked the man over. there was in his manner a dogged authority. "who are you?" bannon asked. "who do you represent?" "i represent the c. & s. c. railroad, and i tell you this work stops right here." "why?" the man waved his arm toward the fence. "you can't do that sort of business." "what sort?" "you look at that fence and then talk to me about what sort." "what's the matter with the fence?" "what's the matter with it! there ain't more'n a rod of it left, that's what." bannon's scowl relaxed. "oh," he said, "i see. you're the section boss, ain't you?" "yes." "that's all right then. come over here and i'll show you how we've got things fixed." he walked across the track, followed by the section boss and pete, and pointed out the displaced sections of the fence, each of which had been carefully placed at one side. "we'll have it all up all right before morning," he said. the man was running his fingers up under his cap. "i don't know anything about that," he replied sullenly. "i've got my orders. we didn't make any kick when you opened up in one place, but we can't stand for all this." he was not speaking firmly, and bannon, watching him closely, jumped at the conclusion that his orders were not very definite. probably his superintendent had instructed him to keep a close eye on the work, and perhaps to grant no privileges. bannon wished he knew more about the understanding between the railroad and macbride & company. he felt sure, however, that an understanding did exist or he would not have been told to go ahead. "that's all right," he said, with an air of easy authority. "we've got to be working over your tracks for the next two months. it's as much to our interest as it is to yours to be careful, and i guess we can pull together. we've got an agreement with your general manager, and that's what goes." he turned away, but paused and added, "i'll see that you don't have any reason to complain." the section boss looked about with an uncertain air at the crowd of waiting men. "don't go too fast there--" he began. "look here," said bannon, abruptly. "we'll sit right down here and send a message to the general manager. that's the quickest way to settle it--tell him that we're carrying out timber across the tracks and you've stopped us." it was a bluff, but bannon knew his man. "now, how about this?" was the reply. "how long will it take you?" "till some time before daylight." bannon was feeling for his pencil. "you see that the fence goes back, will you? we ain't taking any chances, you understand." bannon nodded. "all right, max," he shouted. "get to work there. and look here, max," in a stern voice, "i expect you to see that the road is not blocked or delayed in any way. that's your business now, mind." he turned to the boss as the men hurried past to the wharf. "i used to be a railroad man myself--chief wrecker on the grand trunk--and i guess we won't have any trouble understanding each other." again the six long lines of men were creeping from the brightly lighted wharf across the shadowy tracks and around the end of the elevator. bannon had held the electric light man within call, and now set him at work moving two other arc lamps to a position where they made the ground about the growing piles of timber nearly as light as day. through the night air he could hear the thumping of the planks on the wharf. faintly over this sound came the shouting of men and the tramp and shuffle of feet. and at intervals a train would rumble in the distance, slowly coming nearer, until with a roar that swallowed all the other noises it was past. the arc lamps glowed and buzzed over the heads of the sweating, grunting men, as they came along the path, gang after gang, lifting an end of a heavy stick to the level of the steadily rising pile, and sliding it home. bannon knew from long experience how to pile the different sizes so that each would be ready at the hands of the carpenters when the morning whistle should blow. he was all about the work, giving a hand here, an order there, always good-humored, though brusque, and always inspiring the men with the sight of his own activity. toward the middle of the evening vogel came up from the wharf with a question. as he was about to return, bannon, who had been turning over in his mind the incident of the section boss, said:-- "wait a minute, max. what about this railroad business--have they bothered you much before now?" "not very much, only in little ways. i guess it's just this section boss that does it on his own hook. he's a sort of a fool, you know, and he's got it into his head that we're trying to do him some way." bannon put his hands into his pockets, and studied the checkered pattern in the ground shadow of the nearest arc lamp. then he slowly shook his head. "no," he said, "that ain't it. he's too big a fool to do much on his own hook. he's acting on orders of some sort, and that's just what i don't understand. as a general thing a railroad's mighty white to an elevator. come to think of it, they said something about it up at the office,"--he was apparently speaking to himself, and max quietly waited,--"brown said something about the c. & s. c. having got in the way a little down here, but i didn't think much about it at the time." "what could they do?" max asked. "a lot, if they wanted to. but that ain't what's bothering me. they haven't any connection with the g.&m., have they?" "no"--max shook his head--"no, not that i know of." "well, it's funny, that's all. the man behind those orders that the section boss talks about is the general manager; and it's my notion that we're likely to hear from him again. i'll tell you what it is. somebody--i don't know who, but somebody--is mighty eager to keep this house from being finished by the first of january. after this i wish you'd keep your eyes open for this section boss. have you had any trouble with the men?" "no, only that clerk that we laid off today, he 'lowed he was going to make trouble. i didn't say anything about it, because they always talk like that." "yes, i know. what's his name?" "briggs." "i guess he can't hurt us any." bannon turned back to his work; and vogel disappeared in the shadows along the path. nine o'clock came, and the timber was still coming in. the men were growing tired and surly from the merciless strain of carrying the long, heavy sticks. the night was raw and chill. bannon felt it as he stood directing the work, and he kept his hands in his pockets, and wished he had worn his overcoat; but the laborers, barearmed and bareheaded, clad only in overalls or in thin trousers and cotton shirts, were shaking sweat from their eyes, and stealing moments between trips to stand where the keen lake breeze could cool them. another half-hour or so should see the last stick on the piles, and bannon had about decided to go over to the office when he saw vogel moving among the men, marking their time in his book. "here, max," he called, adding, when vogel had reached his side: "just keep an eye on this, will you? i'll be at the office. keep things going just as they are." there was a light in the office. bannon stepped into the doorway, and, with a suppressed word of impatience, stood looking at the scene within. the desk that peterson had supplied for the use of his clerk was breast-high from the floor, built against the wall, with a high stool before it. the wall lamp had been taken down; now it stood with its reflector on the top of the desk, which was covered with books and papers. a girl was sitting on the stool, bending over a ledger and rapidly footing up columns. bannon could not see her face, for a young fellow stood leaning over the railing by the desk, his back to the door. he had just said something, and now he was laughing in a conscious manner. bannon quietly stepped to one side. the girl looked up for a moment and brushed her hair back from her face. the fellow spoke again in a low tone, but beyond a slight compressing of her lips she did not seem to hear him. without a word, bannon came forward, took him by the arm, and led him out of the door. still holding his arm, he took a step back, and (they stood in the outer circle of the electric light) looked him over. "let's see," he said, "you're the man that was clerking here." there was no reply. "and your name's--what?" "briggs." "well, mr. briggs, did you get a message from me?" "i don't know what you mean," said the young man, his eyes on the ground. "max, he come around, but i wanted to wait and see you. he's a mean cuss--" "you see me now, don't you?" "yes." the reply was indistinct. "you keep out of the office after this. if i catch you in there again, i won't stop to talk. now, clear out." briggs walked a little way, then turned. "maybe you think you can lay me off without notice--but you'll wish--" bannon turned back to the office, giving no heed to briggs' last words: "i've got you fixed already." he was thinking of the girl there on the stool. she did not look like the girl he had expected to see. to be sure her hair was red, but it was not of the red that outcropped from max's big head; it was of a dark, rich color, and it had caught the light from the lamp with such a shine as there is in new red gold. when he entered, she was again footing columns. she was slender, and her hand, where it supported her forehead was white. again bannon stood motionless, slowly shaking his head. then he came forward. she heard his step and looked up, as if to answer a question, letting her eyes rest on his face. he hesitated, and she quietly asked:-- "what is it, please?" "miss vogel?" "yes." "i'm mr. bannon. there wasn't any need of your working tonight. i'm just keeping the men on so we can get in this cribbing. when did you come?" "my brother telephoned to me. i wanted to look things over before starting in tomorrow." "how do you find it?" she hesitated, glancing over the jumble of papers on the desk. "it hasn't been kept up very well," she presently said. "but it won't be hard, i think, to straighten it out." bannon leaned on the rail and glanced at the paper on which she had been setting down totals. "i guess you'd better go home, miss vogel. it's after nine o'clock." "i can finish in an hour." "you'd better go. there'll be chances enough for night work without your making them." she smiled, cleared up the desk, and reached for her jacket, which hung from the nail behind her. then she paused. "i thought i would wait for my brother, mr. bannon." "that's all right. i guess we can spare him. i'll speak to him. do you live far?" "no; max and i are boarding at the same place." he had got to the door when she asked:-- "shall i put out the light?" he turned and nodded. she was drawing on her gloves. she perhaps was not a very pretty girl, but there was something in her manner, as she stood there in the dim light, her hair straying out from beneath her white "sombrero" hat, that for the moment took bannon far away from this environment of railroad tracks and lumber piles. he waited till she came out, then he locked the door. "i'll walk along with you myself, if you don't mind," he said. and after they had crossed the belt line tracks, and he had helped her, with a little laugh from each of them, to pick her way over the switches and between the freight cars, he said: "you don't look much like your brother." it was not a long walk to the boarding house but before they had reached it bannon was nervous. it was not a custom with him to leave his work on such an errand. he bade her a brusque good-night, and hurried back, pausing only after he had crossed the tracks, to cast his eye over the timber. there was no sign of activity, though the two arc lamps were still in place. "all in, eh," he said. he followed the path beside the elevator and on around the end, and then, with an exclamation, he hurried forward; for there was the same idle crowd about the tracks that had been there during the trouble with the section boss--the same buzz of talk, and the idle laughter and shouting. as he ran, his foot struck a timber-end, and he sprawled forward for nearly a rod before recovering his balance; then he stopped and looked along the ground. a long line of timbers lay end to end, the timber hooks across them or near by on the ground, where they had been dropped by the laborers. on along the path, through the fence openings, and out on the tracks, lay the lines of timber. here and there bannon passed gangs of men lounging on the ground, waiting for the order to move on. as he passed through the fence, walking on the timbers, and hurried through the crowd, which had been pushed back close to the fence, he heard a low laugh that came along like a wave from man to man. in a moment he was in front of them all. the middle tracks were clear, excepting a group of three or four men, who stood a little to one side. bannon could not make them out. another crowd of laborers was pressed back against the opposite fence. these had moved apart at one of the fence openings, and as bannon looked, two men came through, stumbling and staggering under a long ten-by-twelve timber, which they were carrying on their shoulders. bannon looked sharply; the first, a big, deep-chested man, bare-headed and in his shirt sleeves, was peterson. bannon started forward, when max, who had been hurrying over to him, touched his arm. "what's all this, max?" "i'm glad you've come. it's grady, the walking delegate--that's him over there where those men are standing, the little fellow with his hat on one side--he's been here for ten minutes." "speak quick. what's the trouble?" "first he wanted to know how much we were paying the men for night work, and i told him. thought i might as well be civil to him. then he said we'd got to take briggs back, and i told him briggs wasn't a union man, and he hadn't anything to say about it. he and briggs seemed to know each other. finally he came out here on the job and said we were working the men too hard--said we'd have to put ten men on the heavy sticks and eight on the others. i was going to do it, but peterson came up and said he wouldn't do it, and grady called the men off, just where they were. he wouldn't let 'em lift a finger. you see there's timber all over the tracks. then pete got mad, and said him and donnelly could bring a twenty-foot stick over alone, and it was all rot about putting on more men. here they come--just look at pete's arms! he could lift a house." some of the men were laughing, others growling, but all had their eyes fixed on peterson and donnelly as they came across the tracks, slowly picking their way, and shifting the weight a little, at every few seconds, on their shoulders. bannon was glancing swiftly about, taking in the situation. he would not imperil his discipline by reproving peterson before the men, so he stood for a moment, thinking, until the task should be accomplished. "it's briggs that did the whole business," max was saying. "he brought the delegate around--he was blowing about it among the men when i found him." "is he on the job now?" bannon asked. "no, and i don't think he'll be around again very soon. there were some loafers with him, and they took him away." peterson and donnelly had disappeared through the fence, and a few of the crowd were following, to see them get the timber clear around the building to the pile. "have you sent out flagmen, max?" bannon asked. "no, i didn't." "get at it quick--send a man each way with a lantern--put something red over them, their shirts if necessary." "none of the men will dare do it while the delegate's here." "find some one--take one side yourself, if you have to." max hurried away for the lanterns, bannon walked out to the group of men on the middle tracks. "where's mr. grady?" he said. one of the men pointed, but the delegate gave no attention. "you're mr. grady, are you?" said bannon. "i'm mr. bannon, of macbride & company. what's the trouble here?" the delegate was revelling in his authority: his manner was not what it was to be when he should know bannon better. he waved his hand toward the wharf. "you ought to know better than that," he said curtly. "than what?" "than what?--than running a job the way this is run." "i think i can run this job," said bannon, quietly. "you haven't told me what's the trouble yet." "it's right here--you're trying to make money by putting on one man to do the work of two." "how?" bannon's quiet manner exasperated the delegate. "use your eyes, man--you can't make eight men carry a twelve-by-fourteen stick." "how many shall i put on?" "ten." "all right." "and you'd better put eight men on the other sticks." the delegate looked up, nettled that bannon should yield so easily. "that's all right," said bannon. "we aren't fighting the union. after this, if you've got anything to say, i wish you'd come to me with it before you call off the men. is there anything else before i start up?" grady was chewing the stub of a cigar. he stood looking about with an ugly air, then he said:-- "you ain't starting up just yet." "why not?" the delegate's reply was lost in the shout that suddenly went up from the western end of the line of laborers. then came the sound of a locomotive bell and exhaust. bannon started down the track, jumping the timbers as he ran, toward vogel's lantern, that was bobbing along toward him. the train had stopped, but now it was puffing slowly forward, throwing a bright light along the rails. "it's a c. & s. c. local," max shouted. "can't we clear up the right track?" bannon stopped and looked around. about half of the men had followed him, and were strung out in irregular groups between him and the timbers. walking up between the groups came the delegate, with two men, chewing his cigar in silence as he walked. the train was creeping along, the fireman leaning far out of the cab window, closely scanning the track for signs of an obstruction. on the steps between the cars a few passengers were trying to get a view up the track; and others were running along beside the train. "this has gone too far," bannon muttered. he turned and shouted to the men: "clear up that track. quick, now!" some of the men started, but stopped, and all looked at the delegate. he stepped to one side and coolly looked over the train; then he raised his hand. "don't touch the timbers," he said. "it ain't a mail train." his voice was not loud, but those near at hand passed the word along, and the long line of men stood motionless. by that time the train had stopped, and three of the crew had come forward. they saw the timbers on the track and hurried toward them, but the delegate called out:-- "watch those sticks, boys! don't let a man touch them!" there was no hesitation when the delegate spoke in that tone. a score of men blocked the way of the train crew. bannon was angry. he stood looking at grady with snapping eyes, and his hands closed into knotted fists. but bannon knew the power of the unions, and he knew that a rash step now might destroy all hope of completing the elevator in time. he crossed over to the delegate. "what do you want?" he said gruffly. "nothing from you." "what do you want?" bannon repeated, and there was something in his voice that caused the delegate to check a second retort. "you'll kill these men if you work them like this. they've been on the job all day." bannon was beginning to see that grady was more eager to make trouble than to uphold the cause of the men he was supposed to represent. in his experience with walking delegates he had not met this type before. he was proud of the fact that he had never had any serious trouble in dealing with his workmen or their representatives. mr. macbride was fond of saying that bannon's tact in handling men was unequalled; but bannon himself did not think of it in this way--to him, trouble with the laborers or the carpenters or the millwrights meant loss of time and loss of money, the two things he was putting in his time to avoid; and until now he had found the maligned walking delegate a fair man when he was fairly dealt with. so he said:-- "well, what are you asking?" "these gangs ought to be relieved every two hours." "i'll do it. now clear up those timbers." the delegate turned with a scowl, and waved the men back to their work. in a moment the track was clear, and the train was moving slowly onward between the long lines of men. bannon started the gangs at work. when the timbers were again coming across from the wharf in six slowly moving streams that converged at the end of the elevator, he stood looking after the triangle of red lights on the last car of the train until they had grown small and close together in the distance. then he went over to the wharf to see how much timber remained, and to tell peterson to hurry the work; for he did not look for any further accommodation on the part of the c. & s. c. railroad, now that a train had been stopped. the steamer lay quietly at the dock, the long pile of cribbing on her deck shadowed by the high bow deckhouse from the lights on the spouting house. her crew were bustling about, rigging the two hoisting engines, and making all ready for unloading when the order should be given. peterson had been working through the timber pile from the shore side, so that now only a thin wall remained at the outer edge of the wharf. bannon found him standing on the pile, rolling down the sticks with a peavey to where the carrying gangs could pick them up. "better bring all your men up here, pete, and clean it all away by the steamer. she may as well begin unloading now." bannon walked back to the tracks, in time to see a handcar and trailer, packed with men, come up the track and stop near at hand. the men at once scattered, and brushing aside bannon's laborers, they began replacing the sections of fence. bannon crossed to the section boss, who recognized him and without comment handed him a telegraphed order. "there's no getting around that," he said, when bannon had read it. "that's straight from the old man." bannon returned it, called peterson, and hurried with him around the elevator to find max, who was overseeing the piling. "what'll we do?" peterson asked, as they ran; but bannon made no reply until the three were together. then he said, speaking shortly:-- "get the wire cable off one of your hoisting engines, pete, and make one end fast as high as you can on the spouting house. we'll run it across the tracks, on a slope, down to this side. max, you get a light rope and a running block, and hang a hook on it." "i see," said max, eagerly. "you're going to run it over on a trolley." "yes. the engineers have gone, haven't they?" "went at five," said peterson. "that's all right. we'll only need the hoist at the spouting house. the rest of it's just plain sliding down hill." "but who'll run it?" "i will. pete, you get up on the spouting house and see that they're started down. max will stay over here and watch the piling. now rush it." half an hour had gone before the cable could be stretched from the spouting house, high over the tracks, down to the elevator structure, and before the hoisting engine could be got under steam. meanwhile, for the third time since five o'clock, the laborers stood about, grumbling and growing more impatient. but at last it was all under way. the timbers were hoisted lightly up the side of the spouting house, hooked to the travelling block, and sent whirling down to max's waiting hands, to be snatched away and piled by the men. but compared with the other method, it was slow work, and bannon found that, for lack of employment, it was necessary to let half of the men go for the night. soon, to the rattle of blocks and the tramping of feet and the calling and shouting of men, was added the creak of the steamer's hoists, and the groan of her donkey engines as her crew began the work of dumping out the cribbing by hand and steam, on the cleared space on the wharf. and then, when the last big stick had gone over, peterson began sending bundles of two-inch cribbing. before the work was finished, and the last plank from the steamer's cargo had been tossed on the pile by the annex, the first faint color was spreading over the eastern sky, and the damp of a low-country morning was in the air. bannon stopped the engine and drew the fire; peterson and his crew clambered to the ground, and max put on his coat and waited for the two foremen to come across the tracks. when they joined him, bannon looked sharply at him in the growing light. "hello, max," he said; "where did you get that black eye?" "that ain't much," max replied. "you ought to see briggs." chapter vi when bannon came on the job on friday morning at seven o'clock, a group of heavy-eyed men were falling into line at the timekeeper's window. max was in the office, passing out the checks. his sister was continuing her work of the night before, going over what books and papers were to be found in the desk. bannon hung up his overcoat and looked through the doorway at the square mass of the elevator that stood out against the sky like some gigantic, unroofed barn. the walls rose nearly eighty feet from the ground--though the length and breadth of the structure made them appear lower--so close to the tops of the posts that were to support the cupola frame that bannon's eyes spoke of satisfaction. he meant to hide those posts behind the rising walls of cribbing before the day should be gone. he glanced about at the piles of two-inch plank that hid the annex foundation work. there it lay, two hundred thousand feet of it--not very much, to be sure, but enough to keep the men busy for the present, and enough, too, to give a start to the annex bins and walls. peterson was approaching from the tool house, and bannon called. "how many laborers have you got, pete?" "hardly any. max, there, can tell." max, who had just passed out his last check, now joined them at the doorstep. "there's just sixty two that came for checks," he said, "not counting the carpenters." "about what i expected," bannon replied. "this night business lays them out." he put his head in at the door. "you'd better give checks to any new men that we send to the window, miss vogel; but keep the names of the old men, and if they show up in the morning, take them back on the job. now, boys"--to peterson and max--"pick up the men you see hanging around and send them over. i'll be at the office for a while. we'll push the cribbing on the main house and start right in on the annex bins. there ain't much time to throw around if we're going to eat our christmas dinner." the two went at once. the hoisting engines were impatiently blowing off steam. new men were appearing every moment, delaying only to answer a few brisk questions and to give their names to miss vogel, and then hurrying away to the tool house, each with his brass check fastened to his coat. when bannon was at last ready to enter the office, he paused again to look over the ground. the engines were now puffing steadily, and the rapping of many hammers came through the crisp air. gangs of laborers were swarming over the lumber piles, pitching down the planks, and other gangs were carrying them away and piling them on "dollies," to be pushed along the plank runways to the hoist. there was a black fringe of heads between the posts on the top of the elevator, where the carpenters were spiking down the last planks of the walls and bins. miss vogel was at work on the ledger when bannon entered the office. he pushed his hat back on his head and came up beside her. "how's it coming out?" he asked. "do we know how much we're good for?" she looked up, smiling. "i think so. i'm nearly through. it's a little mixed in some places, but i think everything has been entered." "can you drop it long enough to take a letter or so?" "oh, yes." she reached for her notebook, saying, with a nod toward the table: "the mail is here." bannon went rapidly through the heap of letters and bills. "there's nothing much," he said. "you needn't wait for me to open it after this. you'll want to read everything to keep posted. these bills for cribbing go to your brother, you know." there was one chair within the enclosure; he brought it forward and sat down, tipping back against the railing. "well, i guess we may as well go ahead and tell the firm that we're still moving around and drawing our salaries. to macbride & company, minneapolis, gentlemen: cribbing is now going up on elevator and annex. a little over two feet remains to be done on the elevator beneath the distributing floor. the timber is ready for framing the cupola. two hundred thousand feet of the ledyard cribbing reached here by steamer last night, and the balance will be down in a few days. very truly yours, macbride & company. that will do for them. now, we'll write to mr. brown-- no, you needn't bother, though; i'll do that one myself. you might run off the other and i'll sign it." he got up and moved his chair to the table. "i don't generally seem able to say just what i want to brown unless i write it out." his letter ran:-- dear mr. brown: we've finally got things going. had to stir them up a little at ledyard. can you tell me who it is that's got hold of our coat tails on this job? there's somebody trying to hold us back, all right. had a little fuss with a red-headed walking delegate last night, but fixed him. that hat hasn't come yet. shall i call up the express company and see what's the matter? / is my size. yours, bannon. he had folded the letter and addressed the envelope, when he paused and looked around. the typewritten letter to macbride & company lay at his elbow. he signed it before he spoke. "miss vogel, have you come across any letters or papers about an agreement with the c. & s. c?" "no," she replied, "there is nothing here about the railroad." bannon drummed on the table; then he went to the door and called to a laborer who was leaving the tool house:-- "find mr. peterson and ask him if he will please come to the office for a moment." he came slowly back and sat on the corner of the table, watching miss vogel as her pencil moved rapidly up column after column. "had quite a time up there in michigan," he said. "those g.&m. people were after us in earnest. if they'd had their way, we'd never have got the cribbing." she looked up. "you see, they had told sloan--he's the man that owns the lumber company and the city of ledyard and pretty much all of the lower peninsula--that they hadn't any cars; and he'd just swallowed it down and folded up his napkin. i hadn't got to ledyard before i saw a string of empties on a siding that weren't doing a thing but waiting for our cribbing, so i caught a train to blake city and gave the division superintendent some points on running railroads. he was a nice, friendly man."--bannon clasped his hands about one knee and smiled reminiscently--"i had him pretty busy there for a while thinking up lies. he was wondering how he could get ready for the next caller, when i came at him and made him wire the general manager of the line. the operator was sitting right outside the door, and when the answer came i just took it in--it gave the whole snap away, clear as you want." miss vogel turned on her stool. "you took his message?" "i should say i did. it takes a pretty lively man to crowd me off the end of a wire. he told the superintendent not to give us cars. that was all i wanted to know. so i told him how sorry i was that i couldn't stay to lunch, caught the next train back to ledyard, and built a fire under sloan." miss vogel was looking out of the window. "he said he could not give us cars?" she repeated. bannon smiled. "but we didn't need them," he said. "i got a barge to come over from milwaukee, and we loaded her up and started her down." "i don't understand, mr. bannon. ledyard isn't on the lake--and you couldn't get cars." "that wasn't very hard." he paused, for a step sounded outside the door and in a moment peterson had come in. "i guess you wanted to talk to me, didn't you, charlie?" "yes, i'm writing to the office. it's about this c. & s. c. business. you said you'd had trouble with them before." "oh, no," said peterson, sitting on the railing and removing his hat, with a side glance at miss vogel, "not to speak of. there wasn't nothing so bad as last night." "what was it?" "why, just a little talk when we opened the fence first time. that section boss was around, but i told him how things was, and he didn't seem to have no kick coming as long as we was careful." bannon had taken up his letter to brown, and was slowly unfolding it and looking it over. when peterson got to his feet, he laid it on the table. "anything else, charlie? i'm just getting things to going on the annex. we're going to make her jump, i tell you. i ain't allowing any loafing there." "no," bannon replied, "i guess not." he followed the foreman out of doors. "do you remember having any letters, pete, about our agreement with the c. & s. c. to build over the tracks--from the office or anybody?" peterson brought his brows together and tried to remember. after a moment he slowly shook his head. "nothing, eh?" said bannon. "not that i can think of. something may have come in while max was here in the office--" "i wish you'd ask him." "all right. he'll be around my way before long, taking the time." "and say," bannon added, with one foot on the doorstep, "you haven't seen anything more of that man briggs, have you?" peterson shook his head. "if you see him hanging around, you may as well throw him right off the job." peterson grinned. "i guess he won't show up very fast. max did him up good last night, when he was blowing off about bringing the delegate around." bannon had drawn the door to after him when he came out. he was turning back, with a hand on the knob, when peterson, who was lingering, said in a low voice, getting out the words awkwardly:-- "say, charlie, she's all right, ain't she." bannon did not reply, and peterson jerked his thumb toward the office. "max's sister, there. i never saw any red hair before that was up to the mark. ain't she a little uppish, though, don't you think?" "i guess not." "red-haired girls generally is. they've got tempers, too, most of them. it's funny about her looks. she don't look any more like max than anything." he grinned again. "lord, max is a peach, though, ain't he." bannon nodded and reentered the office. he sat down and added a postscript to his letter: the c. & s. c. people are trying to make it warm for us about working across their tracks. can't we have an understanding with them before we get ready to put up the belt gallery? if we don't, we'll have to build a suspension bridge. c. b. he sealed the envelope and tossed it to one side. "miss vogel," he said, pushing his chair back, "didn't you ask me something just now?" "it was about getting the cribbing across the lake," she replied. "i don't see how you did it." her interest in the work pleased bannon. "it ain't a bad story. you see the farmers up in that country hate the railroads. it's the tariff rebate, you know. they have to pay more to ship their stuff to market than some places a thousand miles farther off. and i guess the service is pretty bad all around. i was figuring on something like that as soon as i had a look at things. so we got up a poster and had it printed, telling what they all think of the g.&m."--he paused, and his eyes twinkled--"i wouldn't mind handing one to that superintendent just for the fun of seeing him when he read it. it told the farmers to come around to sloan's lumber yard with their wagons." "and you carried it across in the wagons?" "i guess we did." "isn't it a good ways?" "eighteen to thirty miles, according to who you ask. as soon as things got to going we went after the general manager and gave him a bad half hour; so i shouldn't be surprised to see the rest of the bill coming in by rail any time now." bannon got up and slowly buttoned his coat. he was looking about the office, at the mud-tracked floor and the coated windows, and at the hanging shreds of spider web in the corners and between the rafters overhead. "it ain't a very cheerful house to live in all day, is it?" he said. "i don't know but what we'd better clean house a little. there's not much danger of putting a shine on things that'll hurt your eyes. we ought to be able to get hold of some one that could come in once in a while and stir up the dust. do you know of any one?" "there is a woman that comes to our boarding-house. i think they know about her at the hotel." he went to the telephone and called up the hotel. "she'll be here this afternoon," he said as he hung up the receiver. "will she bring her own scrubbing things, or are we supposed to have them for her? this is some out of my line." miss vogel was smiling. "she'll have her own things, i guess. when she comes, would you like me to start her to work?" "if you'd just as soon. and tell her to make a good job of it. i've got to go out now, but i'll be around off and on during the day." when the noon whistle blew bannon and max were standing near the annex. already the bins and walls had been raised more than a foot above the foundation, which gave it the appearance of a great checker-board. "looks like business, doesn't it," said max. he was a little excited, for now there was to be no more delaying until the elevator should stand completed from the working floor to the top, one hundred and sixty feet above the ground; until engines, conveyors, and scales should be working smoothly and every bin filled with grain. indeed, nearly everybody on the job had by this time caught the spirit of energy that bannon had infused into the work. "i'll be glad when it gets up far enough to look like something, so we can feel that things are really getting on." "they're getting on all right," bannon replied. "how soon will we be working on the cupola?" "tomorrow." "tomorrow!" max stopped (they had started toward the office) and looked at bannon in amazement. "why, we can't do it, can we?" "why not?" bannon pointed toward a cleared space behind the pile of cribbing, where the carpenters had been at work on the heavy timbers, "they're all ready for the framing." max made no reply, but he looked up as they passed the elevator and measured with his eyes the space remaining between the cribbing and the tops of the posts. he had yet to become accustomed to bannon's methods; but he had seen enough of him to believe that it would be done if bannon said so. they were halfway to the office when max said, with a touch of embarrassment:-- "how's hilda going to take hold, mr. bannon?" "first-class." max's eyes sparkled. "she can do anything you give her. her head's as clear as a bell." for the moment bannon made no reply, but as they paused outside the office door he said: "we'd better make a point of dropping in at the office now and then during the day. any time you know i'm out on the job and you're up this way, just look in." max nodded. "and nights when we're working overtime, there won't be any trouble about your getting off long enough to see your sister home. she won't need to do any night work." they entered the office. miss vogel was standing by the railing gate, buttoning her jacket and waiting for max. behind her, bending over the blue prints on the table, stood peterson, apparently too absorbed to hear the two men come in. bannon gave him a curious glance, for no blue prints were needed in working on the annex, which was simply a matter of building bins up from the foundation. when max and his sister had gone the foreman looked around, and said, with a show of surprise:-- "oh, hello, charlie. going up to the house?" "yes." peterson's manner was not wholly natural. as they walked across the flats his conversation was a little forced, and he laughed occasionally at certain occurrences in the morning's work that were not particularly amusing. bannon did not get back to the office until a half hour after work had commenced for the afternoon. he carried a large bundle under one arm and in his hand a wooden box with a slot cut in the cover. he found the scrubwoman hard at work on the office floor. the chair and the unused stool were on the table. he looked about with satisfaction. "it begins to look better already," he said to miss vogel. "you know we're not going to be able to keep it all clean; there'll be too many coming in. but there's going to be a law passed about tracking mud inside the railing." he opened his bundle and unrolled a door mat, which he laid in front of the gate. miss vogel was smiling, but bannon's face was serious. he cut a square piece from the wrapping paper, and sitting on the table, printed the placard: "wipe your feet! or put five cents in the box." then he nailed both box and placard to the railing, and stood back to look at his work. "that will do it," he said. she nodded. "there's no danger that they won't see it." "we had a box down on the new orleans job," said bannon, "only that was for swearing. every time anybody swore he put in a nickel, and then when saturday came around we'd have ten or fifteen dollars to spend." "it didn't stop the swearing, then?" "oh, yes. everybody was broke a day or so after pay day, and for a few days every week it was the best crowd you ever saw. but we won't spend this money that way. i guess we'll let you decide what to do with it." hour by hour the piles of cribbing dwindled, and on the elevator the distance from bin walls to post-tops grew shorter. before five o'clock the last planks were spiked home on the walls and bins in the northwest corner. a few hours' work in the morning would bring the rest of the house to the same level, and then work could commence on the distributing floor and on the frame of the cupola. before the middle of the afternoon he had started two teams of horses dragging the cupola timbers, which had been cut ready for framing, to the foot of the hoist. by ten o'clock in the morning, bannon figured, the engine would be lifting timbers instead of bundles of cribbing. there was a chill wind, up there on the top of the elevator, coming across the flats out of the glowing sunset. but bannon let his coat flap open, as he gave a hand now and then to help the men. he liked to feel the wind tugging at sleeves and cap, and he leaned against it, bare-throated and bare-handed--bareheaded, too, he would have been had not a carpenter, rods away on the cribbing, put out a hand to catch his cap as it tried to whirl past on a gust. the river wound away toward the lake, touched with the color of the sky, to lose itself half a mile away among the straggling rows of factories and rolling mills. from the splendid crimson of the western sky to the broken horizon line of south chicago, whose buildings hid lake michigan, the air was crisp and clear; but on the north, over the dim shops and blocks of houses that grew closer together as the eye went on, until spires and towers and gray walls were massed in confusion, hung a veil of smoke, like a black cloud, spreading away farther than eye could see. this was chicago. bannon climbed to the ground and took a last look about the work before going to the office. the annex was growing slowly but surely; and peterson, coatless and hatless as usual, with sleeves rolled up, was at work with the men, swinging a hammer here, impatiently shouldering a bundle of planks there. and bannon saw more clearly what he had known before, that peterson was a good man when kept within his limitations. certainly the annex could not have been better started. when bannon entered the office, miss vogel handed him a sheet of paper. he came in through the gate and stood at the desk beside her to have the light of the lamp. it was a balance sheet, giving the results of her examination of the books. "all right, eh?" he said. a glance had been enough to show him that hereafter there would be no confusion in the books; the cashier of a metropolitan bank could not have issued a more businesslike statement. he tossed it on the desk, saying, "you might file it." then he took time to look about the office. it was as clean as blackened, splintered planks could be made; even the ceiling had been attacked and every trace of cobweb removed. "well," he said, "this is business. and we'll keep it this way, too." she had faced about on the stool and was looking at him with a twinkle in her eye. "yes," she said, evidently trying not to laugh; "we'll try to." he was not looking at her as she spoke, but when, a moment later, the laugh broke away from her, he turned. she was looking at his feet. he glanced down and saw a row of black footprints leading from the door to where he stood, one of them squarely in the centre of the new mat. he gazed ruefully, then he reached into his pocket and drew out a quarter, dropping it in the box. "well--" he said, wiping his feet; but the whistle just then gave a long blast, and he did not finish the sentence. after supper bannon and peterson sat in the room they occupied together. in the walk home and during supper there had been the same sullen manner about the younger man that bannon had observed at noon. half a day was a long time for peterson to keep to himself something that bothered him, and before the close of dinner he had begun working the talk around. now, after a long silence, that bannon filled with sharpening pencils, he said: "some people think a lot of themselves, don't they, charlie?" bannon looked up from his pencils; he was sitting on the edge of the bed. "she seems to think she's better'n max and you and me, and everybody. i thought she looked pretty civil, and i didn't say a word she need to have got stuck-up about." bannon asked no questions. after waiting to give him an opportunity, peterson went on:-- "there's going to be a picnic sunday of the iron workers up at sharpshooters' park. i know a fellow that has tickets. it'd be just as quiet as anywhere--and speeches, you know. i don't see that she's any better than a lot of the girls that'll be there." "do you mean to say you asked her to go?" bannon asked. "yes, and she--" bannon had turned away to strop his razor on his hand, and peterson, after one or two attempts to begin the story, let the subject drop. chapter vii bannon had the knack of commanding men. he knew the difference between an isolated--or better, perhaps, an insulated--man and the same man in a crowd. without knowing how he did it, he could, nevertheless, distinguish between the signs of temporary ill feeling among the men and the perhaps less apparent danger signal that meant serious mischief. since his first day on the job the attitude of the men had worried him a little. there was something in the air he did not like. peterson, accustomed to handling smaller bodies of men, had made the natural mistake of driving the very large force employed on the elevator with much too loose a rein. the men were still further demoralized by the episode with the walking delegate, grady, on thursday night. bannon knew too much to attempt halfway measures, so he waited for a case of insubordination serious enough to call for severe treatment. when he happened into the office about the middle of saturday morning, miss vogel handed him two letters addressed to him personally. one was from brown,--the last paragraph of it as follows:-- young page has told macbride in so many words what we've all been guessing about, that is, that they are fighting to break the corner in december wheat. they have a tremendous short line on the chicago board, and they mean to deliver it. twenty two hundred thousand has got to be in the bins there at calumet before the first of january unless the day of judgment happens along before then. never mind what it costs you. brown. p.s. macbride has got down an atlas and is trying to figure out how you got that cribbing to the lake. i told him you put the barge on rollers and towed it up to ledyard with a traction engine. the letter from sloan was to the effect that twelve cars were at that moment on the yard siding, loading with cribbing, and that all of it, something more than eighteen hundred thousand feet, would probably be in chicago within a week. a note was scribbled on the margin in sloan's handwriting. "those fool farmers are still coming in expecting a job. one is out in the yard now. came clear from victory. i've had to send out a man to take down the posters." "that's just like a farmer," bannon said to miss vogel. "time don't count with him. tomorrow morning or two weeks from next tuesday--he can't see the difference. i suppose if one of those posters on an inconspicuous tree happens to be overlooked that some old fellow'll come driving in next fourth of july." he buttoned his coat as though going out, but stood looking at her thoughtfully awhile. "all the same," he said, "i'd like to be that way myself; never do anything till tomorrow. i'm going to turn farmer some day. once i get this job done, i'd like to see the man who can hurry me. i'll say to macbride: 'i'm willing to work on nice, quiet, easy little jobs that never have to be finished. i'll want to sit at the desk and whittle most of the time. but if you ever try to put me on a rush job i'll quit and buy a small farm.' i could make the laziest farmer in twelve states. well, i've got to go out on the job." an elevator is simply a big grain warehouse, and of course the bins where the grain is kept occupy most of the building. but for handling the grain more than bin room is necessary. beneath the bins is what is called the working story, where is the machinery for unloading cars and for lifting the grain. the cupola, which bannon was about to frame, is a five-story building perched atop the bins. it contains the appliances for weighing the grain and distributing it. when bannon climbed out on top of the bins, he found the carpenters partially flooring over the area, preparatory to putting in place the framework of the cupola. below them in the bins, like bees in a honeycomb, laborers were taking down the scaffolding which had served in building their walls. at the south side of the building a group of laborers, under one of the foremen, was rigging what is known as a boom hoist, which was to lift the timbers for framing the cupola. while bannon stood watching the carpenters, one of them sawed off the end of a plank and dropped it down into the bin. there was a low laugh, and one or two of the men glanced uneasily at bannon. he spoke to the offender. "don't do that again if you want to stay on this job. you know there are men at work down there." then: "look here," he called, getting the attention of all the carpenters, "every man that drops anything into the bins gets docked an hour's pay. if he does it twice he leaves the job just as quick as we can make out a time-check. i want you to be careful." he was picking his way over to the group of men about the hoisting pole, when he heard another general laugh from the carpenters. turning back he saw them all looking at a fellow named reilly, who, trying to suppress a smile, was peering with mock concern down into the dark bin. "my hammer slipped," bannon heard him say in a loud aside to the man nearest him. then, with a laugh: "accidents will happen." bannon almost smiled himself, for the man had played right into his hand. he had, in the four days since he took command, already become aware of reilly and had put him down for the sort ambitious to rise rather in the organization of his union than in his trade. "i guess we won't take the trouble to dock you," he said. "go to the office and get your time. and be quick about it, too." "did ye mean me?" the man asked impudently, but bannon, without heeding, went over to the hoist. presently a rough hand fell on his shoulder. "say," demanded reilly again, "did ye mean me?" "no doubt of that. go and get your time." "i guess not," said the man. "not me. my hammer just slipped. how're you going to prove i meant to do it?" "i'm not. i'm going to fire you. you ain't laid off, you understand; you're fired. if you ever come back, i'll have you kicked off the place." "you don't dare fire me," the man said, coming nearer. "you'll have to take me back tomorrow." "i'm through talking with you," said bannon, still quietly. "the faster you can light out of here the better." "we'll see about that. you can't come it on the union that way--" then, without any preparatory gesture whatever, bannon knocked him down. the man seemed to fairly rebound from the floor. he rushed at the boss, but before he could come within striking distance, bannon whipped out a revolver and dropped it level with reilly's face. "i've talked to you," he said slowly, his eye blazing along the barrel, "and i've knocked you down. but--" the man staggered back, then walked away very pale, but muttering. bannon shoved back the revolver into his hip pocket. "it's all right, boys," he said, "nothing to get excited about." he walked to the edge and looked over. "we can't wait to pick it up a stick at a time," he said. "i'll tell 'em to load four or five on each larry. then you can lift the whole bunch." "we run some chances of a spill or a break that way," said the foreman. "i know it," answered bannon, dryly. "that's the kind of chances we'll have to run for the next two months." descending to the ground, he gave the same order to the men below; then he sent word to peterson and vogel that he wished to see them in the office. he wiped his feet on the mat, glancing at hilda as he did so, but she was hard at work and did not look up. he took the one unoccupied chair and placed it where he could watch the burnished light in her red hair. presently she turned toward him. "did you want something?" she asked. "excuse me. i guess--i--" in the midst of his embarrassment, max and pete came in. "i've got a couple of letters i want to talk over with you boys," he said. "that's why i sent for you." pete laughed and vaulted to a seat on the draughting-table. "i was most afraid to come," he said. "i heard you drawed a gun on that fellow, reilly. what was he doing to make you mad?" "nothing much." "well, i'm glad you fired him. he's made trouble right along. how'd it happen you had a gun with you? do you always carry one?" "haven't been without one on a job since i've worked for the old man." "well," said pete, straightening up, "i've never so much as owned one, and i never want to. i don't like 'em. if my fists ain't good enough to take care of me against any fellow that comes along, why, he's welcome to lick me, that's all." hilda glanced at him, and for a moment her eyes rested on his figure. there was not a line of it but showed grace and strength and a magnificent confidence. then, as if for the contrast, she looked at bannon. he had been watching her all the while, and he seemed to guess her thought. "that's all right," he said in answer to peterson, "when it's just you and him and a fellow to hold your coats. but it don't always begin that way. i've been in places where things got pretty miscellaneous sometimes, but i never had a man come up and say: 'mr. bannon, i'm going to lick you. any time when you're ready.' there's generally from three to thirty, and they all try to get on your back." peterson laughed reminiscently. "i was an attendant in the insane ward of the massachusetts general hospital for a while, and one time when i wasn't looking for it, twenty four of those lunatics all jumped on me at once. they got me on the floor and 'most killed me." he paused, as though there was nothing more to tell. "don't stop there," said max. "why," he went on, "i crawled along the floor till i got to a chair, and i just knocked 'em around with that till they was quiet." bannon looked at his watch; then he took brown's letter from his pocket. "it's from the office," he said. "we've got to have the bins full before new year's day." "got to!" exclaimed pete. "i don't see it that way. we can't do it." "can or can't, that don't interest macbride a bit. he says it's got to be done and it has." "why, he can't expect us to do it. he didn't say anything about january first to me. i didn't know it was a rush job. and then we played in hard luck, too, before you came. that cribbing being tied up, for instance. he certainly can't blame us if--" "that's got nothing to do with it," bannon cut in shortly. "he don't pay us to make excuses; he pays us to do as we're told. when i have to begin explaining to macbride why it can't be done, i'll send my resignation along in a separate envelope and go to peddling a cure for corns. what we want to talk about is how we're going to do it." peterson flushed, but said nothing, and bannon went on: "now, here's what we've got to do. we've got to frame the cupola and put on the roof and sheathe the entire house with galvanized iron; we've got to finish the spouting house and sheathe that; we've got to build the belt gallery--and we'll have no end of a time doing it if the c. & s. c. is still looking for trouble. then there's all the machinery to erect and the millwright work to do. and we've got to build the annex." "i thought you was going to forget that," said pete. "that's the worst job of all." "no, it ain't. it's the easiest. it'll build itself. it's just a case of two and two makes four. all you've got to do is spike down two-inch planks till it's done, and then clap on some sort of a roof. there's no machinery, no details, just straight work. it's just a question of having the lumber to do it with, and we've got it now. it's the little work that can raise ned with you. there is more than a million little things that any man ought to do in half an hour, but if one of 'em goes wrong, it may hold you up for all day. now, i figure the business this way." he took a memorandum from his pocket and began reading. there was very little guesswork about it; he had set down as nearly as possible the amount of labor involved in each separate piece of construction, and the number of men who could work on it at once. allowing for the different kinds of work that could be done simultaneously, he made out a total of one hundred and twenty days. "well, that's all right, i guess," said pete, "but you see that takes us way along into next year sometime." "about march first," said max. "you haven't divided by three yet," said bannon. "we'll get three eight-hour days into every twenty-four hours, and twenty-one of 'em into every week." "why, that's better than we need to do," said pete, after a moment. "that gets us about two weeks ahead of time." "did you ever get through when you thought you would?" bannon demanded. "i never did. don't you know that you always get hit by something you ain't looking for? i'm figuring in our hard-luck margin, that's all. there are some things i am looking for, too. we'll have a strike here before we get through." "oh, i guess not," said pete, easily. "you're still thinking of reilly, aren't you." "and for another thing, page & company are likely to spring something on us at the last moment." "what sort of thing?" "if i knew i'd go ahead and build it now, but i don't." "how are you going to work three gangs? who'll look after'em?" "one of us has got to stay up nights, i guess," said bannon. "we'll have to get a couple of boys to help max keep time. it may take us a day or two to get the good men divided up and the thing to running properly, but we ought to be going full blast by the first of the week." he arose and buttoned his coat. "you two know the men better than i do. i wish you'd go through the pay roll and pick out the best men and find out, if you can, who'll work nights at regular night wages." peterson came out of the office with him. "i suppose you'll put me in the night gang," he said. "i haven't decided yet what i'll do." "when i came by the main hoist," pete went on, "they was picking up four and five sticks at once. i stopped 'em, and they said it was your orders. you'll come to smash that way, sure as a gun." "not if they don't take more than i told 'em to and if they're careful. they have to do it to keep up with the carpenters." "well, it's running a big risk, that's all. i don't like it." "my god, don't i know it's a risk! do you suppose i like it? we've got something to do, and we've got to do it somehow." pete laughed uneasily. "i--i told 'em not to pick up more than two sticks at a time till they heard from me." "i think," said bannon, with a look that was new to pete, "i think you'd better go as fast as you can and tell them to go on as they were when you found them." late on tuesday afternoon the hoist broke. it was not easy to get from the men a clear account of the accident. the boss of the gang denied that he had carried more of a load than bannon had authorized, but some of the talk among the men indicated the contrary. only one man was injured and he not fatally, a piece of almost miraculous good luck. some scaffolding was torn down and a couple of timbers badly sprung, but the total damage was really slight. bannon in person superintended rigging the new hoist. it was ready for work within two hours after the accident. "she's guyed a little better than the other was, i think," said bannon to the foreman. "you won't have any more trouble. go ahead." "how about the load?" "carry the same load as before. you weren't any more than keeping up." chapter viii five minutes after the noon whistle blew, on saturday, every carpenter and laborer knew that bannon had "pulled a gun" on reilly. those who heard it last heard more than that, for when the story had passed through a few hands it was bigger and it took longer to tell. and every man, during the afternoon, kept his eyes more closely on his work. some were angry, but these dropped from muttering into sullenness; the majority were relieved, for a good workman is surer of himself under a firm than under a slack hand; but all were cowed. and bannon, when after dinner he looked over the work, knew more about all of them and their feelings, perhaps, than they knew themselves. he knew, too, that the incident might in the long run make trouble. but trouble was likely in any case, and it was better to meet it after he had established his authority than while discipline was at loose ends. but hilda and max were disappointed. they were in the habit of talking over the incidents and problems of the day every night after supper. and while hilda, as max used to say, had a mind of her own, she had fallen into the habit of seeing things much as max saw them. max had from the start admired, in his boyish way, peterson's big muscles and his easy good nature. he had been the first to catch the new spirit that bannon had got into the work, but it was more the outward activity that he could understand and admire than bannon's finer achievements in organization. like hilda, he did not see the difference between dropping a hammer down a bin and overloading a hoist. bannon's distinction between running risks in order to push the work and using caution in minor matters was not recognized in their talks. and as bannon was not in the habit of giving his reasons, the misunderstanding grew. but more than all max felt, and in a way hilda felt, too, that peterson would never have found it necessary to use a revolver; his fists would have been enough for a dozen reillys. max did not tell hilda about all the conversations he and peterson had had during the last week, for they were confidential. peterson had never been without a confidant, and though he still shared a room with bannon, he could not talk his mind out with him. max, who to bannon was merely an unusually capable lumber-checker, was to peterson a friend and adviser. and though max tried to defend bannon when peterson fell into criticism of the way the work was going, he was influenced by it. during the few days after the accident hilda was so deeply distressed about the injured man that max finally went to see him. "he's pretty well taken care of," he said when he returned. "there's some ribs broken, he says, and a little fever, but it ain't serious. he's got a couple of sneaking little lawyers around trying to get him to sue for damages, but i don't think he'll do it. the company's giving him full pay and all his doctor's bills." nearly every evening after that max took him some little delicacy. hilda made him promise that he would not tell who sent them. bannon had quickly caught the changed attitude toward him, and for several days kept his own counsel. but one morning, after dictating some letters to hilda, he lingered. "how's our fund getting on?" he said, smiling. "have you looked lately?" "no," she said, "i haven't." he leaned over the railing and opened the box. "it's coming slow," he said, shaking his head. "are you sure nobody's been getting away from us?" hilda was seated before the typewriter. she turned partly around, without taking her ringers from the keys. "i don't know," she said quietly. "i haven't been watching it." "we'll have to be stricter about it," said bannon. "these fellows have got to understand that rules are rules." he spoke with a little laugh, but the remark was unfortunate. the only men who came within the railing were max and peterson. "i may have forgotten it, myself," she said. "that won't do, you know. i don't know but what i can let you off this time--i'll tell you what i'll do, miss vogel: i'll make a new rule that you can come in without wiping your feet if you'll hand in a written excuse. that's the way they did things when i went to school." he turned to go, then hesitated again. "you haven't been out on the job yet, have you?" "no, i haven't." "i rather think you'd like it. it's pretty work, now that we're framing the cupola. if you say so, i'll fix it for you to go up to the distributing floor this afternoon." she looked back at the machine. "the view ain't bad," he went on, "when you get up there. you can see down into indiana, and all around. you could see all chicago, too, if it wasn't for the smoke." there was a moment's silence. "why, yes, mr. bannon," she said; "i'd like to go very much." "all right," he replied, his smile returning. "i'll guarantee to get you up there somehow, if i have to build a stairway. ninety feet's pretty high, you know." when bannon reached the elevator he stood for a moment in the well at the west end of the structure. this well, or "stairway bin," sixteen by thirty-two feet, and open from the ground to the distributing floor, occupied the space of two bins. it was here that the stairway would be, and the passenger elevator, and the rope-drive for the transmission of power from the working to the distributing floor. the stairway was barely indicated by rude landings. for the present a series of eight ladders zigzagged up from landing to landing. bannon began climbing; halfway up he met max, who was coming down, time book in hand. "look here, max," he said, "we're going to have visitors this afternoon. if you've got a little extra time i'd like to have you help get things ready." "all right," max replied. "i'm not crowded very hard today." "i've asked your sister to come up and see the framing." max glanced down between the loose boards on the landing. "i don't know," he said slowly; "i don't believe she could climb up here very well." "she won't have to. i'm going to put in a passenger elevator, and carry her up as grand as the palmer house. you put in your odd minutes between now and three o'clock making a box that's big and strong enough." max grinned. "say, that's all right. she'll like that. i can do most of it at noon." bannon nodded and went on up the ladders. at the distributing floor he looked about for a long timber, and had the laborers lay it across the well opening. the ladders and landings occupied only about a third of the space; the rest was open, a clear drop of eighty feet. at noon he found max in an open space behind the office, screwing iron rings into the corners of a stout box. max glanced up and laughed. "i made hilda promise not to come out here," he said. he waved his hand toward the back wall of the office. bannon saw that he had nailed strips over the larger cracks and knot holes. "she was peeking, but i shut that off before i'd got very far along. i don't think she saw what it was. i only had part of the frame done." "she'll be coming out in a minute," said bannon. "i know. i thought of that." max threw an armful of burlap sacking over the box. "that'll cover it up enough. i guess it's time to quit, anyway, if i'm going to get any dinner. there's a little square of carpet up to the house that i'm going to get for the bottom, and we can run pieces of half-inch rope from the rings up to a hook, and sling it right on the hoist." "it's not going on the hoist," said bannon. "i wouldn't stop the timbers for mr. macbride himself. when you go back, you'll see a timber on the top of the well. i'd like you to sling a block under it and run an inch-and-a-quarter rope through. we'll haul it up from below." "what power?" "man power." "all right, mr. bannon. i'll see to it. there's hilda now." he called to her to wait while he got his coat, and then the two disappeared across the tracks. hilda had bowed to bannon, but without the smile and the nod that he liked. he looked after her as if he would follow; but he changed his mind, and waited a few minutes. the "elevator" was ready soon after the afternoon's work had commenced. bannon found time between two and three o'clock to inspect the tackle. he picked up an end of rope and lashed the cross timber down securely. then he went down the ladders and found max, who had brought the carpet for the box and was looking over his work. the rope led up to the top of the well through a pulley and then back to the working floor and through another pulley, so that the box could be hoisted from below. "it's all ready," said max. "it'll run up as smooth as you want." "you'd better go for your sister, then," bannon replied. max hesitated. "you meant for me to bring her?" "yes, i guess you might as well." bannon stood looking after max as he walked along the railroad track out into the open air. then he glanced up between the smooth walls of cribbing that seemed to draw closer and closer together until they ended, far overhead, in a rectangle of blue sky. the beam across the top was a black line against the light. the rope, hanging from it, swayed lazily. he walked around the box, examining the rings and the four corner ropes, and testing them. hilda was laughing when she came with max along the track. bannon could not see her at first for the intervening rows of timbers that supported the bins. then she came into view through an opening between two "bents" of timber, beyond a heap of rubbish that had been thrown at one side of the track. she was trying to walk on the rail, one arm thrown out to balance, the other resting across max's shoulders. her jacket was buttoned snugly up to the chin, and there was a fresh color in her face. bannon had called in three laborers to man the rope; they stood at one side, awaiting the order to haul away. he found a block of wood, and set it against the box for a step. "this way, miss vogel," he called. "the elevator starts in a minute. you came pretty near being late." "am i going to get in that?" she asked; and she looked up, with a little gasp, along the dwindling rope. "here," said max, "don't you say nothing against that elevator. i call it pretty grand." she stood on the block, holding to one of the ropes, and looking alternately into the box and up to the narrow sky above them. "it's awfully high," she said. "is that little stick up there all that's going to hold me up?" "that little stick is ten-by-twelve," max replied. "it would hold more'n a dozen of you." she laughed, but still hesitated. she lowered her eyes and looked about the great dim space of the working story with its long aisles and its solid masses of timber. suddenly she turned to bannon, who was standing at her side, waiting to give her a hand. "oh, mr. bannon," she said, "are you sure it's strong enough? it doesn't look safe." "i think it's safe," he replied quietly. he vaulted into the box and signalled to the laborers. hilda stepped back off the block as he went up perhaps a third of the way, and then came down. she said nothing, but stepped on the block. "how shall i get in?" she asked, laughing a little, but not looking at bannon. "here," said bannon, "give us each a hand. a little jump'll do it. max here'll go along the ladders and steady you if you swing too much. wait a minute, though." he hurried out of doors, and returned with a light line, one end of which he made fast to the box, the other he gave to max. "now," he said, "you can guide it as nice as walking upstairs." they started up, hilda sitting in the box and holding tightly to the sides, max climbing the ladders with the end of the line about his wrist. bannon joined the laborers, and kept a hand on the hoisting rope. "you'd better not look down," he called after her. she laughed and shook her head. bannon waited until they had reached the top, and max had lifted her out on the last landing; then, at max's shout, he made the rope fast and followed up the ladders. he found them waiting for him near the top of the well. "we might as well sit down," he said. he led the way to a timber a few steps away. "well, miss vogel, how do you like it?" she was looking eagerly about; at the frame, a great skeleton of new timber, some of it still holding so much of the water of river and mill-yard that it glistened in the sunlight; at the moving groups of men, the figure of peterson standing out above the others on a high girder, his arms knotted, and his neck bare, though the day was not warm; at the straining hoist, trembling with each new load that came swinging from somewhere below, to be hustled off to its place, stick by stick; and then out into the west, where the november sun was dropping, and around at the hazy flats and the strip of a river. she drew in her breath quickly, and looked up at bannon with a nervous little gesture. "i like it," she finally said, after a long silence, during which they had watched a big stick go up on one of the small hoists, to be swung into place and driven home on the dowel pins by peterson's sledge. "isn't pete a hummer?" said max. "i never yet saw him take hold of a thing that was too much for him." neither hilda nor bannon replied to this, and there was another silence. "would you like to walk around and see things closer to?" bannon asked, turning to miss vogel. "i wouldn't mind. it's rather cold, sitting still." he led the way along one side of the structure, guiding her carefully in places where the flooring was not yet secure. "i'm glad you came up," he said. "a good many people think there's nothing in this kind of work but just sawing wood and making money for somebody up in minneapolis. but it isn't that way. it's pretty, and sometimes it's exciting; and things happen every little while that are interesting enough to tell to anybody, if people only knew it. i'll have you come up a little later, when we get the house built and the machinery coming in. that's when we'll have things really moving. there'll be some fun putting up the belt gallery, too. that'll be over here on the other side." he turned to lead the way across the floor to the north side of the building. they had stopped a little way from the boom hoist, and she was standing motionless, watching as the boom swung out and the rope rattled to the ground. there was the purring of the engine far below, the straining of the rope, and the creaking of the blocks as the heavy load came slowly up. gangs of men were waiting to take the timbers the moment they reached the floor. the foreman of the hoist gang was leaning out over the edge, looking down and shouting orders. hilda turned with a little start and saw that bannon was waiting for her. following him, she picked her way between piles of planks and timber, and between groups of laborers and carpenters, to the other side. now they could look down at the four tracks of the c. & s. c, the unfinished spouting house on the wharf, and the river. "here's where the belt gallery will go," he said, pointing downward: "right over the tracks to the spouting house. they carry the grain on endless belts, you know." "doesn't it ever fall off?" "not a kernel. it's pretty to watch. when she gets to running we'll come up some day and look at it." they walked slowly back toward the well. before they reached it peterson and max joined them. peterson had rolled down his sleeves and put on his coat. "you ain't going down now, are you?" he said. "we'll be starting in pretty soon on some of the heavy framing. this is just putting in girders." he was speaking directly to miss vogel, but he made an effort to include bannon in the conversation by an awkward movement of his head. this stiffness in peterson's manner when bannon was within hearing had been growing more noticeable during the past few days. "don't you think of going yet," he continued, with a nervous laugh, for hilda was moving on. "she needn't be in such a rush to get to work, eh, charlie?" hilda did not give bannon a chance to reply. "thank you very much, mr. peterson," she said, smiling, "but i must go back, really. maybe you'll tell me some day when you're going to do something special, so i can come up again." peterson's disappointment was so frankly shown in his face that she smiled again. "i've enjoyed it very much," she said. she was still looking at peterson, but at the last word she turned to include bannon, as if she had suddenly remembered that he was in the party. there was an uncomfortable feeling, shown by all in their silence and in their groping about for something to say. "i'll go ahead and clear the track," said bannon. "i'll holler up to you, max, when we're ready down below." "here," said max, "let me go down." but bannon had already started down the first ladder. "the next time you come to visit us, miss vogel," he called back, "i guess we'll have our real elevator in, and we can run you up so fast it'll take your breath away. we'll be real swells here yet." when he reached the working floor, he called in the laborers and shouted to max. but when the box, slowly descending, appeared below the bin walls, it was peterson who held the line and chatted with hilda as he steadied her. the next day a lot of cribbing came from ledyard, and bannon at once set about reorganizing his forces so that work could go on night and day. he and peterson would divide the time equally into twelve-hour days; but three divisions were necessary for the men, the morning shift working from midnight until eight o'clock, the day shift from eight to four, and the night shift from four to midnight. finally, when the whistle blew, at noon, bannon tipped back his chair and pushed his hat back on his head. "well," he said, "that's fixed." "when will we begin on it?" peterson asked. "today. have the whistle blow at four. it'll make some of the men work overtime today, but we'll pay them for it." miss vogel was putting on her jacket. before joining max, who was waiting at the door, she asked:-- "do you want me to make any change in my work, mr. bannon?" "no, you'd better go ahead just as you are. we won't try to cut you up into three shifts yet awhile. we can do what letters and accounts we have in the daytime." she nodded and left the office. all through the morning's work peterson had worn a heavy, puzzled expression, and now that they had finished, he seemed unable to throw it off. bannon, who had risen and was reaching for his ulster, which he had thrown over the railing, looked around at him. "you and i'll have to make twelve-hour days of it, you know," he said. he knew, from his quick glance and the expression almost of relief that came over his face, that this was what peterson had been waiting for. "you'd better come on in the evening, if it's all the same to you--at seven. i'll take it in the morning and keep an eye on it during the day." peterson's eyes had lowered at the first words. he swung one leg over the other and picked up the list of carpenters that max had made out, pretending to examine it. bannon was not watching him closely, but he could have read the thoughts behind that sullen face. if their misunderstanding had arisen from business conditions alone, bannon would have talked out plainly. but now that hilda had come between them, and particularly that it was all so vague--a matter of feeling, and not at all of reason--he had decided to say nothing. it was important that he should control the work during the day, and coming on at seven in the morning, he would have a hand on the work of all three shifts. he knew that peterson would not see it reasonably; that he would think it was done to keep him away from hilda. he stood leaning against the gate to keep it open, buttoning his ulster. "coming on up to the house, pete?" peterson got down off the railing. "so you're going to put me on the night shift," he said, almost as a child would have said it. "i guess that's the way it's got to work out," bannon replied. "coming up?" "no--not yet. i'll be along pretty soon." bannon started toward the door, but turned with a snap of his finger. "oh, while we're at it, pete--you'd better tell max to get those men to keep time for the night shifts." "you mean you want him to go on with you in the daytime?" "that's just as he likes. but i guess he'll want to be around while his sister is here. you see about that after lunch, will you?" peterson came in while bannon was eating his dinner and stayed after he had gone. in the evening, when he returned to the house for his supper, after arranging with peterson to share the first night's work, bannon found that the foreman's clothes and grip had been taken from the room. on the stairs he met the landlady, and asked her if mr. peterson had moved. "yes," she replied; "he took his things away this noon. i'm sorry he's gone, for he was a good young man. he never give me any trouble like some of the men do that's been here. the trouble with most of them is that they get drunk on pay-days and come home simply disgusting." bannon passed on without comment. during the evening he saw peterson on the distributing floor, helping the man from the electric light company rig up a new arc light. his expression when he caught sight of bannon, sullen and defiant, yet showing a great effort to appear natural, was the only explanation needed of how matters stood between them. it took a few days to get the new system to running smoothly--new carpenters and laborers had to be taken on, and new foremen worked into their duties--but it proved to be less difficult than max and hilda had supposed from what peterson had to say about the conduct of the work. the men all worked better than before; each new move of bannon's seemed to infuse more vigor and energy into the work; and the cupola and annex began rapidly, as max said, "to look like something." bannon was on hand all day, and frequently during a large part of the night. he had a way of appearing at any hour to look at the work and keep it moving. max, after hearing the day men repeat what the night men had to tell of the boss and his work, said to his sister: "honest, hilda, i don't see how he does it. i don't believe he ever takes his clothes off." chapter ix the direct result of the episode with the carpenter reilly was insignificant. he did not attempt to make good his boast that he would be back at work next day, and when he did appear, on wednesday of the next week, his bleared eyes and dilapidated air made the reason plain enough. a business agent of his union was with him; bannon found them in the office. he nodded to the delegate. "sit down," he said. then he turned to reilly. "i don't ask you to do the same. you're not wanted on the premises. i told you once before that i was through talking." reilly started to reply, but his companion checked him. "that's all right," he said. "i know your side of it. wait for me up by the car line." when reilly had gone bannon repeated his invitation to sit down. "you probably know why i've come," the delegate began. "mr. reilly has charged you with treating him unjustly and with drawing a revolver on him. of course, in a case like this, we try to get at both sides before we take any action. would you give me your account of it?" bannon told in twenty words just how it had happened. the agent said cautiously: "reilly told another story." "i suppose so. now, i don't ask you to take my word against his. if you'd like to investigate the business, i'll give you all the opportunity you want." "if we find that he did drop the hammer by accident, would you be willing to take him back?" bannon smiled. "there's no use in my telling you what i'll do till you tell me what you want me to do, is there?" bannon held out his hand when the man rose to go. "any time you think there's something wrong out here, or anything you don't understand, come out and we'll talk it over. i treat a man as well as i can, if he's square with me." he walked to the door with the agent and closed it after him. as he turned back to the draughting table, he found hilda's eyes on him. "they're very clean chaps, mostly, those walking delegates," he said. "if you treat 'em half as well as you'd treat a yellow dog, they're likely to be very reasonable. if one of 'em does happen to be a rascal, though, he's meaner to handle than frozen dynamite. i expect to be white-headed before i'm through with that man grady." "is he a rascal?" she asked. "he's as bad as you find 'em. even if he'd been handled right--" bannon broke off abruptly and began turning over the blue prints. "suppose i'd better see how this next story looks," he said. hilda had heard how pete had dealt with grady at their first meeting, and she could complete the broken sentence. bannon never heard whether the agent from the carpenters' union had looked further into reilly's case, but he was not asked to take him back on the pay roll. but that was not the end of the incident. coming out on the distributing floor just before noon on thursday, he found grady in the act of delivering an impassioned oration to the group of laborers about the hoist. before grady saw him, bannon had come near enough to hear something about being "driven at the point of a pistol." the speech came suddenly to an end when grady, following the glances of his auditors, turned and saw who was coming. bannon noted with satisfaction the scared look of appeal which he turned, for a second, toward the men. it was good to know that grady was something of a coward. bannon nodded to him pleasantly enough. "how are you, grady?" he said. seeing that he was in no danger, the delegate threw back his shoulders, held up his head, and, frowning in an important manner, he returned bannon's greeting with the scantest civility. bannon walked up and stood beside him. "if you can spare the time," he said politely, "i'd like to see you at the office for a while." convinced now that bannon was doing everything in his power to conciliate him, grady grew more important. "very well," he said; "when i've got through up here, ye can see me if ye like." "all right," said bannon, patiently; "no hurry." during the full torrent of grady's eloquence the work had not actually been interrupted. the big boom bearing its load of timber swept in over the distributing floor with unbroken regularity; but the men had worked with only half their minds and had given as close attention as they dared to the delegate's fervid utterances. but from the moment bannon appeared there had been a marked change in the attitude of the little audience; they steered the hoist and canted the timbers about with a sudden enthusiasm which made bannon smile a little as he stood watching them. grady could not pump up a word to say. he cleared his throat loudly once or twice, but the men ignored him utterly. he kept casting his shifty little sidewise glances at the boss, wondering why he didn't go away, but bannon continued to stand there, giving an occasional direction, and watching the progress of the work with much satisfaction. the little delegate shifted his weight from one foot to the other and cleared his throat again. then he saw that two or three of the men were grinning. that was too much. "well, i'll go with you," he snapped. bannon could not be sure how much of an impression grady's big words and his ridiculous assumption of importance had made upon the men, but he determined to counteract it as thoroughly as possible, then and there. it was a sort of gallery play that he had decided on, but he felt sure it would prove effective. grady turned to go down as he had come up, by the ladders, but bannon caught him by the shoulder, saying with a laugh: "oh, don't waste your time walking. take the elevator." his tone was friendly but his grip was like a man-trap, and he was propelling grady straight toward the edge of the building. four big timbers had just come up and bannon caught the released rope as it came trailing by. "here," he said; "put your foot in the hook and hang on, and you'll come down in no time." grady laughed nervously. "no you don't. i suppose you'd be glad to get rid of me that way. you don't come that on me." the men were watching with interest; bannon raised his voice a little. "all right," he said, thrusting his foot into the great hook, "if you feel that way about it. we'll have a regular passenger elevator in here by and by, with an electric bell and sliding door, for the capitalist crowd that are going to own the place. but we workingmen get along all right on this. swing off, boys." he waited for grady down below. it mattered very little to him now whether the walking delegate chose to follow him down the hoist or to walk down on the ladders, for every one had seen that grady was afraid. bannon had seen all the men grinning broadly as he began his descent, and that was all he wanted. evidently grady's fear of the rope was less than his dread of the ridicule of the men, for bannon saw him preparing to come down after the next load. he took a long time getting ready, but at last they started him. he was the color of a handful of waste when he reached the ground, and he staggered as he walked with bannon over to the office. he dropped into a chair and rubbed his forehead with his coat-sleeve. "well," said bannon, "do you like the look of things? i hope you didn't find anything out of the way?" "do you dare ask me that?" grady began. his voice was weak at first, but as his giddiness passed away it arose again to its own inimitable oratorical level. "do you dare pretend that you are treating these men right? who gave you the right to decide that this man shall live and this man shall die, and that this poor fellow who asks no more than to be allowed to earn his honest living with his honest sweat shall be stricken down with two broken ribs?" "i don't know," said bannon. "you're speaking of the hoist accident, i suppose. well, go and ask that man if he has any complaint to make. if he has, come and let me know about it." "they call this a free country, and yet you oppressors can compel men to risk their lives--" "have you any changes to suggest in the way that hoist is rigged?" bannon cut in quietly. "you've been inspecting it. what did you think was unsafe about it?" grady was getting ready for his next outburst, but bannon prevented him. "there ain't many jobs, if you leave out tacking down carpets, where a man don't risk his life more or less. macbride don't compel men to risk their lives; he pays 'em for doing it, and you can bet he's done it himself. we don't like it, but it's necessary. now, if you saw men out there taking risks that you think are unnecessary, why, say so, and we'll talk it over." "there's another thing you've got to answer for, mr. bannon. these are free men that are devoting their honest labor to you. you may think you're a slave driver, but you aren't. you may flourish your revolver in the faces of slaves, but free american citizens will resent it--" "mr. grady, the man i drew a gun on was a carpenter. his own union is looking after him. he had thrown a hammer down into a bin where some of your laborers were at work, so i acted in their defence." grady stood up. "i come here to give you warning today, mr. bannon. there is a watchful eye on you. the next time i come it will not be to warn, but to act. that's all i've got to say to you now." bannon, too, was on his feet. "mr. grady, we try to be fair to our men. it's your business to see that we are fair, so we ought to get on all right together. after this, if the men lodge any complaint with you, come to me; don't go out on the job and make speeches. if you're looking for fair play, you'll get it. if you're looking for trouble, you'll get it. good-morning." the new regime in operation at the elevator was more of a hardship to peterson than to any one else, because it compelled him to be much alone. not only was he quite cut off from the society of max and hilda, but it happened that the two or three under-foremen whom he liked best were on the day shift. the night's work with none of those pleasant little momentary interruptions that used to occur in the daytime was mere unrelieved drudgery, but the afternoons, when he had given up trying to sleep any longer, were tedious enough to make him long for six o'clock. naturally, his disposition was easy and generous, but he had never been in the habit of thinking much, and thinking, especially as it led to brooding, was not good for him. from the first, of course, he had been hurt that the office should have thought it necessary to send bannon to supersede him, but so long as he had plenty to do and was in bannon's company every hour of the day, he had not taken time to think about it much. but now he thought of little else, and as time went on he succeeded in twisting nearly everything the new boss had said or done to fit his theory that bannon was jealous of him and was trying to take from him the credit which rightfully belonged to him. and bannon had put him in charge of the night shift, so peterson came to think, simply because he had seen that hilda was beginning to like him. about four o'clock one afternoon, not many days after grady's talk with bannon, peterson sat on the steps of his boarding-house, trying to make up his mind what to do, and wishing it were six o'clock. he wanted to stroll down to the job to have a chat with his friends, but he had somewhat childishly decided he wasn't wanted there while miss vogel was in the office, so he sat still and whittled, and took another view of his grievances. glancing up, he saw grady, the walking delegate, coming along the sidewalk. now that the responsibility of the elevator was off his shoulders he no longer cherished any particular animosity toward the little irishman, but he remembered their last encounter and wondered whether he should speak to him or not. but grady solved his doubt by calling out cheerfully to know how he was and turning in toward the steps. "i suppose i ought to lick you after what's passed between us," he added with a broad smile, "but if you're willing we'll call it bygones." "sure," said peterson. "it's fine seasonable weather we're having, and just the thing for you on the elevator. it's coming right along." "first-rate." "it's as interesting a bit of work as i ever saw. i was there the other day looking at it. and, by the way, i had a long talk with mr. bannon. he's a fine man." grady had seated himself on the step below peterson. now for the first time he looked at him. "he's a good hustler," said peterson. "well, that's what passes for a fine man, these days, though mistakes are sometimes made that way. but how does it happen that you're not down there superintending? i hope some carpenter hasn't taken it into his head to fire the boss." "i'm not boss there any longer. the office sent bannon down to take it over my head." "you don't tell me that? it's a pity." grady was shaking his head solemnly. "it's a pity. the men like you first-rate, mr. peterson. i'm not saying they don't like anybody else, but they like you. but people in an office a thousand miles away can't know everything, and that's a fact. and so he laid you off." "oh, no, i ain't quite laid off--yet. he's put me in charge of the night shift." "so you're working nights, then? it seemed to me you was working fast enough in the daytime to satisfy anybody. but i suppose some rich man is in a hurry for it and you must do your best to accommodate him." "you bet, he's in a hurry for it. he won't listen to reason at all. says the bins have got to be chock full of grain before january first, no matter what happens to us. he don't care how much it costs, either." "i must be going along," said grady, getting to his feet. "that man must be in a hurry. january first! that's quick work, and he don't care how much it costs him. oh, these rich devils! they're hustlers, too, mr. peterson. well, good-night to you." peterson saw bannon twice every day,--for a half hour at night when he took charge of the job, and for another half hour in the morning when he relinquished it. that was all except when they chanced to meet during bannon's irregular nightly wanderings about the elevator. as the days had gone by these conversations had been confined more and more rigidly to necessary business, and though this result was peterson's own fringing about, still he charged it up as another of his grievances against bannon. when, about an hour after his conversation with grady, he started down to the elevator to take command, he knew he ought to tell bannon of his conversation with grady, and he fully intended doing so. but his determination oozed away as he neared the office, and when he finally saw bannon he decided to say nothing about it whatever. he decided thus partly because he wished to make his conversation with bannon as short as possible, partly because he had not made up his mind what significance, if any, the incident had, and (more than either of these reasons) because ever since grady had repeated the phrase: "he don't care what it costs him," peterson had been uneasily aware that he had talked too much. chapter x grady's affairs were prospering beyond his expectations, confident though he had been. away back in the summer, when the work was in its early stages, his eye had been upon it; he had bided his time in the somewhat indefinite hope that something would turn up. but he went away jubilant from his conversation with peterson, for it seemed that all the cards were in his hands. just as a man running for a car is the safest mark for a gamin's snowball, so calumet k, through being a rush job as well as a rich one, offered a particularly advantageous field for grady's endeavors. men who were trying to accomplish the impossible feat of completing, at any cost, the great hulk on the river front before the first of january, would not be likely to stop to quibble at paying the five thousand dollars or so that grady, who, as the business agent of his union was simply in masquerade, would like to extort. he had heard that peterson was somewhat disaffected to bannon's authority, but had not expected him to make so frank an avowal of it. that was almost as much in his favor as the necessity for hurry. these, with the hoist accident to give a color of respectability to the operation, ought to make it simple enough. he had wit enough to see that bannon was a much harder man to handle than peterson, and that with peterson restored to full authority, the only element of uncertainty would be removed. and he thought that if he could get peterson to help him it might be possible to secure bannon's recall. if the scheme failed, he had still another shot in his locker, but this one was worth a trial, anyway. one afternoon in the next week he went around to peterson's boarding-house and sent up his card with as much ceremony as though the night boss had been a railway president. "i hope you can spare me half an hour, mr. peterson. there's a little matter of business i'd like to talk over with you." the word affected peterson unpleasantly. that was a little farther than he could go without a qualm. "sure," he said uneasily, looking at his watch. "i don't know as i should call it business, either," grady went on. "when you come right down to it, it's a matter of friendship, for surely it's no business of mine. maybe you think it's queer--i think it's queer myself, that i should be coming 'round tendering my friendly services to a man who's had his hands on my throat threatening my life. that ain't my way, but somehow i like you, mr. peterson, and there's an end of it. and when i like a man, i like him, too. how's the elevator? everything going to please you?" "i guess it's going all right. it ain't--" pete hesitated, and then gave up the broken sentence. "it's all right," he repeated. grady smiled. "there's the good soldier. won't talk against his general. but, mr. peterson, let me ask you a question; answer me as a man of sense. which makes the best general--the man who leads the charge straight up to the intrenchments, yellin': 'come on, boys!'--or the one who says, very likely shaking a revolver in their faces: 'get in there, ye damn low-down privates, and take that fort, and report to me when i've finished my breakfast'? which one of those two men will the soldiers do the most for? for the one they like best, mr. peterson, and don't forget it. and which one of these are they going to like best, do you suppose--the brave leader who scorns to ask his men to go where he wouldn't go himself, who isn't ashamed to do honest work with honest hands, whose fists are good enough to defend him against his enemies; or the man who is afraid to go out among the men without a revolver in his hip pocket? answer me as a man of sense, mr. peterson." peterson was manifestly disturbed by the last part of the harangue. now he said: "oh, i guess bannon wasn't scared when he drawed that gun on reilly. he ain't that kind." "would you draw a gun on an unarmed, defenceless man?" grady asked earnestly. "no, i wouldn't. i don't like that way of doing." "the men don't like it either, mr. peterson. no more than you do. they like you. they'll do anything you ask them to. they know that you can do anything that they can. but, mr. peterson, i'll be frank with you. they don't like the man who crowded you out. that's putting it mild. i won't say they hate him for an uncivil, hard-tongued, sneaking weasel of a spy--" "i never knew bannon to do anything like that," said peterson, slowly. "i did. didn't he come sneaking up and hear what i was saying--up on top of the elevator the other day? i guess he won't try that again. i told him that when i was ready to talk to him, i'd come down to the office to do it." grady was going almost too far; pete would not stand very much more; already he was trying to get on his feet to put an end to the conversation. "i ask your pardon, mr. peterson. i forgot he was a friend of yours. but the point is right here. the men don't like him. they've been wanting to strike these three days, just because they don't want to work for that ruffian. i soothed them all i can, but they won't hold in much longer. mark my words, there'll be a strike on your hands before the week's out unless you do something pretty soon." "what have they got to strike about? don't we treat them all right? what do they kick about?" "a good many things, big and little. but the real reason is the one i've been giving you--bannon. neither more nor less." "do you mean they'd be all right if another man was in charge?" grady could not be sure from peterson's expression whether the ice were firm enough to step out boldly upon, or not. he tested it cautiously. "mr. peterson, i know you're a good man. i know you're a generous man. i know you wouldn't want to crowd bannon out of his shoes the way he crowded you out of yours; not even after the way he's treated you. but look here, mr. peterson. who's your duty to? the men up in minneapolis who pay your salary, or the man who has come down here and is giving orders over your head? "--no, just let me finish, mr. peterson. i know what you're going to say. but do your employers want to get the job done by new year's? they do. do they pay you to help get it done? they do. will it be done if that would-be murderer of a bannon is allowed to stay here? it will not, you can bet on that. then it's your duty to get him out of here, and i'm going to help you do it." grady was on his feet when he declaimed the last sentence. he flung out his hand toward pete. "shake on it!" he cried. peterson had also got to his feet, but more slowly. he did not take the hand. "i'm much obliged, mr. grady," he said. "it's very kind in you. if that's so as you say, i suppose he'll have to go. and he'll go all right without any shoving when he sees that it is so. you go and tell just what you've told me to charlie bannon. he's boss on this job." grady would have fared better with a man of quicker intelligence. peterson was so slow at catching the blackmailer's drift that he spoke in perfectly good faith when he made the suggestion that he tell bannon, and grady went away a good deal perplexed as to the best course to pursue,--whether to go directly to bannon, or to try the night boss again. as for peterson, four or five times during his half-hour talk with bannon at the office that evening, he braced himself to tell the boss what grady had said, but it was not till just as bannon was going home that it finally came out. "have you seen grady lately?" pete asked, as calmly as he could. "he was around here something more than a week ago; gave me a little bombthrowers' anniversary oratory about oppressors and a watchful eye. there's no use paying any attention to him yet. he thinks he's got some trouble cooking for us on the stove, but we'll have to wait till he turns it into the dish. he ain't as dangerous as he thinks he is." "he's been around to see me lately--twice." "he has! what did he want with you? when was it he came?" "the first time about a week ago. that was nothing but a little friendly talk, but--" "friendly! him! what did he have to say?" "why, it was nothing. i don't remember. he wanted to know if i was laid off, and i told him i was on the night shift." "was that all?" "pretty near. he wanted to know what we was in such a hurry about, working nights, and i said we had to be through by january first. then he said he supposed it must be for some rich man who didn't care how much it cost him; and i said yes, it was. that was all. he didn't mean nothing. we were just passing the time of day. i don't see any harm in that." bannon was leaning on the rail, his face away from peterson. after a while he spoke thoughtfully. "well, that cinches it. i guess he meant to hold us up, anyway, but now he knows we're a good thing." "how's that? i don't see," said peterson; but bannon made no reply. "what did he have to offer the next time he came around? more in the same friendly way? when was it?" "just this afternoon. why, he said he was afraid we'd have a strike on our hands." "he ought to know," said bannon. "did he give any reason?" "yes, he did. you won't mind my speaking it right out, i guess. he said the men didn't like you, and if you wasn't recalled they'd likely strike. he said they'd work under me if you was recalled, but he didn't think he could keep 'em from going out if you stayed. that ain't what i think, mind you; i'm just telling you what he said. then he kind of insinuated that i ought to do something about it myself. that made me tired, and i told him to come to you about it. i said you was the boss here now, and i was only the foreman of the night shift." until that last sentence bannon had been only half listening. he made no sign, indeed, of having heard anything, but stood hacking at the pine railing with his pocket-knife. he was silent so long that at last peterson arose to go. bannon shut his knife and wheeled around to face him. "hold on, pete," he said. "we'd better talk this business out right here." "talk out what?" "oh, i guess you know. why don't we pull together better? what is it you're sore about?" "nothing. you don't need to worry about it." "look here, pete. you've known me a good many years. do you think i'm square?" "i never said you wasn't square." "you might have given me the benefit of the doubt, anyway. i know you didn't like my coming down here to take charge. do you suppose i did? you were unlucky, and a man working for macbride can't afford to be unlucky; so he told me to come and finish the job. and once i was down here he held me responsible for getting it done. i've got to go ahead just the best i can. i thought you saw that at first, and that we'd get on all right together, but lately it's been different." "i thought i'd been working hard enough to satisfy anybody." "it ain't that, and you know it ain't. it's just the spirit of the thing. now, i don't ask you to tell me why it is you feel this way. if you want to talk it out now, all right. if you don't, all right again. but if you ever think i'm not using you right, come to me and say so. just look at what we've got to do here, pete, before the first of january. sometimes i think we can do it, and sometimes i think we can't, but we've got to anyway. if we don't, macbride will just make up his mind we're no good. and unless we pull together, we're stuck for sure. it ain't a matter of work entirely. i want to feel that i've got you with me. come around in the afternoon if you happen to be awake, and fuss around and tell me what i'm doing wrong. i want to consult you about a good many things in the course of a day." pete's face was simply a lens through which one could see the feelings at work beneath, and bannon knew that he had struck the right chord at last. "how is it? does that go?" "sure," said pete. "i never knew you wanted to consult me about anything, or i'd have been around before." friday afternoon bannon received a note from grady saying that if he had any regard for his own interests or for those of his employers, he would do well to meet the writer at ten o'clock sunday morning at a certain downtown hotel. it closed with a postscript containing the disinterested suggestion that delays were dangerous, and a hint that the writer's time was valuable and he wished to be informed whether the appointment would be kept or not. bannon ignored the note, and all day monday expected grady's appearance at the office. he did not come, but when bannon reached his boarding-house about eight o'clock that evening, he found grady in his room waiting for him. "i can't talk on an empty stomach," said the boss, cheerfully, as he was washing up. "just wait till i get some supper." "i'll wait," said grady, grimly. when bannon came back to talk, he took off his coat and sat down astride a chair. "well, mr. grady, when you came here before you said it was to warn me, but the next time you came you were going to begin to act. i'm all ready." "all right," said grady, with a vicious grin. "be as smart as you like. i'll be paid well for every word of it and for every minute you've kept me waiting yesterday and tonight. that was the most expensive supper you ever ate. i thought you had sense enough to come, mr. bannon. that's why i wasted a stamp on you. you made the biggest mistake of your life--" during the speech bannon had sat like a man hesitating between two courses of action. at this point he interrupted:-- "let's get to business, mr. grady." "i'll get to it fast enough. and when i do you'll see if you can safely insult the representative of the mighty power of the honest workingman of this vast land." "well?" "i hear you folks are in a hurry, mr. bannon?" "yes." "and that you'll spend anything it costs to get through on time. how'd it suit you to have all your laborers strike about now? don't that idea make you sick?" "pretty near." "well, they will strike inside two days." "what for? suppose we settle with them direct." "just try that," said grady, with withering sarcasm. "just try that and see how it works." "i don't want to. i only wanted to hear you confess that you are a rascal." "you'll pay dear for giving me that name. but we come to that later. do you think it would be worth something to the men who hire you for a dirty slave-driver to be protected against a strike? wouldn't they be willing to pay a round sum to get this work done on time? take a minute to think about it. be careful how you tell me they wouldn't. you're not liked here, mr. bannon, by anybody--" "you're threatening to have me recalled, according to your suggestions to mr. peterson the other night. well, that's all right if you can do it. but i think that sooner than recall me or have a strike they would be willing to pay for protection." "you do. i didn't look for that much sense in you. if you'd shown it sooner it might have saved your employers a large wad of bills. if you'd taken the trouble to be decent when i went to you in a friendly way a very little would have been enough. but now i've got to be paid. what do you say to five thousand as a fair sum?" "they'd be willing to pay fully that to save delay," said bannon, cheerfully. "they would!" to save his life grady could not help looking crestfallen. it seemed then that he might have got fifty. "all right," he went on, "five thousand it is; and i want it in hundred-dollar bills." "you do!" cried bannon, jumping to his feet. "do you think you're going to get a cent of it? i might pay blackmail to an honest rascal who delivered the goods paid for. but i had your size the first time you came around. don't you think i knew what you wanted? if i'd thought you were worth buying, i'd have settled it up for three hundred dollars and a box of cigars right at the start. that's about your market price. but as long as i knew you'd sell us out again if you could, i didn't think you were even worth the cigars. no; don't tell me what you're going to do. go out and do it if you can. and get out of here." for the second time bannon took the little delegate by the arm. he marched him to the head of the long, straight flight of stairs. then he hesitated a moment. "i wish you were three sizes larger," he said. chapter xi the organization of labor unions is generally democratic. the local lodge is self-governing; it elects its delegate, who attends a council of fellow-delegates, and this council may send representatives to a still more powerful body. but however high their titles, or their salaries, these dignitaries have power only to suggest action, except in a very limited variety of cases. there must always be a reference back to the rank and file. the real decision lies with them. that is the theory. the laborers on calumet k, with some others at work in the neighborhood, had organized into a lodge and had affiliated with the american federation of labor. grady, who had appeared out of nowhere, who had urged upon them the need of combining against the forces of oppression, and had induced them to organize, had been, without dissent, elected delegate. he was nothing more in theory than this: simply their concentrated voice. and this theory had the fond support of the laborers. "he's not our boss; he's our servant," was a sentiment they never tired of uttering when the delegate was out of earshot. they met every friday night, debated, passed portentous resolutions, and listened to grady's oratory. after the meeting was over they liked to hear their delegate, their servant, talk mysteriously of the doings of the council, and so well did grady manage this air of mystery that each man thought it assumed because of the presence of others, but that he himself was of the inner circle. they would not have dreamed of questioning his acts in meeting or after, as they stood about the dingy, reeking hall over barry's saloon. it was only as they went to their lodgings in groups of two and three that they told how much better they could manage things themselves. bannon enjoyed his last conversation with grady, though it left him a good deal to think out afterward. he had acted quite deliberately, had said nothing that afterward he wished unsaid; but as yet he had not decided what to do next. after he heard the door slam behind the little delegate, he walked back into his room, paced the length of it two or three times, then put on his ulster and went out. he started off aimlessly, paying no attention to whither he was going, and consequently he walked straight to the elevator. he picked his way across the c. & s. c. tracks, out to the wharf, and seated himself upon an empty nail keg not far from the end of the spouting house. he sat there for a long while, heedless of all that was doing about him, turning the situation over and over in his mind. like a good strategist, he was planning grady's campaign as carefully as his own. finally he was recalled to his material surroundings by a rough voice which commanded, "get off that keg and clear out. we don't allow no loafers around here." turning, bannon recognized one of the under-foremen. "that's a good idea," he said. "are you making a regular patrol, or did you just happen to see me?" "i didn't know it was you. no, i'm tending to some work here in the spouting house." "do you know where mr. peterson is?" "he was right up here a bit ago. do you want to see him?" "yes, if he isn't busy. i'm not the only loafer here, it seems," added bannon, nodding toward where the indistinct figures of a man and a woman could be seen corning slowly toward them along the narrow strip of wharf between the building and the water. "never mind," he added, as the foreman made a step in their direction, "i'll look after them myself." the moment after he had called the foreman's attention to them he had recognized them as hilda and max. he walked over to meet them. "we can't get enough of it in the daytime, can we." "it's a great place for a girl, isn't it, mr. bannon," said max. "i was coming over here and hilda made me bring her along. she said she thought it must look pretty at night." "doesn't it?" she asked. "don't you think it does, mr. bannon?" he had been staring at it for half an hour. now for the first time he looked at it. for ninety feet up into the air the large mass was one unrelieved, unbroken shadow, barely distinguishable from the night sky that enveloped it. above was the skeleton of the cupola, made brilliant, fairly dazzling, in contrast, by scores of arc lamps. at that distance and in that confused tangle of light and shadow the great timbers of the frame looked spidery. the effect was that of a luminous crown upon a gigantic, sphinx-like head. "i guess you are right," he said slowly. "but i never thought of it that way before. and i've done more or less night work, too." a moment later peterson came up. "having a tea party out here?" he asked; then turning to bannon: "was there something special you wanted, charlie? i've got to go over to the main house pretty soon." "it's our friend grady. he's come down to business at last. he wants money." hilda was quietly signalling max to come away, and bannon, observing it, broke off to speak to them. "don't go," he said. "we'll have a brief council of war right here." so hilda was seated on the nail keg, while bannon, resting his elbows on the top of a spile which projected waist high through the floor of the wharf, expounded the situation. "you understand his proposition," he said, addressing hilda, rather than either of the men. "it's just plain blackmail. he says, 'if you don't want your laborers to strike, you'll have to pay my price.'" "not much," pete broke in. "i'd let the elevator rot before i'd pay a cent of blackmail." "page wouldn't," said bannon, shortly, "or macbride, neither. they'd be glad to pay five thousand or so for protection. but they'd want protection that would protect. grady's trying to sell us a gold brick. he hated us to begin with, and when he'd struck us for about all he thought we'd stand, he'd call the men off just the same, and leave us to waltz the timbers around all by ourselves." "how much did he want?" "all he could get. i think he'd have been satisfied with a thousand, but he'd come 'round next week for a thousand more." "what did you tell him?" "i told him that a five-cent cigar was a bigger investment than i cared to make on him and that when we paid blackmail it would be to some fellow who'd deliver the goods. i said he could begin to make trouble just as soon as he pleased." "seems to me you might have asked for a few days' time to decide. then we could have got something ready to come at him with. he's liable to call our men out tonight, ain't he?" "i don't think so. i thought of trying to stave him off for a few days, but then i thought, 'why, he'll see through that game and he'll go on with his scheme for sewing us up just the same.' you see, there's no good saying we're afraid. so i told him that we didn't mind him a bit; said he could go out and have all the fun he liked with us. if he thinks we've got something up our sleeve he may be a little cautious. anyway, he knows that our biggest rush is coming a little later, and he's likely to wait for it." then hilda spoke for the first time. "has he so much power as that? will they strike just because he orders them to?" "why, not exactly," said bannon. "they decide that for themselves, or at least they think they do. they vote on it." "well, then," she asked hesitatingly, "why can't you just tell the men what mr. grady wants you to do and show them that he's dishonest? they know they've been treated all right, don't they?" bannon shook his head. "no use," he said. "you see, these fellows don't know much. they aren't like skilled laborers who need some sense in their business. they're just common roustabouts, and most of 'em have gunpowder in place of brains. they don't want facts or reason either; what they like is grady's oratory. they think that's the finest thing they ever heard. they might all be perfectly satisfied and anxious to work, but if grady was to sing out to know if they wanted to be slaves, they'd all strike like a freight train rolling down grade. "no," he went on, "there's nothing to be done with the men. do you know what would happen if i was to go up to their lodge and tell right out that grady was a blackmailer? why, after they'd got through with me, personally, they'd pass a resolution vindicating grady. they'd resolve that i was a thief and a liar and a murderer and an oppressor of the poor and a traitor, and if they could think of anything more than that, they'd put it in, too. and after vindicating grady to their satisfaction, they'd take his word for law and the gospel more than ever. in this sort of a scrape you want to hit as high as you can, strike the biggest man who will let you in his office. it's the small fry that make the trouble. i guess that's true 'most everywhere. i know the general manager of a railroad is always an easier chap to get on with than the division superintendent." "well," said pete, after waiting a moment to see if bannon had any definite suggestion to make as to the best way to deal with grady, "i'm glad you don't think he'll try to tie us up tonight. maybe we'll think of something tomorrow. i've got to get back on the job." "i'll go up with you," said max, promptly. then, in answer to hilda's gesture of protest, "you don't want to climb away up there tonight. i'll be back in ten minutes," and he was gone before she could reply. "i guess i can take care of you till he comes back," said bannon. hilda made no answer. she seemed to think that silence would conceal her annoyance better than anything she could say. so, after waiting a moment, bannon went on talking. "i suppose that's the reason why i get ugly sometimes and call names; because i ain't a big enough man not to. if i was getting twenty-five thousand a year maybe i'd be as smooth as anybody. i'd like to be a general manager for a while, just to see how it would work." "i don't see how anybody could ever know enough to run a railroad." hilda was looking up at the c. & s. c. right of way, where red and white semaphore lights were winking. "i was offered that job once myself, though, and turned it down," said bannon. "i was superintendent of the electric light plant at yawger. yawger's quite a place, on a branch of the g.t. there was another road ran through the town, called the bemis, yawger and pacific. it went from bemis to stiles corners, a place about six miles west of yawger. it didn't get any nearer the pacific than that. nobody in yawger ever went to bemis or stiles, and there wasn't anybody in bemis and stiles to come to yawger, or if they did come they never went back, so the road didn't do a great deal of business. they assessed the stock every year to pay the officers' salaries--and they had a full line of officers, too--but the rest of the road had to scrub along the best it could. "when they elected me alderman from the first ward up at yawger, i found out that the b.y.&p. owed the city four hundred and thirty dollars, so i tried to find out why they wasn't made to pay. it seemed that the city had had a judgment against them for years, but they couldn't get hold of anything that was worth seizing. they all laughed at me when i said i meant to get that money out of 'em. "the railroad had one train; there was an engine and three box cars and a couple of flats and a combination--that's baggage and passenger. it made the round trip from bemis every day, fifty-two miles over all, and considering the roadbed and the engine, that was a good day's work. "well, that train was worth four hundred and thirty dollars all right enough, if they could have got their hands on it, but the engineer was such a peppery chap that nobody ever wanted to bother him. but i just bided my time, and one hot day after watering up the engine him and the conductor went off to get a drink. i had a few lengths of log chain handy, and some laborers with picks and shovels, and we made a neat, clean little job of it. then i climbed up into the cab. when the engineer came back and wanted to know what i was doing there, i told him we'd attached his train. 'don't you try to serve no papers on me,' he sung out, 'or i'll split your head.' 'there's no papers about this job,' said i. 'we've attached it to the track.' at that he dropped the fire shovel and pulled open the throttle. the drivers spun around all right, but the train never moved an inch. "he calmed right down after that and said he hadn't four hundred and thirty dollars with him, but if i'd let the train go, he'd pay me in a week. i couldn't quite do that, so him and the conductor had to walk 'way to bemis, where the general offices was. they was pretty mad. we had that train chained up there for 'most a month, and at last they paid the claim." "was that the railroad that offered to make you general manager?" hilda asked. "yes, provided i'd let the train go. i'm glad i didn't take it up, though. you see, the farmers along the road who held the stock in it made up their minds that the train had quit running for good, so they took up the rails where it ran across their farms, and used the ties for firewood. that's all they ever got out of their investment." a few moments later max came back and bannon straightened up to go. "i wish you'd tell pete when you see him tomorrow," he said to the boy, "that i won't be on the job till noon." "going to take a holiday?" "yes. tell him i'm taking the rest cure up at a sanitarium." at half-past eight next morning bannon entered the outer office of r. s. carver, president of the central district of the american federation of labor, and seated himself on one of the long row of wood-bottomed chairs that stood against the wall. most of them were already occupied by poorly dressed men who seemed also to be waiting for the president. one man, in dilapidated, dirty finery, was leaning over the stenographer's desk, talking about the last big strike and guessing at the chance of there being any fun ahead in the immediate future. but the rest of them waited in stolid, silent patience, sitting quite still in unbroken rank along the wall, their overcoats, if they had them, buttoned tight around their chins, though the office was stifling hot. the dirty man who was talking to the stenographer filled a pipe with some very bad tobacco and ostentatiously began smoking it, but not a man followed his example. bannon sat in that silent company for more than an hour before the great man came. even then there was no movement among those who sat along the wall, save as they followed him almost furtively with their eyes. the president never so much as glanced at one of them; for all he seemed to see the rank of chairs might have been empty. he marched across to his private office, and, leaving the door open behind him, sat down before his desk. bannon sat still a moment, waiting for those who had come before him to make the first move, but not a man of them stirred, so, somewhat out of patience with this mysteriously solemn way of doing business, he arose and walked into the president's office with as much assurance as though it had been his own. he shut the door after him. the president did not look up, but went on cutting open his mail. "i'm from macbride & company, of minneapolis," said bannon. "guess i don't know the parties." "yes, you do. we're building a grain elevator at calumet." the president looked up quickly. "sit down," he said. "are you superintending the work?" "yes. my name's bannon--charles bannon." "didn't you have some sort of an accident out there? an overloaded hoist? and you hurt a man, i believe." "yes." "and i think one of your foremen drew a revolver on a man." "i did, myself." the president let a significant pause intervene before his next question. "what do you want with me?" "i want you to help me out. it looks as though we might get into trouble with our laborers." "you've come to the wrong man. mr. grady is the man for you to talk with. he's their representative." "we haven't got on very well with mr. grady. the first time he came on the job he didn't know our rule that visitors must apply at the office, and we weren't very polite to him. he's been down on us ever since. we can't make any satisfactory agreement with him." carver turned away impatiently. "you'll have to," he said, "if you want to avoid trouble with your men. it's no business of mine. he's acting on their instructions." "no, he isn't," said bannon, sharply. "what they want, i guess, is to be treated square and paid a fair price. what he wants is blackmail." "i've heard that kind of talk before. it's the same howl that an employer always makes when he's tried to bribe an agent who's active in the interest of the men, and got left at it. what have you got to show for it? anything but just your say so?" bannon drew out grady's letter of warning and handed it to him. carver read it through, then tossed it on his desk. "you certainly don't offer that as proof that he wants blackmail, mr. bannon." "there's never any proof of blackmail. when a man can see me alone, he isn't going to talk before witnesses, and he won't commit himself in writing. grady told me that unless we paid his price he'd tie us up. no one else was around when he said it." "then you haven't anything but your say so. but i know him, and i don't know you. do you think i'd take your word against his?" "that letter doesn't prove blackmail," said bannon, "but it smells of it. and there's the same smell about everything grady has done. when he came to my office a day or two after that hoist accident, i tried to find out what he wanted, and he gave me nothing but oratory. i tried to pin him down to something definite, but my stenographer was there and grady didn't have a suggestion to make. then by straining his neck and asking questions, he found out we were in a hurry, that the elevator was no good unless it was done by january first, and that we had all the money we needed. "two days after he sent me that letter. look at it again. why does he want to take both of us to chicago on sunday morning, when he can see me any time at my office on the job?" bannon spread the letter open before carver's face. "why doesn't he say right here what it is he wants, if it's anything he dares to put in black and white? i didn't pay any attention to that letter; it didn't deserve any. and then will you tell me why he came to my room at night to see me instead of to my office in the daytime? i can prove that he did. does all that look as if i tried to bribe him? forget that we're talking about grady, and tell me what you think it looks like." carver was silent for a moment. "that wouldn't do any good," he said at last. "if you had proof that i could act on, i might be able to help you. i haven't any jurisdiction in the internal affairs of that lodge; but if you could offer proof that he is what you say he is, i could tell them that if they continued to support him, the federation withdraws its support. but i don't see that i can help you as it is. i don't see any reason why i should." "i'll tell you why you should. because if there's any chance that what i've said is true, it will be a lot better for your credit to have the thing settled quietly. and it won't be settled quietly if we have to fight. it isn't very much you have to do; just satisfy yourself as to how things are going down there. see whether we're square, or grady is. then when the scrap comes on you'll know how to act. that's all. do your investigating in advance." "that's just what i haven't any right to do. i can't mix up in the business till it comes before me in the regular way." "well," said bannon, with a smile, "if you can't do it yourself, maybe some man you have confidence in would do it for you." carver drummed thoughtfully on his desk for a few minutes. then he carefully folded grady's letter and put it in his pocket. "i'm glad to have met you, mr. bannon," he said, holding out his hand. "good morning." next morning while bannon was opening his mail, a man came to the timekeeper's window and asked for a job as a laborer. "guess we've got men enough," said max. "haven't we, mr. bannon?" the man put his head in the window. "a fellow down in chicago told me if i'd come out here to calumet k and ask mr. bannon for a job, he'd give me one." "are you good up high?" bannon asked. the man smiled ruefully, and said he was afraid not. "well, then," returned bannon, "we'll have to let you in on the ground floor. what's your name?" "james." "go over to the tool house and get a broom. give him a check, max." chapter xii on the twenty-second of november bannon received this telegram:-- mr. charles bannon, care of macbride & company, south chicago: we send today complete drawings for marine tower which you will build in the middle of spouting house. harahan company are building the leg. macbride & co. bannon read it carefully, folded it, opened it and read it again, then tossed it on the desk. "we're off now, for sure," he said to miss vogel. "i've known that was coming sure as christmas." hilda picked it up. "is there an answer, mr. bannon?" "no, just file it. do you make it out?" she read it and shook her head. bannon ignored her cool manner. "it means that your friends on macbride & company's calumet house are going to have the time of their lives for the next few weeks. i'm going to carry compressed food in my pockets, and when meal time comes around, just take a capsule." "i think i know," she said slowly; "a marine leg is the thing that takes grain up out of ships." "that's right. you'd better move up head." "and we've been building a spouting house instead to load it into ships." "we'll have to build both now. you see, it's getting around to the time when the pages'll be having a fit every day until the machinery's running, and every bin is full. and every time they have a fit, the people up at the office'll have another, and they'll pass it on to us." "but why do they want the marine leg?" she asked, "any more now than they did at first?" "they've got to get the wheat down by boat instead of rail, that's all. or likely it'll be coming both ways. there's no telling now what's behind it. both sides have got big men fighting. you've seen it in the papers, haven't you?" she nodded. "of course, what the papers say isn't all true, but it's lively doings all right." the next morning's mail brought the drawings and instructions; and with them came a letter from brown to bannon. "i suppose there's not much good in telling you to hurry," it ran; "but if there is another minute a day you can crowd in, i guess you know what to do with it. page told me today that this elevator will make or break them. mr. macbride says that you can have all january for a vacation if you get it through. we owe you two weeks off, anyhow, that you didn't take last summer. we're running down that c. & s. c. business, though i don't believe, myself, that they'll give you any more trouble." bannon read it to hilda, saying as he laid it down:-- "that's something like. i don't know where'll i go, though. winter ain't exactly the time for a vacation, unless you go shooting, and i'm no hand for that." "couldn't you put it off till summer?" she asked, smiling a little. "not much. you don't know those people. by the time summer'd come around, they'd have forgotten i ever worked here. i'd strike for a month and brown would grin and say: 'that's all right, bannon, you deserve it if anybody does. it'll take a week or so to get your pass arranged, and you might just run out to san francisco and see if things are going the way they ought to.' and then the first thing i knew i'd be working three shifts somewhere over in china, and brown would be writing me i was putting in too much time at my meals. no, if macbride & company offer you a holiday, the best thing you can do is to grab it, and run, and saw off the telegraph poles behind you. and you couldn't be sure of yourself then." he turned the letter over in his hand. "i might go up on the st. lawrence," he went on. "that's the only place for spending the winter that ever struck me." "isn't it pretty cold?" "it ain't so bad. i was up there last winter. we put up at a house at coteau, you know. when i got there the foundation wasn't even begun, and we had a bad time getting laborers, i put in the first day sitting on the ice sawing off spiles." hilda laughed. "i shouldn't think you'd care much about going back." "were you ever there?" he asked. "no, i've never been anywhere but home and here, in chicago." "where is your home?" "it was up in michigan. that's where max learned the lumber business. but he and i have been here for nearly two years." "well," said bannon, "some folks may think it's cold up there, but there ain't anywhere else to touch it. it's high ground, you know--nothing like this"--he swept his arm about to indicate the flats outside--"and the scenery beats anything this side of the rockies. it ain't that there's mountains there, you understand, but it's all big and open, and they've got forests there that would make your michigan pine woods look like weeds on a sandhill. and the river's great. you haven't seen anything really fine till you've seen the rapids in winter. the people there have a good time too. they know how to enjoy life--it isn't all grime and sweat and making money." "well," said hilda, looking down at her pencil and drawing aimless designs as she talked, "i suppose it is a good place to go. i've seen the pictures, of course, in the timetables; and one of the railroad offices on clark street used to have some big photographs of the st. lawrence in the window. i looked at them sometimes, but i never thought of really seeing anything like that. i've had some pretty good times on the lake and over at st. joe. max used to take me over to berrien springs last summer, when he could get off. my aunt lives there." bannon was buttoning his coat, and looking at her. he felt the different tone that had got into their talk. it had been impersonal a few minutes before. "oh, st. joe isn't bad," he was saying; "it's quiet and restful and all that, but it's not the same sort of thing at all. you go over there and ride up the river on the may graham, and it makes you feel lazy and comfortable, but it doesn't stir you up inside like the st. lawrence does." she looked up. her eyes were sparkling as they had sparkled that afternoon on the elevator when she first looked out into the sunset. "yes," she replied. "i think i know what you mean. but i never really felt that way; i've only thought about it." bannon turned half away, as if to go. "you'll have to go down there, that's all," he said abruptly. he looked back at her over his shoulder, and added, "that's all there is about it." her eyes were half startled, half mischievous, for his voice had been still less impersonal than before. then she turned back to her work, her face sober, but an amused twinkle lingering in her eyes. "i should like to go," she said, her pencil poised at the top of a long column. "max would like it, too." after supper that evening max returned early from a visit to the injured man, and told hilda of a new trouble. "do you know that little delegate that's been hanging around?" he asked. "grady," she said, and nodded. "yes, he's been working the man. i never saw such a change in my life. he just sat up there in bed and swore at me, and said i needn't think i could buy him off with this stuff"--he looked down and hilda saw that the bowl in his hand was not empty--"and raised a row generally." "why?" she asked. "give it up. from what he said, i'm sure grady's behind it." "did he give his name?" "no, but he did a lot of talking about justice to the down-trodden and the power of the unions, and that kind of stuff. i couldn't understand all he said--he's got a funny lingo, you know; i guess it's polack--but i got enough to know what he meant, and more, too." "can he do anything?" "i don't think so. if we get after him, it'll just set him worse'n pig's bristles. a man like that'll lose his head over nothing. he may be all right in the morning." but hilda, after max had given her the whole conversation as nearly as he could remember it, thought differently. she did not speak her mind out to max, because she was not yet certain what was the best course to take. the man could easily make trouble, she saw that. but if max were to lay the matter before bannon, he would be likely to glide over some of the details that she had got only by close questioning. and a blunder in handling it might be fatal to the elevator, so far as getting it done in december was concerned. perhaps she took it too seriously; for she was beginning, in spite of herself, to give a great deal of thought to the work and to bannon. at any rate, she lay awake later than usual that night, going over the problem, and she brought it up, the next morning, the first time that bannon came into the office after max had gone out. "mr. bannon," she said, when he had finished dictating a letter to the office, "i want to tell you about that man that was hurt." bannon tried not to smile at the nervous, almost breathless way in which she opened the conversation. he saw that, whatever it was, it seemed to her very important, and he settled comfortably on the table, leaning back against the wall with his legs stretched out before him. she had turned on her stool. "you mean the hoist man?" he asked. she nodded. "max goes over to see him sometimes. we've been trying to help make him comfortable--" "oh," said bannon; "it's you that's been sending those things around to him." she looked at him with surprise. "why, how did you know?" "i heard about it." hilda hesitated. she did not know exactly how to begin. it occurred to her that perhaps bannon was smiling at her eager manner. "max was there last night and he said the man had changed all around. he's been friendly, you know, and grateful"--she had forgotten herself again, in thinking of her talk with max--"and he's said all the time that he wasn't going to make trouble--" she paused. "yes, i know something about that," said bannon. "the lawyers always get after a man that's hurt, you know." "but last night he had changed all around. he said he was going to have you arrested. he thinks max has been trying to buy him off with the things we've sent him." bannon whistled. "so our mr. grady's got his hands on him!" "that's what max and i thought, but he didn't give any names. he wouldn't take the jelly." "i'm glad you told me," said bannon, swinging his legs around and sitting up. "it's just as well to know about these things. grady's made him think he can make a good haul by going after me, poor fool--he isn't the man that'll get it." "can he really stop the work?" hilda asked anxiously. "not likely. he'll probably try to make out a case of criminal carelessness against me, and get me jerked up. he ought to have more sense, though. i know how many sticks were on that hoist when it broke. i'll drop around there tonight after dinner and have a talk with him. i'd like to find grady there--but that's too good to expect." hilda had stepped down from the stool, and was looking out through the half-cleaned window at a long train of freight cars that was clanking in on the belt line. "that's what i wanted to see you about most," she said slowly. "max says he's been warned that you'll come around and try to buy him off, and it won't go, because he can make more by standing out." "well," said bannon, easily, amused at her unconscious drop into max's language, "there's usually a way of getting after these fellows. we'll do anything within reason, but we won't be robbed. i'll throw mr. grady into the river first, and hang him up on the hoist to dry." "but if he really means to stand out." she said, "wouldn't it hurt us for you to go around there?" "why?" he was openly smiling now. then, of a sudden, he looked at her with a shrewd, close gaze, and repeated, "why?" "maybe i don't understand it," she said nervously. "max doesn't think i see things very clearly. but i thought perhaps you would be willing for me to see him this evening. i could go with max, and--" she faltered, when she saw how closely he was watching her, but he nodded, and said, "go on." "why, i don't know that i could do much, but--no"--she tossed her head back and looked at him--"i won't say that. if you'll let me go, i'll fix it. i know i can." bannon was thinking partly of her--of her slight, graceful figure that leaned against the window frame, and of her eyes, usually quiet, but now snapping with determination--and partly of certain other jobs that had been imperiled by the efforts of injured workingmen to get heavy damages. one of the things his experience in railroad and engineering work had taught him was that men will take every opportunity to bleed a corporation. no matter how slight the accident, or how temporary in its effects, the stupidest workman has it in his power to make trouble. it was frankly not a matter of sentiment to bannon. he would do all that he could, would gladly make the man's sickness actually profit him, so far as money would go; but he did not see justice in the great sums which the average jury will grant. as he sat there, he recognized what hilda had seen at a flash, that this was a case for delicate handling. she was looking at him, tremendously in earnest, yet all the while wondering at her own boldness. he slowly nodded. "you're right," he said. "you're the one to do the talking. i won't ask you what you're going to say. i guess you understand it as well as anybody." "i don't know yet, myself," she answered. "it isn't that, it isn't that there's something particular to say, but he's a poor man, and they've been telling him that the company is cheating him and stealing from him--i wouldn't like it myself, if i were in his place and didn't know any more than he does. and maybe i can show him that we'll be a good deal fairer to him before we get through than mr. grady will." "yes," said bannon, "i think you can. and if you can keep this out of the courts i'll write brown that there's a young lady down here that's come nearer to earning a big salary than i ever did to deserving a silk hat." "oh," she said, the earnest expression skipping abruptly out of her eyes; "did your hat come?" "not a sign of it. i'd clean forgotten. i'll give brown one more warning-- a long 'collect' telegram, about forty words--and then if he doesn't toe up, i'll get one and send him the bill. "there was a man that looked some like grady worked for me on the galveston house. he was a carpenter, and thought he stood for the whole federation of labor. he got gay one day. i warned him once, and then i threw him off the distributing floor." hilda thought he was joking until she looked up and saw his face. "didn't it--didn't it kill him?" she asked. "i don't remember exactly. i think there were some shavings there." he stood looking at her for a moment. "do you know," he said, "if grady comes up on the job again, i believe i'll tell him that story? i wonder if he'd know what i meant." the spouting house, or "river house," was a long, narrow structure, one hundred feet by thirty-six, built on piles at the edge of the wharf. it would form, with the connecting belt gallery that was to reach out over the tracks, a t-shaped addition to the elevator. the river house was no higher than was necessary for the spouts that would drop the grain through the hatchways of the big lake steamers, twenty thousand bushels an hour-- it reached between sixty and seventy feet above the water. the marine tower that was to be built, twenty-four feet square, up through the centre of the house, would be more than twice as high. a careful examination convinced bannon that the pile foundations would prove strong enough to support this heavier structure, and that the only changes necessary would be in the frame of the spouting house. on the same day that the plans arrived, work on the tower commenced. peterson had about got to the point where startling developments no longer alarmed him. he had seen the telegram the day before, but his first information that a marine tower was actually under way came when bannon called off a group of laborers late in the afternoon to rig the "trolley" for carrying timber across the track. "what are you going to do, charlie?" he called. "got to slide them timbers back again?" "some of 'em," bannon replied. "don't you think we could carry 'em over?" said peterson. "if we was quiet about it, they needn't be any trouble?" bannon shook his head. "we're not taking any more chances on this railroad. we haven't time." once more the heavy timbers went swinging through the air, high over the tracks, but this time back to the wharf. before long the section boss of the c. & s. c. appeared, and though he soon went away, one of his men remained, lounging about the tracks, keeping a close eye on the sagging ropes and the timbers. bannon, when he met peterson a few minutes later, pointed out the man. "what'd i tell you, pete? they're watching us like cats. if you want to know what the c. & s. c. think about us, you just drop one timber and you'll find out." but nothing dropped, and when peterson, who had been on hand all the latter part of the afternoon, took hold, at seven o'clock, the first timbers of the tower had been set in place, somewhere down inside the rough shed of a spouting house, and more would go in during the night, and during other days and nights, until the narrow framework should go reaching high into the air. another thing was recognized by the men at work on that night shift, even by the laborers who carried timbers, and grunted and swore in strange tongues; this was that the night shift men had suddenly begun to feel a most restless energy crowding them on, and they worked nearly as well as bannon's day shifts. for peterson's spirits had risen with a leap, once the misunderstanding that had been weighing on him had been removed, and now he was working as he had never worked before. the directions he gave showed that his head was clearer; and there was confidence in his manner. hilda was so serious all day after her talk with bannon that once, in the afternoon, when he came into the office for a glance at the new pile of blue prints, he smiled, and asked if she were laying out a campaign. it was the first work of the kind that she had ever undertaken, and she was a little worried over the need for tact and delicacy. after she had closed her desk at supper time, she saw bannon come into the circle of the electric light in front of the office, and, asking max to wait, she went to meet him. "well," he said, "are you loaded up to fight the 'power of the union'?" she smiled, and then said, with a trace of nervousness:-- "i don't believe i'm quite so sure about it as i was this morning." "it won't bother you much. when you've made him see that we're square and grady isn't, you've done the whole business. we won't pay fancy damages, that's all." "yes," she said, "i think i know. what i wanted to see you about was-- was--max and i are going over right after supper, and--" she stopped abruptly; and bannon, looking down at her, saw a look of embarrassment come into her face; and then she blushed, and lowering her eyes, fumbled with her glove. bannon was a little puzzled. his eyes rested on her for a moment, and then, without understanding why, he suddenly knew that she had meant to ask him to see her after the visit, and that the new personal something in their acquaintance had flashed a warning. he spoke quickly, as if he were the first to think of it. "if you don't mind, i'll come around tonight and hear the report of the committee of adjusters. that's you, you know. something might come up that i ought to know right away." "yes," she replied rapidly, without looking up, "perhaps that would be the best thing to do." he walked along with her toward the office, where max was waiting, but she did not say anything, and he turned in with: "i won't say good-night, then. good luck to you." it was soon after eight that bannon went to the boarding-house where hilda and max lived, and sat down to wait in the parlor. when a quarter of an hour had gone, and they had not returned, he buttoned up his coat and went out, walking slowly along the uneven sidewalk toward the river. the night was clear, and he could see, across the flats and over the tracks, where tiny signal lanterns were waving and circling, and freight trains were bumping and rumbling, the glow of the arc lamps on the elevator, and its square outline against the sky. now and then, when the noise of the switching trains let down, he could hear the hoisting engines. once he stopped and looked eastward at the clouds of illuminated smoke above the factories and at the red blast of the rolling mill. he went nearly to the river and had to turn back and walk slowly. finally he heard max's laugh, and then he saw them coming down a side street. "well," he said, "you don't sound like bad news." "i don't believe we are very bad," replied hilda. "should say not," put in max. "it's finer'n silk." hilda said, "max," in a low voice, but he went on:-- "the best thing, mr. bannon, was when i told him it was hilda that had been sending things around. he thought it was you, you see, and grady'd told him it was all a part of the game to bamboozle him out of the money that was rightfully his. it's funny to hear him sling that grady talk around. i don't think he more'n half knows what it means. i'd promised not to tell, you know, but i just saw there wasn't no use trying to make him understand things without talking pretty plain. there ain't a thing he wouldn't do for hilda now--" "max," said hilda again, "please don't." when they reached the house, max at once started in. hilda hesitated, and then said:-- "i'll come in a minute, max." "oh," he replied, "all right." but he waited a moment longer, evidently puzzled. "well," said bannon, "was it so hard?" "no--not hard exactly. i didn't know he was so poor. somehow you don't think about it that way when you see them working. i don't know that i ever thought about it at all before." "you think he won't give us any trouble?" "i'm sure he won't. i--i had to promise i'd go again pretty soon." "maybe you'll let me go along." "why--why, yes, of course." she had been hesitating, looking down and picking at the splinters on the gate post. neither was bannon quick to speak. he did not want to question her about the visit, for he saw that it was hard for her to talk about it. finally she straightened up and looked at him. "i want to tell you," she said, "i haven't understood exactly until tonight--what they said about the accident and the way you've talked about it--well, some people think you don't think very much about the men, and that if anybody's hurt, or anything happens, you don't care as long as the work goes on." she was looking straight at him. "i thought so, too. and tonight i found out some things you've been doing for him--how you've been giving him tobacco, and the things he likes best that i'd never have thought of, and i knew it was you that did it, and not the company--and i--i beg your pardon." bannon did not know what to reply. they stood for a moment without speaking, and then she smiled, and said "good night," and ran up the steps without looking around. chapter xiii it was the night of the tenth of december. three of the four stories of the cupola were building, and the upright posts were reaching toward the fourth. it still appeared to be a confused network of timbers, with only the beginnings of walls, but as the cupola walls are nothing but a shell of light boards to withstand the wind, the work was further along than might have been supposed. down on the working story the machinery was nearly all in, and up here in the cupola the scales and garners were going into place as rapidly as the completing of the supporting framework permitted. the cupola floors were not all laid. if you had stood on the distributing floor, over the tops of the bins, you might have looked not only down through a score of openings between plank areas and piles of timbers, into black pits, sixteen feet square by seventy deep, but upward through a grill of girders and joists to the clear sky. everywhere men swarmed over the work, and the buzz of the electric lights and the sounds of hundreds of hammers blended into a confused hum. if you had walked to the east end of the building, here and there balancing along a plank or dodging through gangs of laborers and around moving timbers, you would have seen stretching from off a point not halfway through to the ground, the annex bins, rising so steadily that it was a matter only of a few weeks before they would be ready to receive grain. now another walk, this time across the building to the north side, would show you the river house, out there on the wharf, and the marine tower rising up through the middle with a single arc lamp on the topmost girder throwing a mottled, checkered shadow on the wharf and the water below. at a little after eight o'clock, peterson, who had been looking at the stairway, now nearly completed, came out on the distributing floor. he was in good spirits, for everything was going well, and bannon had frankly credited him, of late, with the improvement in the work of the night shifts. he stood looking up through the upper floors of the cupola, and he did not see max until the timekeeper stood beside him. "hello, max," he said. "we'll have the roof on here in another ten days." max followed peterson's glance upward. "i guess that's right. it begins to look as if things was coming 'round all right. i just come up from the office. mr. bannon's there. he'll be up before long, he says. i was a-wondering if maybe i hadn't ought to go back and tell him about grady. he's around, you know." "who? grady?" "yes. him and another fellow was standing down by one of the cribbin' piles. i was around there on the way up." "what was they doing?" "nothing. just looking on." peterson turned to shout at some laborers, then he pushed back his hat and scratched his head. "i don't know but what you'd ought to 'a' told charlie right off. that man grady don't mean us no good." "i know it, but i wasn't just sure." "well, i'll tell you--" before peterson could finish, max broke in:-- "that's him." "where?" "that fellow over there, walking along slow. he's the one that was with grady." "i'd like to know what he thinks he's doing here." peterson started forward, adding, "i guess i know what to say to him." "hold on, pete," said max, catching his arm. "maybe we'd better speak to mr. bannon. i'll go down and tell him, and you keep an eye on this fellow." peterson reluctantly assented, and max walked slowly away, now and then pausing to look around at the men. but when he had nearly reached the stairway, where he could slip behind the scaffolding about the only scale hopper that had reached a man's height above the floor, he moved more rapidly. he met bannon on the stairway, and told him what he had seen. bannon leaned against the wall of the stairway bin, and looked thoughtful. "so he's come, has he?" was his only comment. "you might speak to pete, max, and bring him here. i'll wait." max and peterson found him looking over the work of the carpenters. "i may not be around much tonight," he said, with a wink, "but i'd like to see both of you tomorrow afternoon some time. can you get around about four o'clock, pete?" "sure," the night boss replied. "we've got some thinking to do about the work, if we're going to put it through. i'll look for you at four o'clock then, in the office." he started down the stairs. "i'm going home now." "why," said peterson, "you only just come." bannon paused and looked back over his shoulder. the light came from directly overhead, and the upper part of his face was in the shadow of his hat brim, but max, looking closely at him, thought that he winked again. "i wanted to tell you," the foreman went on; "grady's come around, you know--and another fellow--" "yes, max told me. i guess they won't hurt you. good night." as he went on down he passed a group of laborers who were bringing stairway material to the carpenters. "i don't know but what you was talking pretty loud," said max to peterson, in a low voice. "here's some of 'em now." "they didn't hear nothing," peterson replied, and the two went back to the distributing floor. they stood in a shadow, by the scale hopper, waiting for the reappearance of grady's companion. he had evidently gone on to the upper floors, where he could not be distinguished from the many other moving figures; but in a few minutes he came back, walking deliberately toward the stairs. he looked at peterson and max, but passed by without a second glance, and descended. peterson stood looking after him. "now, i'd like to know what charlie meant by going home," he said. max had been thinking hard. finally he said:-- "say, pete, we're blind." "why?" "did you think he was going home?" peterson looked at him, but did not reply. "because he ain't." "well, you heard what he said." "what does that go for? he was winking when he said it. he wasn't going to stand there and tell the laborers all about it, like we was trying to do. i'll bet he ain't very far off." "i ain't got a word to say," said peterson. "if he wants to leave grady to me, i guess i can take care of him." max had come to the elevator for a short visit--he liked to watch the work at night--but now he settled down to stay, keeping about the hopper where he could see grady if his head should appear at the top of the stairs. something told him that bannon saw deeper into grady's manoeuvres than either peterson or himself, and while he could not understand, yet he was beginning to think that grady would appear before long, and that bannon knew it. sure enough, only a few minutes had gone when max turned back from a glance at the marine tower and saw the little delegate standing on the top step, looking about the distributing floor and up through the girders overhead, with quick, keen eyes. then max understood what it all meant: grady had chosen a time when bannon was least likely to be on the job; and had sent the other man ahead to reconnoitre. it meant mischief--max could see that; and he felt a boy's nervousness at the prospect of excitement. he stepped farther back into the shadow. grady was looking about for peterson; when he saw his burly figure outlined against a light at the farther end of the building, he walked directly toward him, not pausing this time to talk to the laborers or to look at them. max, moving off a little to one side, followed, and reached peterson's side just as grady, his hat pushed back on his head and his feet apart, was beginning to talk. "i had a little conversation with you the other day, mr. peterson. i called to see you in the interests of the men, the men that are working for you--working like galley slaves they are, every man of them. it's shameful to a man that's seen how they've been treated by the nigger drivers that stands over them day and night." he was speaking in a loud voice, with the fluency of a man who is carefully prepared. there was none of the bitterness or the ugliness in his manner that had slipped out in his last talk with bannon, for he knew that a score of laborers were within hearing, and that his words would travel, as if by wire, from mouth to mouth about the building and the grounds below. "i stand here, mr. peterson, the man chosen by these slaves of yours, to look after their rights. i do not ask you to treat them with kindness, i do not ask that you treat them as gentlemen. what do i ask? i demand what's accorded to them by the constitution of the united states and the declaration of independence, that says even a nigger has more rights than you've given to these men, the men that are putting money into your pocket, and mr. bannon's pocket, and the corporation's pocket, by the sweat of their brows. look at them; will you look at them?" he waved his arm toward the nearest group, who had stopped working and were listening; and then, placing a cigar in his mouth and tilting it upward, he struck a match and sheltered it in his hands, looking over it for a moment at peterson. the night boss saw by this time that grady meant business, that his speech was preliminary to something more emphatic, and he knew that he ought to stop it before the laborers should be demoralized. "you can't do that here, mister," said max, over peterson's shoulder, indicating the cigar. grady still held the match, and looked impudently across the tip of his cigar. peterson took it up at once. "you'll have to drop that," he said. "there's no smoking on this job." the match had gone out, and grady lighted another. "so that's one of your rules, too?" he said, in the same loud voice. "it's a wonder you let a man eat." peterson was growing angry. his voice rose as he talked. "i ain't got time to talk to you," he said. "the insurance company says there can't be no smoking here. if you want to know why, you'd better ask them." grady blew out the match and returned the cigar to his pocket, with an air of satisfaction that peterson could not make out. "that's all right, mr. peterson. i didn't come here to make trouble. i come here as a representative of these men"--he waved again toward the laborers--"and i say right here, that if you'd treated them right in the first place, i wouldn't be here at all. i've wanted you to have a fair show. i've put up with your mean tricks and threats and insults ever since you begun--and why? because i wouldn't delay you and hurt the work. it's the industries of today, the elevators and railroads, and the work of strong men like these that's the bulwark of america's greatness. but what do i get in return, mister peterson? i come up here as a gentleman and talk to you. i treat you as a gentleman. i overlook what you've showed yourself to be. and how do you return it? by talking like the blackguard you are--you knock an innocent cigar--" "your time's up!" said pete, drawing a step nearer. "come to business, or clear out. that's all i've got to say to you." "all right, mister peterson--all right. i'll put up with your insults. i can afford to forget myself when i look about me at the heavier burdens these men have to bear, day and night. look at that--look at it, and then try to talk to me." he pointed back toward the stairs where a gang of eight laborers were carrying a heavy timber across the shadowy floor. "well, what about it?" said pete, with half-controlled rage. "what about it! but never mind. i'm a busy man myself. i've got no more time to waste on the likes of you. take a good look at that, and then listen to me. that's the last stick of timber that goes across this floor until you put a runway from the hoist to the end of the building. and every stick that leaves the runway has got to go on a dolly. mark my words now--i'm talking plain. my men don't lift another pound of timber on this house--everything goes on rollers. i've tried to be a patient man, but you've run against the limit. you've broke the last back you'll have a chance at." he put his hand to his mouth as if to shout at the gang, but dropped it and faced around. "no, i won't stop them. i'll be fair to the last." he pulled out his watch. "i'll give you one hour from now. at ten o'clock, if your runway and the dollies ain't working, the men go out. and the next time i see you, i won't be so easy." he turned away, waved to the laborers, with an, "all right, boys; go ahead," and walked grandly toward the stairway. max whistled. "i'd like to know where charlie is," said peterson. "he ain't far. i'll find him;" and max hurried away. bannon was sitting in the office chair with his feet on the draughting-table, figuring on the back of a blotter. the light from the wall lamp was indistinct, and bannon had to bend his head forward to see the figures. he did not look up when the door opened and max came to the railing gate. "grady's been up on the distributing floor," said max, breathlessly, for he had been running. "what did he want?" "he's going to call the men off at ten o'clock if we don't put in a runway and dollies on the distributing floor." bannon looked at his watch. "is that all he wants?" max, in his excitement, did not catch the sarcasm in the question. "that's all he said, but it's enough. we can't do it." bannon closed his watch with a snap. "no," he said, "and we won't throw away any good time trying. you'd better round up the committee that's supposed to run this lodge and send them here. that young murphy's one of them--he can put you straight. bring pete back with you, and the new man, james." max lingered, with a look of awe and admiration. "are you going to stand out, mr. bannon?" he asked. bannon dropped his feet to the floor, and turned toward the table. "yes," he said. "we're going to stand out." since bannon's talk with president carver a little drama had been going on in the local lodge, a drama that neither bannon, max, nor peterson knew about. james had been selected by carver for this work because of proved ability and shrewdness. he had no sooner attached himself to the lodge, and made himself known as an active member, than his personality, without any noticeable effort on his part, began to make itself felt. up to this time grady had had full swing, for there had been no one among the laborers with force enough to oppose him. the first collision took place at an early meeting after grady's last talk with bannon. the delegate, in the course of the meeting, bitterly attacked bannon, accusing him, at the climax of his oration, of an attempt to buy off the honest representative of the working classes for five thousand dollars. this had a tremendous effect on the excitable minds before him. he finished his speech with an impassioned tirade against the corrupt influences of the money power, and was mopping his flushed face, listening with elation to the hum of anger that resulted, confident that he had made his point, when james arose. the new man was as familiar with the tone of the meetings of laborers as grady himself. at the beginning he had no wish further than to get at the truth. grady had not stated his case well. it had convinced the laborers, but to james it had weak points. he asked grady a few pointed questions, that, had the delegate felt the truth behind him, should not have been hard to answer. but grady was still under the spell of his own oratory, and in attempting to get his feet back on the ground, he bungled. james did not carry the discussion beyond the point where grady, in the bewilderment of recognizing this new element in the lodge, lost his temper, but when he sat down, the sentiment of the meeting had changed. few of those men could have explained their feelings; it was simply that the new man was stronger than they were, perhaps as strong as grady, and they were influenced accordingly. there was no decision for a strike at that meeting. grady, cunning at the business, immediately dropped open discussion, and, smarting under the sense of lost prestige, set about regaining his position by well-planned talk with individual laborers. this went on, largely without james' knowledge, until grady felt sure that a majority of the men were back in his control. this time he was determined to carry through the strike without the preliminary vote of the men. it was a bold stroke, but boldness was needed to defeat charlie bannon; and nobody knew better than grady that a dashing show of authority would be hard for james or any one else to resist. and so he had come on the job this evening, at a time when he supposed bannon safe in bed, and delivered his ultimatum. not that he had any hope of carrying the strike through without some sort of a collision with the boss, but he well knew that an encounter after the strike had gathered momentum would be easier than one before. bannon might be able to outwit an individual, even grady himself, but he would find it hard to make headway against an angry mob. and now grady was pacing stiffly about the belt line yards, while the minute hand of his watch crept around toward ten o'clock. even if bannon should be called within the hour, a few fiery words to those sweating gangs on the distributing floor should carry the day. but grady did not think that this would be necessary. he was still in the mistake of supposing that peterson and the boss were at cuts, and he had arrived, by a sort of reasoning that seemed the keenest strategy, at the conclusion that peterson would take the opportunity to settle the matter himself. in fact, grady had evolved a neat little campaign, and he was proud of himself. bannon did not have to wait long. soon there was a sound of feet outside the door, and after a little hesitation, six laborers entered, five of them awkwardly and timidly, wondering what was to come. peterson followed, with max, and closed the door. the members of the committee stood in a straggling row at the railing, looking at each other and at the floor and ceiling--anywhere but at the boss, who was sitting on the table, sternly taking them in. james stepped to one side. "is this all the committee?" bannon presently said. the men hesitated, and murphy, who was in the centre, answered, "yes, sir." "you are the governing members of your lodge?" there was an air of cool authority about bannon that disturbed the men. they had been led to believe that his power reached only the work on the elevator, and that an attempt on his part to interfere in any way with their organization would be an act of high-handed tyranny, "to be resisted to the death" (grady's words). but these men standing before their boss, in his own office, were not the same men that thrilled with righteous wrath under grady's eloquence in the meetings over barry's saloon. so they looked at the floor and ceiling again, until murphy at last answered:-- "yes, sir." bannon waited again, knowing that every added moment of silence gave him the firmer control. "i have nothing to say about the government of your organization," he said, speaking slowly and coldly. "i have brought you here to ask you this question, have you voted to strike?" the silence was deep. peterson, leaning against the closed door, held his breath; max, sitting on the railing with his elbow thrown over the desk, leaned slightly forward. the eyes of the laborers wandered restlessly about the room. they were disturbed, taken off their guard; they needed grady. but the thought of grady was followed by the consciousness of the silent figure of the new man, james, standing behind them. murphy's first impulse was to lie. perhaps, if james had not been there, he would have lied. as it was, he glanced up two or three times, and his lips as many times framed themselves about words that did not come. finally he said, mumbling the words:-- "no, we ain't voted for no strike." "there has been no such decision made by your organization?" "no, i guess not." bannon turned to peterson. "mr. peterson, will you please find mr. grady and bring him here." max and peterson hurried out together. bannon drew up the chair, and turned his back on the committee, going on with his figuring. not a word was said; the men hardly moved; and the minutes went slowly by. then there was a stir outside, and the sound of low voices. the door flew open, admitting grady, who stalked to the railing, choking with anger. max, who immediately followed, was grinning, his eyes resting on a round spot of dust on grady's shoulder, and on his torn collar and disarranged tie. peterson came in last, and carefully closed the door--his eyes were blazing, and one sleeve was rolled up over his bare forearm. neither of them spoke. if anything in the nature of an assault had seemed necessary in dragging the delegate to the office, there had been no witnesses. and he had entered the room of his own accord. grady was at a disadvantage, and he knew it. breathing hard, his face red, his little eyes darting about the room, he took it all in--the members of the committee; the boss, figuring at the table, with an air of exasperating coolness about his lean back; and last of all, james, standing in the shadow. it was the sight of the new man that checked the storm of words that was pressing on grady's tongue. but he finally gathered himself and stepped forward, pushing aside one of the committee. then bannon turned. he faced about in his chair and began to talk straight at the committee, ignoring the delegate. grady began to talk at the same time, but though his voice was the louder, no one seemed to hear him. the men were looking at bannon. grady hesitated, started again, and then, bound by his own rage and his sense of defeat, let his words die away, and stood casting about for an opening. "--this man grady threatened a good while ago that i would have a strike on my hands. he finally came to me and offered to protect me if i would pay him five thousand dollars." "that's a lie!" shouted the delegate. "he come to me--" bannon had hardly paused. he drew a typewritten copy of grady's letter from his pocket, and read it aloud, then handed it over to murphy. "that's the way he came at me. i want you to read it." the man took it awkwardly, glanced at it, and passed it on. "tonight he's ordered a strike. he calls himself your representative, but he has acted on his own responsibility. now, i am going to talk plain to you. i came here to build this elevator, and i'm going to do it. i propose to treat you men fair and square. if you think you ain't treated right, you send an honest man to this office, and i'll talk with him. but i'm through with grady. i won't have him here at all. if you send him around again, i'll throw him off the job." the men were a little startled. they looked at one another, and the man on murphy's left whispered something. bannon sat still, watching them. then grady came to himself. he wheeled around to face the committee, and threw out one arm in a wide gesture. "i demand to know what this means! i demand to know if there is a law in this land! is an honest man, the representative of the hand of labor, to be attacked by hired ruffians? is he to be slandered by the tyrant who drives you at the point of the pistol? and you not men enough to defend your rights--the rights held by every american--the rights granted by the constitution! but it ain't for myself i would talk. it ain't my own injuries that i suffer for. your liberty hangs in the balance. this man has dared to interfere in the integrity of your lodge. have you no words--" bannon arose, caught grady's arm, and whirled him around. "grady," he said, "shut up." the delegate tried to jerk away, but he could not shake off that grip. he looked toward the committeemen, but they were silent. he looked everywhere but up into the eyes that were blazing down at him. and finally bannon felt the muscles within his grip relax. "i'll tell you what i want you to do," said bannon to the committeemen. "i want you to elect a new delegate. don't talk about interference--i don't care how you elect him, or who he is, if he comes to me squarely." grady was wriggling again. "this means a strike!" he shouted. "this means the biggest strike the west has ever seen! you won't get men for love or money--" bannon gave the arm a wrench, and broke in:-- "i'm sick of this. i laid this matter before president carver. i have his word that if you hang on to this man after he's been proved a blackmailer, your lodge can be dropped from the federation. if you try to strike, you won't hurt anybody but yourselves. that's all. you can go." "wait--" grady began, but they filed out without looking at him. james, as he followed them, nodded, and said, "good night, mr. bannon." then for the last time bannon led grady away. peterson started forward, but the boss shook his head, and went out, marching the delegate between the lumber piles to the point where the path crossed the belt line tracks. "now, mr. grady," he said, "this is where our ground stops. the other sides are the road there, and the river, and the last piles of cribbing at the other end. i'm telling you so you will know where you don't belong. now, get out!" chapter xiv the effect of the victory was felt everywhere. not only were max and pete and hilda jubilant over it, but the under-foremen, the timekeepers, even the laborers attacked their work with a fresher energy. it was like the first whiff of salt air to an army marching to the sea. since the day when the cribbing came down from ledyard, the work had gone forward with almost incredible rapidity; there had been no faltering during the weeks when grady's threatened catastrophe was imminent, but now that the big shadow of the little delegate was dispelled, it was easier to see that the huge warehouse was almost finished. there was still much to do, and the handful of days that remained seemed absurdly inadequate; but it needed only a glance at what charlie bannon's tireless, driving energy had already accomplished to make the rest look easy. "we're sure of it now. she'll be full to the roof before the year is out." as max went over the job with his time-book next morning, he said it to every man he met, and they all believed him. peterson, the same man and not the same man either, who had once vowed that there wouldn't be any night work on calumet k, who had bent a pair of most unwilling shoulders to the work bannon had put upon them, who had once spent long, sulky afternoons in the barren little room of his new boarding-house; peterson held himself down in bed exactly three hours the morning after that famous victory. before eleven o'clock he was sledging down a tottering timber at the summit of the marine tower, a hundred and forty feet sheer above the wharf. just before noon he came into the office and found hilda there alone. he had stopped outside the door to put on his coat, but had not buttoned it; his shirt, wet as though he had been in the lake, clung to him and revealed the outline of every muscle in his great trunk. he flung his hat on the draughting-table, and his yellow hair seemed crisper and curlier than ever before. "well, it looks as though we was all right," he said. hilda nodded emphatically. "you think we'll get through in time, don't you, mr. peterson?" "think!" he exclaimed. "i don't have to stop to think. here comes max; just ask him." max slammed the door behind him, brought down the timekeeper's book on hilda's desk with a slap that made her jump, and vaulted to a seat on the railing. "well, i guess it's a case of hurrah for us, ain't it, pete?" "your sister asked me if i thought we'd get done on time. i was just saying it's a sure thing." "i don't know," said max, laughing. "i guess an earthquake could stop us. but why ain't you abed, pete?" "what do i want to be abed for? i ain't going to sleep any more this year--unless we get through a day or two ahead of time. i don't like to miss any of it. charlie bannon may have hustled before, but i guess this breaks his record. where is he now, max?" "down in the cellar putting in the running gear for the 'cross-the-house conveyors. he has his nerve with him. he's putting in three drives entirely different from the way they are in the plans. he told me just now that there wasn't a man in the office who could design a drive that wouldn't tie itself up in square knots in the first ten minutes. i wonder what old macbride'll say when he sees that he's changed the plans." "if macbride has good sense, he'll pass anything that charlie puts up," said pete. he was going to say more, but just then bannon strode into the office and over to the draughting table. he tossed pete's hat to one side and began studying a detail of the machinery plans. "max." he spoke without looking up. "i wish you'd find a water boy and send him up to the hotel to get a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of coffee." "well, that's a nice way to celebrate, i must say," pete commented. "celebrate what?" "why, last night; throwing grady down. you ought to take a day off on the strength of that." "what's grady got to do with it? he ain't in the specifications." "no," said pete, slowly; "but where would we have been if he'd got the men off?" "where would we have been if the house had burned up?" bannon retorted, turning away from the table. "that's got nothing to do with it. i haven't felt less like taking a day off since i came on the job. we may get through on time and we may not. if we get tangled up in the plans like this, very often, i don't know how we'll come out. but the surest way to get left is to begin now telling ourselves that this is easy and it's a cinch. that kind of talk makes me tired." pete flushed, started an explanatory sentence, and another, and then, very uncomfortable, went out. bannon did not look up; he went on studying the blue print, measuring here and there with his three-sided ruler and jotting down incomprehensible operations in arithmetic on a scrap of paper. max was figuring tables in his time-book, hilda poring over the cash account. for half an hour no one spoke. max crammed his cap down over his ears and went out, and there were ten minutes more of silence. then bannon began talking. he still busied his fingers with the blue print, and hilda, after discovering that he was talking to himself rather than to her, went on with her work. but nevertheless she heard, in a fragmentary way, what he was saying. "take a day off--schoolboy trick--enough to make a man tired. might as well do it, though. we ain't going to get through. the office ought to do a little work once in a while just to see what it's like. they think a man can do anything. i'd like to know why i ain't entitled to a night's sleep as well as macbride. but he don't think so. after he'd worked me twenty-four hours a day up to duluth, and i lost thirty-two pounds up there, he sends me down to a mess like this. with a lot of drawings that look as though they were made by a college boy. where does he expect 'em to pile their car doors, i'd like to know." that was the vein of it, though the monologue ran on much longer. but at last he swung impatiently around and addressed hilda. "i'm ready to throw up my hands. i think i'll go back to minneapolis and tell macbride i've had enough. he can come down here and finish the house himself." "do you think he would get it done in time?" hilda's eyes were laughing at him, but she kept them on her work. "oh, yes," he said wearily. "he'd get the grain into her somehow. you couldn't stump macbride with anything. that's why he makes it so warm for us." "do you think," she asked very demurely, indeed, "that if mr. macbride had been here he could have built it any faster than--than we have, so far?" "i don't believe it," said bannon, unwarily. her smile told him that he had been trapped. "i see," he added. "you mean that there ain't any reason why we can't do it." he arose and tramped uneasily about the little shanty. "oh, of course, we'll get it done--just because we have to. there ain't anything else we can do. but just the same i'm sick of the business. i want to quit." she said nothing, and after a moment he wheeled and, facing her, demanded abruptly: "what's the matter with me, anyway?" she looked at him frankly, a smile, almost mischievous, in her face. the hard, harassed look between his eyes and about his drawn mouth melted away, and he repeated the question: "what's the matter with me? you're the doctor. i'll take whatever medicine you say." "you didn't take mr. peterson's suggestion very well--about taking a holiday, i mean. i don't know whether i dare prescribe for you or not. i don't think you need a day off. i think that, next to a good, long vacation, the best thing for you is excitement." he laughed. "no, i mean it. you're tired out, of course, but if you have enough to occupy your mind, you don't know it. the trouble today is that everything is going too smoothly. you weren't a bit afraid yesterday that the elevator wouldn't be done on time. that was because you thought there was going to be a strike. and if just now the elevator should catch on fire or anything, you'd feel all right about it again." he still half suspected that she was making game of him, and he looked at her steadily while he turned her words over in his mind. "well," he said, with a short laugh, "if the only medicine i need is excitement, i'll be the healthiest man you ever saw in a little while. i guess i'll find pete. i must have made him feel pretty sore." "pete," he said, coming upon him in the marine tower a little later, "i've got over my stomach-ache. is it all right?" "sure," said pete; "i didn't know you was feeling bad. i was thinking about that belt gallery, charlie. ain't it time we was putting it up? i'm getting sort of nervous about it." "there ain't three days' work in it, the way we're going," said bannon, thoughtfully, his eyes on the c. & s. c. right-of-way that lay between him and the main house, "but i guess you're right. we'll get at it now. there's no telling what sort of a surprise party those railroad fellows may have for us. the plans call for three trestles between the tracks. we'll get those up today." to pete, building the gallery was a more serious business. he had not bannon's years of experience at bridge repairing; it had happened that he had never been called upon to put up a belt gallery before, and this idea of building a wooden box one hundred and fifty feet long and holding it up, thirty feet in air, on three trestles, was formidable. bannon's nonchalant air of setting about it seemed almost an affectation. each trestle was to consist of a rank of four posts, planted in a line at right angles to the direction of the gallery; they were to be held together at the top by a corbel. no one gave rush orders any more on calumet k, for the reason that no one ever thought of doing anything else. if bannon sent for a man, he came on the run. so in an incredibly short time the fences were down and a swarm of men with spades, post augers, picks, and shovels had invaded the c. & s. c. right-of-way. up and down the track a hundred yards each way from the line of the gallery bannon had stationed men to give warning of the approach of trains. "now," said bannon, "we'll get this part of the job done before any one has time to kick. and they won't be very likely to try to pull 'em up by the roots once we get 'em planted." but the section boss had received instructions that caused him to be wide-awake, day or night, to what was going on in the neighborhood of calumet k. half an hour after the work was begun, the picket line up the track signalled that something was coming. there was no sound of bell or whistle, but presently bannon saw a hand car spinning down the track as fast as six big, sweating men could pump the levers. the section boss had little to say; simply that they were to get out of there and put up that fence again, and the quicker the better. bannon tried to tell him that the railroad had consented to their putting in the gallery, that they were well within their rights, that he, the section boss, had better be careful not to exceed his instructions. but the section boss had spoken his whole mind already. he was not of the sort that talk just for the pleasure of hearing their own voices, and he had categorical instructions that made parley unnecessary. he would not even tell from whom he had the orders. so the posts were lugged out of the way and the fence was put up and the men scattered out to their former work again, grinning a little over bannon's discomfiture. bannon's next move was to write to minneapolis for information and instructions, but macbride, who seemed to have all the information there was, happened to be in duluth, and brown's instructions were consequently foggy. so, after waiting a few days for something more definite, bannon disappeared one afternoon and was gone more than an hour. when he strode into the office again, keen and springy as though his work had just begun, hilda looked up and smiled a little. pete was tilted back in the chair staring glumly out of the window. he did not turn until bannon slapped him jovially on the shoulders and told him to cheer up. "those railroad chaps are laying for us, sure enough," he said. "i've been talking to macbride himself--over at the telephone exchange; he ain't in town--and he said that porter--he's the vice-president of the c. & s. c.-- porter told him, when he was in chicago, that they wouldn't object at all to our building the gallery over their tracks. but that's all we've got to go by. not a word on paper. oh, they mean to give us a picnic, and no mistake!" with that, bannon called up the general offices of the c. & s. c. and asked for mr. porter. there was some little delay in getting the connection, and then three or four minutes of fencing while a young man at the other end of the line tried to satisfy himself that bannon had the right to ask for mr. porter, let alone to talk with him, and bannon, steadily ignoring his questions, continued blandly requesting him to call mr. porter to the telephone. hilda was listening with interest, for bannon's manner was different from anything she had ever seen in him before. it lacked nothing of his customary assurance, but its breeziness gave place to the most studied restraint; he might have been a railroad president himself. he hung up the receiver, however, without accomplishing anything, for the young man finally told him that mr. porter had gone out for the afternoon. so next morning bannon tried again. he learned that porter was in, and all seemed to be going well until he mentioned macbride & company, after which mr. porter became very elusive. three or four attempts to pin him down, or at least to learn his whereabouts, proved unsuccessful, and at last bannon, with wrath in his heart, started down town. it was nearly night before he came back, and as before, he found pete sitting gloomily in the office waiting his return. "well," exclaimed the night boss, looking at him eagerly; "i thought you was never coming back. we've most had a fit here, wondering how you'd come out. i don't have to ask you, though. i can see by your looks that we're all right." bannon laughed, and glanced over at hilda, who was watching him closely. "is that your guess, too, miss vogel?" "i don't think so," she said. "i think you've had a pretty hard time." "they're both good guesses," he said, pulling a paper out of his pocket, and handing it to hilda. "read that." it was a formal permit for building the gallery, signed by porter himself, and bearing the o.k. of the general manager. "nice, isn't it?" bannon commented. "now read the postscript, miss vogel." it was in porter's handwriting, and hilda read it slowly. "macbride & company are not, however, allowed to erect trestles or temporary scaffolding in the c. & s. c. right-of-way, nor to remove any property of the company, such as fences, nor to do anything which may, in the opinion of the local authorities, hinder the movement of trains." pete's face went blank. "a lot of good this darned permit does us then. that just means we can't build it." bannon nodded. "that's what it's supposed to mean," he said. "that's just the point." "you see, it's like this," he went on. "that man porter would make the finest material for ring-oiling, dust proof, non-inflammable bearings that i ever saw. he's just about the hardest, smoothest, shiniest, coolest little piece of metal that ever came my way. well, he wants to delay us on this job. i took that in the moment i saw him. well, i told him how we went ahead, just banking on his verbal consent, and how his railroad had jumped on us; and i said i was sure it was just a misunderstanding, but i wanted it cleared up because we was in a hurry. he grinned a little over that, and i went on talking. said we'd bother 'em as little as possible; of course we had to put up the trestles in their property, because we couldn't hold the thing up with a balloon. "he asked me, innocent as you please, if a steel bridge couldn't be made in a single span, and i said, yes, but it would take too long. we only had a few days. 'well,' he says, 'mr. bannon, i'll give you a permit.' and that's what he gave me. i bet he's grinning yet. i wonder if he'll grin so much about three days from now." "do you mean that you can build it anyway?" hilda demanded breathlessly. he nodded, and, turning to pete, plunged into a swift, technical explanation of how the trick was to be done. "won't you please tell me, too?" hilda asked appealingly. "sure," he said. he sat down beside her at the desk and began drawing on a piece of paper. pete came and looked over his shoulder. bannon began his explanation. illustration: ["here's the spouting house"] "here's the spouting house, and here's the elevator. now, suppose they were only fifteen feet apart. then if we had two ten-foot sticks and put 'em up at an angle and fastened the floor to a bolt that came down between 'em, the whole weight of the thing would be passed along to the foundation that the ends of the timbers rest on. but you see, it's got to be one hundred and fifty feet long, and to build it that way would take two one hundred-foot timbers, and we haven't got 'em that long. illustration: [he was drawing lines across the timber] "but we've got plenty of sticks that are twenty feet long, and plenty of bolts, and this is the way we arrange 'em. we put up our first stick (x) at an angle just as before. then we let a bolt (o) down through the upper end of it and through the floor of the gallery. now the next timber (y) we put up at just the same angle as the first, with the foot of it bearing down on the lower end of the bolt. "that second stick pushes two ways. a straight down push and a sideways push. the bolt resists the down push and transmits it to the first stick, and that pushes against the sill that i marked a. now, the sideways push is against the butt of the first timber of the floor, and that's passed on, same way, to the sill. illustration: ["well, that's the whole trick"] "well, that's the whole trick. you begin at both ends at once and just keep right on going. when the thing's done it looks this way. you see where the two sections meet in the middle, it's just the same as the little fifteen-foot gallery that we made a picture of up here." "i understand that all right," said pete, "but i don't see yet how you're going to do it without some kind of scaffolding." "easy. i ain't going to use a balloon, but i've got something that's better. it'll be out here this afternoon. come and help me get things ready." there was not much to do, for the timber was already cut to the right sizes, but bannon was not content till everything was piled so that when work did begin on the gallery it could go without a hitch. he was already several days behind, and when one is figuring it as fine as bannon was doing in those last days, even one day is a serious matter. he could do nothing more at the belt gallery until his substitute for a scaffold should arrive; it did not come that afternoon or evening, and next morning when he came on the job it still had not been heard from. there was enough to occupy every moment of his time and every shred of his thought without bothering about the gallery, and he did not worry about it as he would have worried if he had had nothing to do but wait for it. but when, well along in the afternoon, a water boy found him up on the weighing floor and told him there was something for him at the office, he made astonishing time getting down. "here's your package," said max, as bannon burst into the little shanty. it was a little, round, pasteboard box. if bannon had had the office to himself, he would, in his disappointment, have cursed the thing till it took fire. as it was, he stood speechless a moment and then turned to go out again. "aren't you going to open it, now you're here?" asked max. bannon, after hesitating, acted on the suggestion, and when he saw what it was, he laughed. no, brown had not forgotten the hat! max gazed at it in unfeigned awe; it was shiny as a mirror, black as a hearse, tall, in his eyes--for this was his first near view of one--as the seat of a dining-room chair. "put it on," he said to bannon. "let's see how it looks on you." "not much. wouldn't i look silly in a thing like that, though? i'd rather wear an ordinary length of stovepipe. that'd be durable, anyway. i wonder what brown sent it for. i thought he knew a joke when he saw one." just then one of the under-foremen came in. "oh, mr. bannon," he said, "i've been looking for you. there's a tug in the river with a big, steel cable aboard that they said was for us. i told 'em i thought it was a mistake--" it was all one movement, bannon's jamming that hat--the silk hat--down on his head, and diving through the door. he shouted orders as he ran, and a number of men, pete among them, got to the wharf as soon as he did. "now, boys, this is all the false work we can have. we're going to hang it up across the tracks and hang our gallery up on it till it's strong enough to hold itself. we've got just forty-eight hours to do the whole trick. catch hold now--lively." illustration: [it was a simple scheme] it was a simple scheme of bannon's. the floor of the gallery was to be built in two sections, one in the main house, one in the spouting house. as fast as the timbers were bolted together the halves of the floor were shoved out over the tracks, each free end being supported by a rope which ran up over a pulley. the pulley was held by an iron ring fast to the cable, but perfectly free to slide along it, and thus accompany the end of the floor as it was moved outward. bannon explained it to pete in a few quick words while the men were hustling the big cable off the tug. "of course," he was concluding, "the thing'll wabble a good deal, specially if it's as windy as this, and it won't be easy to work on, but it won't fall if we make everything fast." pete had listened pretty closely at first, but now bannon noticed that his attention seemed to be wandering to a point a few inches above bannon's head. he was about to ask what was the matter when he found out. it was windier on that particular wharf than anywhere else in the calumet flats, and the hat he had on was not built for that sort of weather. it was perfectly rigid, and not at all accommodated to the shape of bannon's head. so, very naturally, it blew off, rolled around among their feet for a moment, and then dropped into the river between the wharf and the tug. bannon was up on the spouting house, helping make fast the cable end when a workman brought the hat back to him. somebody on the tug had fished it out with a trolling line. but the hat was well past resuscitation. it had been thoroughly drowned, and it seemed to know it. "take that to the office," said bannon. "have vogel wrap it up just as it is and ship it to mr. brown. i'll dictate a letter to go with it by and by." for all bannon's foresight, there threatened to be a hitch in the work on the gallery. the day shift was on again, and twenty-four of bannon's forty-eight hours were spent, when he happened to say to a man:-- "never mind that now, but be sure you fix it tomorrow." "tomorrow?" the man repeated. "we ain't going to work tomorrow, are we?" bannon noticed that every man within hearing stopped work, waiting for the answer. "sure," he said. "why not?" there was some dissatisfied grumbling among them which he was quite at a loss to understand until he caught the word "christmas." "christmas!" he exclaimed, in perfectly honest astonishment. "is tomorrow christmas?" he ran his hand through his stubby hair. "boys," he said, "i'm sorry to have to ask it of you. but can't we put it off a week? look here. we need this day. now, if you'll say christmas is a week from tomorrow, i'll give every man on the job a christmas dinner that you'll never forget; all you can eat and as much again, and you bring your friends, if we work tomorrow and we have her full of wheat a week from today. does that go?" it went, with a ripping cheer to boot; a cheer that was repeated here and there all over the place as bannon's offer was passed along. so for another twenty-four hours they strained and tugged and tusselled up in the big swing, for it was nothing else, above the railroad tracks. there was a northeast gale raging down off the lake, with squalls of rain and sleet mixed up in it, and it took the crazy, swaying box in its teeth and shook it and tossed it up in the air in its eagerness to strip it off the cable. but somewhere there was an unconquerable tenacity that held fast, and in the teeth of the wind the long box grew rigid, as the trusses were pounded into place by men so spent with fatigue that one might say it was sheer good will that drove the hammers. at four o'clock christmas afternoon the last bolt was drawn taut. the gallery, was done. bannon had been on the work since midnight--sixteen consecutive hours. he had eaten nothing except two sandwiches that he had stowed in his pockets. his only pause had been about nine o'clock that morning when he had put his head in the office door to wish hilda a merry christmas. when the evening shift came on--that was just after four--one of the under-foremen tried to get him to talking, but bannon was too tired to talk. "get your tracks and rollers in," he said. "take down the cable." "don't you want to stay and see if she'll hold when the cable comes down?" called the foreman after him as he started away. "she'll hold," said bannon. chapter xv before december was half gone--and while the mild autumn weather serenely held, in spite of weather predictions and of storm signs about the sun and days of blue haze and motionless trees--the newspaper-reading public knew all the outside facts about the fight in wheat, and they knew it to be the biggest fight since the days of "old hutch" and the two-dollar-a-bushel record. indeed, there were men who predicted that the two-dollar mark would be reached before christmas, for the clique of speculators who held the floor were buying, buying, buying--millions upon millions of dollars were slipping through their ready hands, and still there was no hesitation, no weakening. until the small fry had dropped out the deal had been confused; it was too big, there were too many interests involved, to make possible a clear understanding, but now it was settling down into a grim fight between the biggest men on the board. the clique were buying wheat--page & company were selling it to them: if it should come out, on the thirty-first of december, that page & company had sold more than they could deliver, the clique would be winners; but if it should have been delivered, to the last bushel, the corner would be broken, and the clique would drop from sight as so many reckless men had dropped before. the readers of every great newspaper in the country were watching page & company. the general opinion was that they could not do it, that such an enormous quantity of grain could not be delivered and registered in time, even if it were to be had. but the public overlooked, indeed it had no means of knowing, one important fact. the members of the clique were new men in the public eye. they represented apparently unlimited capital, but they were young, eager, overstrung; flushed with the prospect of success, they were talking for publication. they believed they knew of every bushel in the country that was to be had, and they allowed themselves to say that they had already bought more than this. if this were true, page was beaten. but it was not true. the young men of the clique had forgotten that page had trained agents in every part of the world; that he had alliances with great railroad and steamer lines, that he had a weather bureau and a system of crop reports that outdid those of the united states government, that he could command more money than two such cliques, and, most important of all, that he did not talk for publication. the young speculators were matching their wits against a great machine. page had the wheat, he was making the effort of his career to deliver it, and he had no idea of losing. already millions of bushels had been rushed into chicago. it was here that the fight took on its spectacular features, for the grain must be weighed and inspected before it could be accepted by the board of trade, and this could be done only in "regular" warehouses. the struggle had been to get control of these warehouses. it was here that the clique had done their shrewdest work, and they had supposed that page was finally outwitted, until they discovered that he had coolly set about building a million-bushel annex to his new house, calumet k. and so it was that the newspapers learned that on the chance of completing calumet k before the thirty-first of december hung the whole question of winning and losing; that if bannon should fail, page would be short two million bushels. and then came reporters and newspaper illustrators, who hung about the office and badgered hilda, or perched on timber piles and sketched until bannon or peterson or max could get at them and drive them out. young men with snap-shot cameras waylaid bannon on his way to luncheon, and published, with his picture, elaborate stories of his skill in averting a strike-- stories that were not at all true. far out in minnesota and montana and south dakota farmers were driving their wheat-laden wagons to the hundreds of local receiving houses that dotted the railroad lines. box cars were waiting for the red grain, to roll it away to minneapolis and duluth--day and night the long trains were puffing eastward. everywhere the order was, "rush!" railroad presidents and managers knew that page was in a hurry, and they knew what page's hurries meant, not only to the thousands of men who depended on him for their daily bread, but to the many great industries of the northwest, whose credit and integrity were inextricably interwoven with his. division superintendents knew that page was in a hurry, and they snapped out orders and discharged half-competent men and sent quick words along the hot wires that were translated by despatchers and operators and yard masters into profane, driving commands. conductors knew it, brakemen and switchmen knew it; they made flying switches in defiance of companies' orders, they ran where they used to walk, they slung their lunch pails on their arms and ate when and where they could, gazing over their cold tea at some portrait of page, or of a member of the clique, or of bannon, in the morning's paper. elevator men at minneapolis knew that page was in a hurry, and they worked day and night at shovel and scale. steamboat masters up at duluth knew it, and mates and deck hands and stevedores and dockwallopers--more than one steamer scraped her paint in the haste to get under the long spouts that waited to pour out grain by the hundred thousand bushels. trains came down from minneapolis, boats came down from duluth, warehouse after warehouse at chicago was filled; and overstrained nerves neared the breaking point as the short december days flew by. some said the clique would win, some said page would win; in the wheat pit men were fighting like tigers; every one who knew the facts was watching charlie bannon. the storm came on the eighteenth of the month. it was predicted two days ahead, and ship masters were warned at all the lake ports. it was a northwest blizzard, driven down from the canadian rockies at sixty miles an hour, leaving two feet of snow behind it over a belt hundreds of miles wide. but page's steamers were not stopping for blizzards; they headed out of duluth regardless of what was to come. and there were a bad few days, with tales of wreck on lake and railroad, days of wind and snow and bitter cold, and of risks run that supplied round-house and tug-office yarn spinners with stories that were not yet worn out. down on the job the snow brought the work to a pause, but bannon, within a half-hour, was out of bed and on the ground, and there was no question of changing shifts until, after twenty-four hours, the storm had passed, and elevator, annex and marine tower were cleared of snow. men worked until they could not stagger, then snatched a few hours' sleep where they could. word was passed that those who wished might observe the regular hours, but not a dozen men took the opportunity. for now they were in the public eye, and they felt as soldiers feel, when, after long months of drill and discipline, they are led to the charge. then came two days of biting weather--when ears were nipped and fingers stiffened, and carpenters who earned three dollars a day envied the laborers, whose work kept their blood moving--and after this a thaw, with sleet and rain. james, the new delegate, came to bannon and pointed out that men who are continually drenched to the skin are not the best workmen. the boss met the delegate fairly; he ordered an oilskin coat for every man on the job, and in another day they swarmed over the building, looking, at a distance, like glistening yellow beetles. but if chicago was thawing, duluth was not. the harbor at the western end of lake superior was ice-bound, and it finally reached a point that the tugs could not break open the channel. this was on the twenty-third and twenty-fourth. the wires were hot, but page's agents succeeded in covering the facts until christmas day. it was just at dusk, after leaving the men to take down the cable, that bannon went to the office. a newsboy had been on the grounds with a special edition of a cheap afternoon paper. hilda had taken one, and when bannon entered the office he found her reading, leaning forward on the desk, her chin on her hands, the paper spread out over the ledger. "hello," he said, throwing off his dripping oilskin, and coming into the enclosure; "i'm pretty near ready to sit down and think about the christmas tree that we ain't going to have." she looked up, and he saw that she was a little excited; her eyes always told him. during this last week she had been carrying the whole responsibility of the work on her shoulders. "have you seen this?" she asked. "haven't read a paper this week." he leaned over the desk beside her and read the article. in duluth harbor, and at st. mary's straits, a channel through the ice had been blasted out with dynamite, and the last laden steamer was now ploughing down lake michigan. already one steamer was lying at the wharf by the marine tower, waiting for the machinery to start, and others lay behind her, farther down the river. long strings of box cars filled the belt line sidings, ready to roll into the elevator at the word. bannon seated himself on the railing, and caught his toes between the supports. "i'll tell you one thing," he said, "those fellows have got to get up pretty early in the morning if they're going to beat old page." she looked at him, and then slowly folded the paper and turned toward the window. it was nearly dark outside. the rain, driving down from the northeast, tapped steadily on the glass. the arc lamp, on the pole near the tool house, was a blurred circle of light. she was thinking that they would have to get up pretty early to beat charlie bannon. they were silent for a time--silences were not so hard as they had been, a few weeks before--both looking out at the storm, and both thinking that this was christmas night. on the afternoon before he had asked her to take a holiday, and she had shaken her head. "i couldn't--i'd be here before noon," was what she had said; and she had laughed a little at her own confession, and hurried away with max. she turned and said, "is it done--the belt gallery?" he nodded. "all done." "well--" she smiled; and he nodded again. "the c. & s. c. man--the fellow that was around the other day and measured to see if it was high enough--he's out there looking up with his mouth open. he hasn't got much to say." "you didn't have to touch the tracks at all?" "not once. ran her out and bolted her together, and there she was. i'm about ready for my month off. we'll have the wheat coming in tomorrow, and then it's just walking down hill." "tomorrow?" she asked. "can you do it?" "got to. five or six days aren't any too much. if it was an old house and the machinery was working well, i'd undertake to do it in two or three, but if we get through without ripping up the gallery, or pounding the leg through the bottom of a steamer, it'll be the kind of luck i don't have." he paused and looked at the window, where the rain was streaking the glass. "i've been thinking about my vacation. i've about decided to go to the st. lawrence. maybe there are places i'd like better, but when a fellow hasn't had a month off in five years, he doesn't feel like experiments." it was the personal tone again, coming into their talk in spite of the excitement of the day and the many things that might have been said. hilda looked down at the ledger, and fingered the pages. bannon smiled. "if i were you," he said, "i'd shut that up and fire it under the table. this light isn't, good enough to work by, anyway." she slowly closed the book, saying:-- "i never worked before on christmas." "it's a mistake. i don't believe in it, but somehow it's when my hardest work always comes. one christmas, when i was on the grand trunk, there was a big wreck at a junction about sixty miles down the road." she saw the memory coming into his eyes, and she leaned back against the desk, playing with her pen, and now and then looking up. "i was chief wrecker, and i had an old scotch engineer that you couldn't move with a jack. we'd rubbed up together three or four times before i'd had him a month, and i was getting tired of it. we'd got about halfway to the junction that night, and i felt the brakes go on hard, and before i could get through the train and over the tender, we'd stopped dead. the scotchman was down by the drivers fussing around with a lantern. i hollered out:-- "'what's the matter there?' "'she's a bit 'ot,' said he. "you'd have thought he was running a huckleberry train from the time he took. i ordered him into the cab, and he just waved his hand and said:-- "'wait a bit, wait a bit. she'll be cool directly.'" bannon chuckled at the recollection. "what did you do?" hilda asked. "jumped for the lever, and hollered for him to get aboard." "did he come?" "no, he couldn't think that fast. he just stood still, looking at me, while i threw her open, and you could see his lantern for a mile back--he never moved. he had a good six-mile walk back to the last station." there was a long silence. bannon got up and walked slowly up and down the enclosure with his hands deep in his pockets. "i wish this would let up," he said, after a time, pausing in his walk, and looking again at the window. "it's a wonder we're getting things done at all." hilda's eye, roaming over the folded newspaper, fell on the weather forecast. "fair tomorrow," she said, "and colder." "that doesn't stand for much. they said the same thing yesterday. it's a worse gamble than wheat." bannon took to walking again; and hilda stepped down and stood by the window, spelling out the word "calumet" with her ringer on the misty glass. at each turn, bannon paused and looked at her. finally he stood still, not realizing that he was staring until she looked around, flushed, and dropped her eyes. then he felt awkward, and he began turning over the blue prints on the table. "i'll tell you what i'll have to do," he said. "i rather think now i'll start on the third for montreal, i'm telling you a secret, you know. i'm not going to let brown or macbride know where i'll be. and if i can pick up some good pictures of the river, i'll send them to you. i'll get one of the montmorency falls, if i can. they're great in winter." "why--why, thank you," she said. "i'd like to have them." "i ain't much at writing letters," he went on, "but i'll send you the pictures, and you write and tell me how things are going." she laughed softly, and followed the zigzag course of the raindrop with her finger. "i wouldn't have very much to say," she said, speaking with a little hesitation, and without looking around. "max and i never do much." "oh, you can tell how your work goes, and what you do nights." "we don't do much of anything. max studies some at night--a man he used to work for gave him a book of civil engineering." "what do you do?" "i read some, and then i like to learn things about--oh, about business, and how things are done." bannon could not take his eyes from her--he was looking at her hair, and at the curved outline of one cheek, all that he could see of her face. they both stood still, listening to the patter of the rain, and to the steady drip from the other end of the office, where there was a leak in the roof. once she cleared her throat, as if to speak, but no words came. there was a stamping outside, and she slipped back to the ledger, as the door flew open. bannon turned to the blue prints. max entered, pausing to knock his cap against the door, and wring it out. "you ought to have stayed out, mr. bannon," he said. "it's the greatest thing you ever saw--doesn't sag an inch. and say--i wish you could hear the boys talk--they'd lie down and let you walk on 'em, if you wanted to." max's eyes were bright, and his face red with exercise and excitement. he came to the gate and stood wiping his feet and looking from one to the other for several moments before he felt the awkwardness that had come over him. his long rubber coat was thrown back, and little streams of water ran down his back and formed a pool on the floor behind him. "you'd better come out," he said. "it's the prettiest thing i ever saw--a clean straight span from the main house to the tower." bannon stood watching him quizzically; then he turned to hilda. she, too, had been looking at max, but she turned at the same moment, and their eyes met. "do you want to go?" he said. she nodded eagerly. "i'd like to ever so much." then bannon thought of the rain, but she saw his thought as he glanced toward the window, and spoke quickly. "i don't mind--really. max will let me take his coat." "sure," said max, and he grinned. she slipped into it, and it enveloped her, hanging in folds and falling on the floor. "i'll have to hold it up," she said. "do we have much climbing?" "no," said max, "it ain't high. and the stairs are done, you know." hilda lifted the coat a little way with both hands, and put out one small toe. bannon looked at it, and shook his head. "you'll get your feet wet," he said. she looked up and met bannon's eyes again, with an expression that puzzled max. "i don't care. it's almost time to go home, anyway." so they went out, and closed the door; and max, who had been told to "stay behind and keep house," looked after them, and then at the door, and an odd expression of slow understanding came into his face. it was not in what they had said, but there was plainly a new feeling between them. for the first time in his life, max felt that another knew hilda better than he did. the way bannon had looked at her, and she at him; the mutual understanding that left everything unsaid; the something--max did not know what it was, but he saw it and felt it, and it disturbed him. he sat on the table, and swung his feet, while one expression chased another over his face. when he finally got himself together, he went to the door, and opening it, looked out at the black, dim shape of the elevator that, stood big and square, only a little way before him, shutting out whatever he might else have seen of rushing sky or dim-lighted river, or of the railroads and the steamboats and the factories and rolling mills beyond. it was as if this elevator were his fate, looming before him and shutting out the forward view. in whatever thoughts he had had of the future, in whatever plans, and they were few, which he had revolved in his head, there had always been a place for hilda. he did not see just what he was to do, just what he was to become, without her. he stood there for a long time, leaning against the door-jamb with his hands in his pockets, and the sharper gusts of rain whirled around the end of the little building and beat on him. and then--well, it was charlie bannon; and max knew that he was glad it was no one else. the narrow windows in the belt gallery had no glass, and the rain came driving through them into the shadows, each drop catching the white shine of the electric lights outside. the floor was trampled with mud and littered with scraps of lumber, tool boxes, empty nail kegs, and shavings. the long, gloomy gallery was empty when bannon and hilda stepped into it, excepting a group of men at the farther end, installing the rollers for the belt conveyor--they could be seen indistinctly against a light in the river house. the wind came roaring around the building, and the gallery trembled and shook. hilda caught her breath and stopped short. "it's all right," said bannon. "she's bound to move some." "i know--" she laughed--"i wasn't expecting it--it startled me a little." "watch where you step." he took her arm and guided her slowly between the heaps of rubbish. at one of the windows she paused, and stood full in the rain, looking out at the c. & s. c. tracks, with their twinkling red and green lights, all blurred and seeming far off in the storm. "isn't this pretty wet?" he said, standing beside her. "i don't care." she shook the folds of the rubber coat, and glanced down at it. "i like it." they looked out for a long time. two millwrights came through the gallery, and glanced at them, but they did not turn. she stepped forward and let the rain beat on her face--he stood behind, looking at her. a light showed far down the track, and they heard a faint whistle. "a train," he said; and she nodded. the headlight grew, and the car lights appeared behind it, and then the black outline of the engine. there was a rush and a roar, and it passed under them. "doesn't it make you want to jump down?" she said softly, when the roar had dwindled away. he nodded with a half-smile. "say," he said, a little later, "i don't know about your writing--i don't believe we'd better--" he got the words out more rapidly--"i'll tell you what you do--you come along with me and we won't have to write." "come--where?" "up to the st. lawrence. we can start on the third just the same." she did not answer, and he stopped. then, after a moment, she slowly turned, and looked at him. "why--" she said--"i don't think i--" "i've just been thinking about it. i guess i can't do anything else--i mean i don't want to go anywhere alone. i guess that's pretty plain, isn't it--what i mean?" she leaned back against the wall and looked at him; it was as if she could not take her eyes from his face. "perhaps i oughtn't to expect you to say anything now," he went on. "i just thought if you felt anything like i did, you'd know pretty well, by this time, whether it was yes or no." she was still looking at him. he had said it all, and now he waited, his fists knotted tightly, and a peculiar expression on his face, almost as if he were smiling, but it came from a part of his nature that had never before got to the surface. finally she said:-- "i think we'd better go back." he did not seem to understand, and she turned away and started off alone. in a moment he was at her side. he guided her back as they had come, and neither spoke until they had reached the stairway. then he said, in a low tone that the carpenters could not hear:-- "you don't mean that--that you can't do it?" she shook her head and hurried to the office. chapter xvi bannon stood looking after her until she disappeared in the shadow of an arc lamp, and after that he continued a long time staring into the blot of darkness where the office was. at last the window became faintly luminous, as some one lighted the wall lamp; then, as if it were a signal he had been waiting for, bannon turned away. an hour before, when he had seen the last bolt of the belt gallery drawn taut, he had become aware that he was quite exhausted. the fact was so obvious that he had not tried to evade it, but had admitted to himself, in so many words, that he was at the end of his rope. but when he turned from gazing at the dimly lighted window, it was not toward his boarding-house, where he knew he ought to be, but back into the elevator, that his feet led him. for once, his presence accomplished nothing. he went about without thinking where; he passed men without seeing who they were or what they were doing. when he walked through the belt gallery, he saw the foreman of the big gang of men at work there was handling them clumsily, so that they interfered with each other, but it did not occur to him to give the orders that would set things right. then, as if his wire-drawn muscles had not done work enough, he climbed laboriously to the very top of the marine tower. he was leaning against a window-casing; not looking out, for he saw nothing, but with his face turned to the fleet of barges lying in the river; when some one spoke to him. "i guess you're thinking about that christmas dinner, ain't you, mr. bannon?" "what's that?" he demanded, wheeling about. then rallying his scattered faculties, he recognized one of the carpenters. "oh, yes," he said, laughing tardily. "yes, the postponed christmas dinner. you think i'm in for it, do you? you know it's no go unless this house is full of wheat clear to the roof." "i know it," said the man. "but i guess we're going to stick you for it. don't you think we are?" "i guess that's right." "i come up here," said the carpenter, well pleased at the chance for a talk with the boss, "to have a look at this--marine leg, do you call it? i haven't been to work on it, and i never saw one before. i wanted to find out how it works." "just like any other leg over in the main house. head pulley up here; another one down in the boot; endless belt running over 'em with steel cups rivetted on it to scoop up the grain. only difference is that instead of being stationary and set up in a tank, this one's hung up. we let the whole business right down into the boat. pull it up and down with that steam winch." the man shook his head. "what if it got away from you?" "that's happened," said bannon. "i've seen a leg most as big as this smash through two decks. thought it was going right on through the bottom of the boat. but that wasn't a leg that macbride had hung up. this one won't fall." bannon answered one or two more questions rather at random, then suddenly came back to earth. "what are you doing here, anyway?" he demanded. "seems to me this is a pretty easy way to earn thirty cents an hour." "i--i was just going to see if there wasn't something i could do," the man answered, a good deal embarrassed. then before bannon could do more than echo, "something to do?" added: "i don't get my time check till midnight. i ain't on this shift. i just come around to see how things was going. we're going to see you through, mr. bannon." bannon never had a finer tribute than that, not even what young page said when the race was over; and it could not have come at a moment when he needed it more. he did not think much in set terms about what it meant, but when the man had gone and he had turned back to the window, he took a long breath of the night air and he saw what lay beneath his eyes. he saw the line of ships in the river; down nearer the lake another of page's elevators was drinking up the red wheat out of the hold of a snub-nosed barge; across the river, in the dark, they were backing another string of wheat-laden cars over the belt line switches. as he looked out and listened, his imagination took fire again, as it had taken fire that day in the waiting-room at blake city, when he had learned that the little, one-track g.&m. was trying to hinder the torrent of the northern wheat. well, the wheat had come down. it had beaten a blizzard, it had churned and wedged and crushed its way through floating ice and in the trough of mauling seas; belated passenger trains had waited on lonely sidings while it thundered by, and big rotary ploughs had bitten a way for it across the drifted prairies. now it was here, and charlie bannon was keeping it waiting. he stood there, looking, only a moment; then before the carpenter's footsteps were well out of hearing, he followed him down the stairway to the belt gallery. before he had passed half its length you could have seen the difference. in the next two hours every man on the elevator saw him, learned a quicker way to splice a rope or align a shaft, and heard, before the boss went away, some word of commendation that set his hands to working the faster, and made the work seem easy. the work had gone on without interruption for weeks, and never slowly, but there were times when it went with a lilt and a laugh; when laborers heaved at a hoisting tackle with a yo-ho, like privateersmen who have just sighted a sail; when, with all they could do, results came too slowly, and the hours flew too fast. and so it was that christmas night; charlie bannon was back on the job. about ten o'clock he encountered pete, bearing off to the shanty a quart bottle of cold coffee and a dozen big, thick sandwiches. "come on, charlie," he called. "max is coming, too; but i guess we've got enough to spare you a little." so the three of them sat down to supper around the draughting-table, and between bites bannon talked, a little about everything, but principally, and with much corroborative detail--for the story seemed to strain even pete's easy credulity--of how, up at yawger, he had been run on the independent ticket for superintendent of the sunday school, and had been barely defeated by two votes. when the sandwiches were put away, and all but three drinks of the coffee, bannon held the bottle high in the air. "here's to the house!" he said. "we'll have wheat in her tomorrow night!" they drank the toast standing; then, as if ashamed of such a sentimental demonstration, they filed sheepishly out of the office. they walked fifty paces in silence. then pete checked suddenly and turned to bannon. "hold on, charlie, where are you going?" "going to look over those 'cross-the-house conveyor drives down cellar." "no, you ain't either. you're going to bed." bannon only laughed and started on toward the elevator. "how long is it since you had any sleep?" pete demanded. "i don't know. guess i must have slept part of the time while we was putting up that gallery. i don't remember much about it." "don't be in such a hurry," said pete, and as he said it he reached out his left hand and caught him by the shoulder. it was more by way of gesture than otherwise, but bannon had to step back a pace to keep his feet. "i mean business," pete went on, though laughing a little. "when we begin to turn over the machinery you won't want to go away, so this is your last chance to get any sleep. i can't make things jump like you can, but i can keep 'em going tonight somehow." "hadn't you better wrap me up in cotton flannel and feed me warm milk with a spoon? let go of me and quit your fooling. you delay the game." "i ain't fooling. i'm boss here at night, and i fire you till morning. that goes if i have to carry you all the way to your boarding house and tie you down to the bed." pete meant it. as if, again, for illustration, he picked bannon up in his arms. the boss was ready for the move this time, and he resisted with all his strength, but he would have had as much chance against the hug of a grizzly bear; he was crumpled up. pete started off with him across the flat. "all right," said bannon. "i'll go." at seven o'clock next morning pete began expecting his return. at eight he began inquiring of various foremen if they had seen anything of charlie bannon. by nine he was avowedly worried lest something had gone wrong with him, and a little after ten max set out for the boarding house. encountering the landlady in the hall, he made the mistake of asking her if she had seen anything of mr. bannon that morning. she had some elementary notions of strategy, derived, doubtless, from experience, and before beginning her reply, she blocked the narrow stairway with her broad person. then, beginning with a discussion of mr. bannon's excellent moral character and his most imprudent habits, and illustrating by anecdotes of various other boarders she had had at one time and another, she led up to the statement that she had seen nothing of him since the night before, and that she had twice knocked at his door without getting any reply. max, who had laughed a little at pete's alarm, was now pretty well frightened himself, but at that instant they heard the thud of bare feet on the floor just above them. "that's him now," said the landlady, thoughtlessly turning sideways, and max bolted past her and up the stairs. he knocked at the door and called out to know if he could come in. the growl he heard in reply meant invitation as much as it meant anything, so he went in. bannon, already in his shirt and trousers, stood with his back to the door, his face in the washbowl. as he scoured he sputtered. max could make little out of it, for bannon's face was under water half the time, but he caught such phrases as "pete's darned foolishness," "college boy trick," "lie abed all the morning," and "better get an alarm clock"-- which thing and the need for it bannon greatly despised--and he reached the conclusion that the matter was nothing more serious than that bannon had overslept. but the boss took it seriously enough. indeed, he seemed deeply humiliated, and he marched back to the elevator beside max without saying a word until just as they were crossing the belt line tracks, when the explanation of the phenomenon came to him. "i know where i get it from," he exclaimed, as if in some measure relieved by the discovery. "i must take after my uncle. he was the greatest fellow to sleep you ever saw." so far as pace was concerned that day was like the others; while the men were human it could be no faster; with bannon on the job it could not flag; but there was this difference, that today the stupidest sweepers knew that they had almost reached the end, and there was a rally like that which a runner makes at the beginning of the last hundred yards. late in the afternoon they had a broad hint of how near the end was. the sweepers dropped their brooms and began carrying fire buckets full of water. they placed one or more near every bearing all over the elevator. the men who were quickest to understand explained to the slower ones what the precaution meant, and every man had his eye on the nearest pulley to see when it would begin to turn. but bannon was not going to begin till he was ready. he had inspected the whole job four times since noon, but just after six he went all over it again, more carefully than before. at the end he stepped out of the door at the bottom of the stairway bin, and pulled it shut after him. it was not yet painted, and its blank surface suggested something. he drew out his blue pencil and wrote on the upper panel:-- o.k. c. h. bannon. then he walked over to the power house. it was a one-story brick building, with whose construction bannon had had no concern, as page & company had placed the contract for it elsewhere. every night for the past week lights had been streaming from its windows, and day and night men had waited, ready at any time for the word to go ahead. a dozen of them were lounging about the brick-paved space in front of the battery of boilers when bannon opened the door, and they sprang to their feet as they read his errand in his face. "steam up," he said. "we'll be ready as soon as you are." there was the accumulated tension of a week of inactivity behind these men, and the effect of bannon's words was galvanic. already low fires were burning under the boilers, and now the coal was piled on, the draughts roared, the smoke, thick enough to cut, came billowing out of the tall chimney. every man in the room, even the wretchedest of the dripping stokers, had his eyes on the steam gauges, but for all that the water boiled, and the indicator needles crept slowly round the dials, and at last the engineer walked over and pulled the whistle cord. hitherto they had marked the divisions of time on the job by the shrill note of the little whistle on the hoisting engine boiler, and there was not a man but started at the screaming crescendo of the big siren on top of the power house. men in the streets, in the straggling boarding houses over across the flats, on the wharves along the river, men who had been forbidden to come to the elevator till they were needed lest they should be in the way, had been waiting days for that signal, and they came streaming into the elevator almost before the blast had died away. page's superintendent was standing beside bannon and pete by the foot of the main drive. "well," he said, "we're ready. are you?" bannon nodded and turned to a laborer who stood near. "go tell the engineer to go ahead." the man, proud as though he had just been promoted, went out on the run. "now," said bannon, "here's where we go slow. all the machinery in the house has got to be thrown in, one thing at a time, line shafts first and then elevators and the rest of it. pete, you see it done up top. i'll look out for it down here. see that there's a man to look at each bearing at least once in three minutes, and let me know if it gets warm." it took a long time to do it, but it had to be done, for bannon was inflexible, but at last everything in elevator, annex, and spouting house that could turn was turning, and it was reported to bannon. "now," he said, "she's got to run light for fifteen minutes. no--" he went on in answer to the superintendent's protest; "you're lucky i didn't say two hours. it's the biggest chance i ever took as it is." so while they stared at the second hands of their watches the minutes crept away--pete wound his watch up tight in the vain hope of making it go a little faster--and at last bannon turned with a nod to the superintendent. "all right," he said. "you're the boss now." and then in a moment the straining hawsers were hauling cars up into the house. the seals were broken, the doors rolled back, and the wheat came pouring out. the shovellers clambered into the cars and the steam power shovels helped the torrent along. it fell through the gratings, into steel tanks, and then the tireless metal cups carried it up, up, up, 'way to the top of the building. and then it came tumbling down again; down into garners, and down again into the great weighing hoppers, and recognized and registered and marketable at last, part of the load that was to bury the clique that had braved it out of sight of all but their creditors, it went streaming down the spouts into the bins. the first of the barges in the river was moved down beside the spouting house, her main hatch just opposite the tower. and now pete, in charge there, gave the word, and the marine leg, gravely, deliberately descended. there is a magnificent audacity about that sort of performance. the leg was ninety feet long, steel-booted, framed of great timbers, heavy enough to have wrecked the barge like a birch baric canoe if it had got away. it went down bodily into the hold and the steel boot was buried in wheat. then pete threw another lever, and in a moment another endless series of cups was carrying the wheat aloft. it went over the cross-head and down a spout, then stretched out in a golden ribbon along the glistening white belt that ran the length of the gallery. then, like the wheat from the cars, it was caught up again in the cups, and shot down through spouts, and carried along on belts to the remotest bins in the annex. for the first few hours of it the men's nerves were hair springs, but as time went on and the stream kept pouring in without pause, the tension relaxed though the watch never slackened. men patted the bearings affectionately, and still the same report came to bannon, "all cool." late that night, as the superintendent was figuring his weighing reports, he said to bannon, "at this rate, we'll have several hours to spare." "we haven't had our accident yet," said bannon, shortly. it happened within an hour, at the marine leg, but it was not serious. they heard a splintering sound, down in the dark, somewhere, and pete, shouting to them to throw out the clutch, climbed out and down on the sleet-clad girders that framed the leg. an agile monkey might have been glad to return alive from such a climb, but pete came back presently with a curious specimen of marine hardware that had in some way got into the wheat, and thence into the boot and one of the cups. part way up it had got jammed and had ripped up the sheathing of the leg. they started the leg again, but soon learned that it was leaking badly. "you'll have to haul up for repairs, i guess," the captain called up to them. "haven't time," said pete, under his breath, and with a hammer and nails, and a big piece of sacking, he went down the leg again, playing his neck against a half-hour's delay as serenely as most men would walk downstairs to dinner. "start her up, boys," he called, when the job was done, and, with the leg jolting under his hands as he climbed, he came back into the tower. that was their only misfortune, and all it cost them was a matter of minutes, so by noon of the thirtieth, an hour or two after macbride and young page arrived from minneapolis, it became clear that they would be through in time. at eight o'clock next morning, as bannon and macbride were standing in the superintendent's office, he came in and held out his hand. "she's full, mr. bannon. i congratulate you." "full, eh?" said macbride. then he dropped his hand on bannon's shoulder. "well," he said, "do you want to go to sleep, or will you come and talk business with me for a little while?" "sleep!" bannon echoed. "i've been oversleeping lately." chapter xvii the elevator was the place for the dinner, if only the mild weather that had followed the christmas storm should continue--on that bannon, pete, and max were agreed. new year's day would be a holiday, and there was room on the distributing floor for every man who had worked an hour on the job since the first spile had been driven home in the calumet clay. to be sure most of the laborers had been laid off before the installing of the machinery, but bannon knew that they would all be on hand, and he meant to have seats for them. but on the night of the thirtieth the wind swung around to the northeast, and it came whistling through the cracks in the cupola walls with a sting in it that set the weighers to shivering. and as the insurance companies would have inquired curiously into any arrangement for heating that gloomy space on the tops of the bins, the plan had to be given up. as soon as the last of the grain was in, on the thirty-first, max took a north-bound car and scoured south chicago for a hall that was big enough. before the afternoon was gone he had found it, and had arranged with a restaurant keeper to supply the dinner. early the next morning the three set to work, making long tables and benches by resting planks on boxes, and covering the tables with pink and blue and white scalloped shelf-paper. it was nearly ten o'clock when max, after draping a twenty-four-foot flag in a dozen different ways, let it slide down the ladder to the floor and sat down on the upper round, looking out over the gridiron of tables with a disgusted expression. peterson, aided by a man from the restaurant, was bringing in load after load of thick white plates, stacking them waist high near the door. max was on the point of calling to him, but he recollected that pete's eye, though quick with timbers, would not help much in questions of art. just then bannon came through the doorway with another flag rolled under his arm. "they're here already, a couple of dozen of 'em," he said, as he dropped the flag at the foot of the ladder. "i've left james on the stairs to keep 'em out until we're ready. better have an eye on the fire escape, too-- they're feeling pretty lively." "say," max said abruptly, "i can't make this thing look anyhow. i guess it's up to you." bannon stepped back and looked up at the wall. "why don't you just hang them from the ceiling and then catch them up from pretty near the bottom--so they'll drape down on both sides of the windows?" "i know," said max, "but there's ways of making 'em look just right--if hilda was here; she'd know--" he paused and looked down at the red, white, and blue heap on the floor. during the last week they had not spoken of hilda, and bannon did not know whether she had told max. he glanced at him, but got no sign, for max was gazing moodily downward. "do you think," bannon said, "do you think she'd care to come around?" he tried to speak easily, as he might have spoken of her at any time before christmas day, but he could not check a second glance at max. at that moment max looked up, and as their eyes met, with an awkward pause, bannon knew that he understood; and for a moment the impatience that he had been fighting for a week threatened to get away with him. he had seen nothing of hilda, except for the daily "good morning," and a word now and then. the office had been besieged by reporters waiting for a chance at him; under-foremen had been rushing in and out; page's representatives and the railroad and steamboat men had made it their headquarters. it may be that he would not have spoken in any case, for he had said all that he could say, and he knew that she would give him an answer when she could. max's eyes had dropped again. "you mean for her to help fix things up?" he asked. bannon nodded; and then, as max did not look up, he said, "yes." "why--why, yes, i guess she'd just as soon." he hesitated, then began coming down the ladder, adding, "i'll go for her." bannon looked over his shoulder--pete was clattering about among the dishes. "max," he said, "hold on a minute." max turned and came slowly back. bannon had seated himself on the end of a table, and now he waited, looking down at the two rows of plates, and slowly turning a caster that stood at his elbow. what he finally said was not what max was awaiting. "what are you going to do now, max--when you're through on this job?" "why--i don't know--" "have you got anything ahead?" "nothing sure. i was working for a firm of contractors up on the north side, and i've been thinking maybe they'd take me back." "you've had some experience in building before now, haven't you?" bannon was speaking deliberately, as if he were saying what he had thought out before. "yes, a good deal. it's what i've mostly done since i quit the lumber business." "when mr. macbride was here," said bannon, "he told me that we've got a contract for a new house at indianapolis. it's going to be concrete, from the spiles up--there ain't anything like it in the country. i'm going down next week to take charge of the job, and if you'd like to go along as my assistant, i'll take you." max did not know what to say. at first he grinned and blushed, thinking only that bannon had been pleased with his work; then he grew serious. "well," said bannon, "what do you say?" max still hesitated. at last he replied:-- "can i have till tomorrow to think about it? i--you see, hilda and i, we most always talk things over, and i don't exactly like to do anything without--" "sure," said bannon; "think it over if you like. there's no hurry up to the end of the week." he paused as if he meant to go on, but changed his mind and stood up. max, too, was waiting, as if there were more to be said. "you two must think we've got all day to fix things." it was pete calling from the other end of the room. "there ain't no loafing allowed here." bannon smiled, and max turned away. but after he had got a third of the way down the aisle, he came back. "say, mr. bannon," he said, "i want to tell you that i--hilda, she said-- she's told me something about things--and i want to--" it had been a lame conversation; now it broke down, and they stood through a long silence without speaking. finally max pulled himself together, and said in a low, nervous voice: "say, it's all right. i guess you know what i'm thinking about. and i ain't got a word to say." then he hurried out. when max and hilda came in, the restaurant man was setting up the paper napkin tents on the raised table at the end of the hall, and pete stood by the door, looking upon his work with satisfaction. he did not see them until they were fairly in the room. "hello," he said; "i didn't know you was coming, miss vogel." he swept his arm around. "ain't it fine? make you hungry to look at all them plates?" hilda followed his gesture with a smile. her jacket was still buttoned tightly, and her eyes were bright and her cheeks red from the brisk outer air. bannon and james were coming toward them, and she greeted them with a nod. "there's going to be plenty of room," she said. "that's right," pete replied. "there won't be no elbows getting in the way at this dinner. come up where you can see better." he led the way to the platform, and they all followed. "this is the speakers' table," pete went on, "where the boss and all will be"--he winked toward bannon--"and the guest of honor. you show her how we sit, max; you fixed that part of it." max walked around the table, pointing out his own, pete's, james', and bannon's seats, and those of the committee. the middle seat, next to bannon's he passed over. "hold on," said pete, "you forgot something." max grinned and drew back the middle chair. "this is for the guest of honor," he said, and looked at hilda. pete was looking at her, too, and james--all but bannon. the color, that had been leaving her face, began to come back. "do you mean me?" she asked. "i guess that's pretty near," said pete. she shook her head. "oh, no--thank you very much--i can't stay." pete and max looked at each other. "the boys'll be sorry," said pete. "it's kind of got out that maybe you'd be here, and--i don't believe they'd let you off." hilda was smiling, but her face was flushed. she shook her head. "oh, no," she replied; "i only came to help." pete turned on max, with a clumsy laugh that did not cover his disappointment. "how about this, max? you ain't been tending to business. ain't that so, james? wasn't he going to see that she come and sat up with us where the boys could see her?" he turned to hilda. "you see, most of the boys know you've had a good deal to do with things on the job, and they've kind of took a shine to you--" pete suddenly awoke to the fact that he had never talked so boldly to a girl before. he hesitated, looked around at max and james for support and at bannon, and then, finding no help, he grinned, and the warm color surged over his face. the only one who saw it all was hilda, and in spite of her embarrassment the sight of big, strong, bashful pete was too much for her. a twinkle came into her eyes, and a faint smile hovered about her mouth. pete saw it, misunderstood it, and, feeling relieved, went on, not knowing that by bringing that twinkle to hilda's eyes, he had saved the situation. "it's only that they've talked about it some, and yesterday a couple of 'em spoke to me, and i said i'd ask max, and--" "thank you, mr. peterson," hilda replied. "max should have told me." she turned toward max, her face sober now except for the eyes, which would not come under control. max had been dividing his glances between her and bannon, feeling the situation heavily, and wondering if he ought not to come to her relief, but unable to dig up the right word. pete spoke up again:-- "say, honest now, ain't you coming?" "i can't really. i'm sorry. i know you'll have a good time." bannon had been standing aside, unwilling to speak for fear of making it harder for her. but now she turned to him and said, with a lightness that puzzled him:-- "aren't we going to do some decorating, mr. bannon? i'm afraid it will be dinner time before mr. peterson knows it." pete flushed again at this, but she gave him a quick smile. "yes," said bannon, "there's only a little over half an hour." he paused, and looked about the group, holding his watch in his hand and fingering the stem. the lines about his mouth were settling. hilda glanced again at him, and from the determined look in his eyes, she knew that his week of waiting was over; that he meant to speak to her before she left the hall. it was all in the moment's silence that followed his remark; then he went on, as easily as if he were talking to a gang on the marine tower--but the time was long enough for hilda to feel her brief courage slipping away. she could not look at him now. "take a look at that door, james," he was saying. "i guess you'll have to tend to business if you want any dinner." they all turned and saw the grinning heads of some of the carpenters peering into the room. there was the shuffling of many feet behind them on the stairs, and the sound of cat calls and whistling. a shove was passed on from somewhere back in the hallway, and one of the carpenters came sprawling through the door. the others yelled good-naturedly. "i'll fix 'em," said james, with a laugh, starting toward them. "give him a lift, pete," said bannon. "he'll need it. you two'd better keep the stairs clear for a while, or they'll stampede us." so pete followed, and for a few moments the uproar from the stairs drowned all attempts at conversation. only max was left with them now. he stood back by the wall, still looking helplessly from one to the other. the restaurant men were bustling about the floor; and hilda was glad they were there, for she knew that bannon meant to send max away, too. she was too nervous to stand still; and she walked around the table, resetting the knives and forks and spoons. the paper napkins on this table were the only ones in the room. she wondered at this, and when the noise of the men had died away into a few jeering cries from the street, and max had gone to get the flags (for she had said that they should be hung at this end of the room), and the waiters were bustling about, it gave her a chance to break the silence. "aren't the other"--she had to stop to clear her throat--"aren't the other men going to have napkins?" "they wouldn't know what they were for." his easy tone gave her a momentary sense of relief. "they'd tie them on their hats, or make balls to throw around." he paused, but added: "it wouldn't look bad, though, would it?--to stand them up this way on all the tables." she made no reply. "what do you say?" he was looking at her. "shall we do it?" she nodded, and then dropped her eyes, angry with herself that she could not overcome her nervousness. there was another silence, and she broke it. "it would look a good deal better," she said, "if you have time to do it. max and i will put up the flags." she had meant to say something that would give her a better control of the situation, but it sounded very flat and disagreeable--and she had not meant it to sound disagreeable. indeed, as soon as the words were out, and she felt his eyes on her, and she knew that she was blushing, she was not sure that she had meant it at all. perhaps that was why, when bannon asked, in a low voice, "would you rather max would help you?" she turned away and answered in a cool tone that did not come from any one of her rushing, struggling thoughts, "if you don't mind." she did not see the change that came over his face, the weary look that meant that the strain of a week had suddenly broken, but she did not need to see it, for she knew it was there. she heard him step down from the platform, and then she watched him as he walked down the aisle to meet max, who was bringing up the flags. she wondered impatiently why bannon did not call to him. then he raised his head, but before a word had left his lips she was speaking, in a clear tone that max could plainly hear. she was surprised at herself. she had not meant to say a word, but out it came; and she was conscious of a tightening of her nerves and a defiant gladness that at last her real thoughts had found an outlet. "max," she said, "won't you go out and get enough napkins to put at all the places? you'll have to hurry." bannon was slow in turning; when he did there was a peculiar expression on his face. "hold on, there," called a waiter. "there ain't time to fold them." "yes, there is," said bannon, shortly. "the boys can wait." "but dinner's most ready now." "then i guess dinner's got to wait, too." the waiter looked disgusted, and max hurried out. bannon gathered up the flags and came to the platform. hilda could not face him. for an instant she had a wild impulse to follow max. she finally turned her back on bannon and leaned her elbows on a chair, looking over the wall for a good place to hang the flags. she was going to begin talking about it as soon as he should reach the platform. the words were all ready, but now he was opposite her, looking across the table with the red and white bundle in his arms, and she had not said it. her eyes were fixed on a napkin, studying out the curious japanese design. she could hear his breathing and her own. she let her eyes rise as high as the flags, then slowly, higher and higher, until they met his, fluttered, and dropped. but the glance was enough. she could not have resisted the look in his eyes. "did you mean it?" he asked, almost breathlessly. "did you mean the whole thing?" she could not reply. she glanced around to see if the waiters could hear. "can't you tell me?" he was saying. "it's been a week." she gazed at the napkin until it grew misty and indistinct. then she slowly nodded. a waiter was almost within hearing. bannon stood looking at her, heedless of everything but that she was there before him, that her eyes were trying to peep up at him through the locks of red gold hair that had strayed over her forehead. "please"--she whispered--"please put them up." and so they set to work. he got the ladder and she told him what to do. her directions were not always clear, but that mattered little, for he could not have followed them. somehow the flags went up, and if the effect was little better than max's attempt had been, no one spoke of it. pete and max came in together soon with the napkins, and a little time slipped by before bannon could draw max aside and grip his hand. then they went at the napkins, and as they sat around the table, hilda and bannon, pete and the waiters, folding them with rapid fingers, bannon found opportunity to talk to her in a low voice, during the times when pete was whistling, or was chaffing with the waiters. he told her, a few words at a time, of the new work mr. macbride had assigned to him, and in his enthusiasm he gave her a little idea of what it would mean to him, this opportunity to build an elevator the like of which had never been seen in the country before, and which would be watched by engineers from new york to san francisco. he told her, too, something about the work, how it had been discovered that piles could be made of concrete and driven into the ground with a pile driver, and that neither beams nor girders--none of the timbers, in fact--were needed in this new construction. he was nearly through with it, and still he did not notice the uncertain expression in her eyes. it was not until she asked in a faltering undertone, "when are you going to begin?" that it came to him. and then he looked at her so long that pete began to notice, and she had to touch his foot with hers under the table to get him to turn away. he had forgotten all about the vacation and the st. lawrence trip. hilda saw, in her side glances, the gloomy expression that had settled upon his face; and she recovered her spirits first. "it's all right," she whispered; "i don't care." max came up then, from a talk with james out on the stairway, and for a few moments there was no chance to reply. but after bannon had caught max's signals to step out of hearing of the others, and before he had risen, there was a moment when pete's attention was drawn by one of the waiters, and he said:-- "can you go with me--monday?" she looked frightened, and the blood rose in her cheeks so that she had to bend low over her pile of napkins. "will you?" he was pushing back his chair. she did not look up, but her head nodded once with a little jerk. "and you'll stay for the dinner, won't you--now?" she nodded once more, and bannon went to join max. max made two false starts before he could get his words out in the proper order. "say," he finally said; "i thought maybe you wouldn't care if i told james. he thinks you're all right, you know. and he says, if you don't care, he'd like to say a little something about it when he makes his speech. not much, you know--nothing you wouldn't like--he says it would tickle the boys right down to their corns." bannon looked around toward hilda, and slowly shook his head. "max," he replied, "if anybody says a word about it at this dinner i'll break his head." that should have been enough, but when james' turn came to speak, after nearly two hours of eating and singing and laughing and riotous good cheer, he began in a way that brought bannon's eyes quickly upon him. "boys," he said, "we've worked hard together on this job, and one way and another we've come to understand what sort of a man our boss is. ain't that right?" a roar went up from hundreds of throats, and hilda, sitting next to bannon, blushed. "we've thought we understood him pretty well, but i've just found out that we didn't know so much as we thought we did. he's been a pretty square friend to all of us, and i'm going to tell you something that'll give you a chance to show you're square friends of his, too." he paused, and then was about to go on, leaning forward with both hands on the table, and looking straight down on the long rows of bearded faces, when he heard a slight noise behind him. a sudden laugh broke out, and before he could turn his head, a strong hand fell on each shoulder and he went back into his chair with a bump. then he looked up, and saw bannon standing over him. the boss was trying to speak, but he had to wait a full minute before he could make himself heard. he glanced around and saw the look of appeal in hilda's eyes. "look here, boys," he said, when the room had grown quiet; "we aren't handing out any soft soap at this dinner. i won't let this man up till he promises to quit talking about me." there was another burst of laughter, and james shouted something that nobody understood. bannon looked down at him, and said quietly, and with a twinkle in his eye, but very firmly:-- "if you try that again, i'll throw you out of the window." james protested, and was allowed to get up. bannon slipped into his seat by hilda. "it's all right," he said in a low tone. "they won't know it now until we get out of here." his hand groped for hers under the table. james was irrepressible. he was shouting quickly now, in order to get the words out before bannon could reach him again. "how about this, boys? shall we stand it?" "no!" was the reply in chorus. "all right, then. three cheers for mr. bannon. now--hip, hip--" there was no stopping that response. calumet "k" by merwin-webster authors of "the short line war," etc. new york the macmillan company london: macmillan & co., ltd. _all rights reserved_ copyright, , by the curtis publishing company. copyright, , by the macmillan company. set up, electrotyped, and published october, . reprinted august, ; march, . special edition may, june, . norwood press j. s. cushing & co.--berwick & smith co. norwood, mass., u.s.a. calumet "k" chapter i the contract for the two million bushel grain elevator, calumet k, had been let to macbride & company, of minneapolis, in january, but the superstructure was not begun until late in may, and at the end of october it was still far from completion. ill luck had attended peterson, the constructor, especially since august. macbride, the head of the firm, disliked unlucky men, and at the end of three months his patience gave out, and he telegraphed charlie bannon to leave the job he was completing at duluth and report at once at the home office. rumors of the way things were going at calumet under the hands of his younger co-laborer had reached bannon, and he was not greatly surprised when macbride told him to go to chicago sunday night and supersede peterson. at ten o'clock monday morning, bannon, looking out through the dusty window of the trolley car, caught sight of the elevator, the naked cribbing of its huge bins looming high above the huddled shanties and lumber piles about it. a few minutes later he was walking along a rickety plank sidewalk which seemed to lead in a general direction toward the elevator. the sidewalks at calumet are at the theoretical grade of the district, that is, about five feet above the actual level of the ground. in winter and spring they are necessary causeways above seas of mud, but in dry weather every one abandons them, to walk straight to his destination over the uninterrupted flats. bannon set down his hand bag to button has ulster, for the wind was driving clouds of smoke and stinging dust and an occasional grimy snowflake out of the northwest. then he sprang down from the sidewalk and made his way through the intervening bogs and, heedless of the shouts of the brakemen, over a freight train which was creaking its endless length across his path, to the elevator site. the elevator lay back from the river about sixty yards and parallel to it. between was the main line of the c. & s. c., four clear tracks unbroken by switch or siding. on the wharf, along with a big pile of timber, was the beginning of a small spouting house, to be connected with the main elevator by a belt gallery above the c. & s. c. tracks. a hundred yards to the westward, up the river, the belt line tracks crossed the river and the c. & s. c. right of way at an oblique angle, and sent two side tracks lengthwise through the middle of the elevator and a third along the south side, that is, the side away from the river. bannon glanced over the lay of the land, looked more particularly at the long ranges of timber to be used for framing the cupola, and then asked a passing workman the way to the office. he frowned at the wretched shanty, evidently an abandoned belt line section house, which peterson used for headquarters. then, setting down his bag just outside the door, he went in. "where's the boss?" he asked. the occupant of the office, a clerk, looked up impatiently, and spoke in a tone reserved to discourage seekers for work. "he ain't here. out on the job somewhere." "palatial office you've got," bannon commented. "it would help those windows to have'em ploughed." he brought his bag into the office and kicked it under a desk, then began turning over a stack of blue prints that lay, weighted down with a coupling pin, on the table. "i guess i can find peterson for you if you want to see him," said the clerk. "don't worry about my finding him," came from bannon, deep in his study of the plans. a moment later he went out. a gang of laborers was engaged in moving the timbers back from the railroad siding. superintending the work was a squat little man--bannon could not see until near by that he was not a boy--big-headed, big-handed, big-footed. he stood there in his shirt-sleeves, his back to bannon, swearing good-humoredly at the men. when he turned toward him bannon saw that he had that morning played an unconscious joke upon his bright red hair by putting on a crimson necktie. bannon asked for peterson. "he's up on the framing of the spouting house, over on the wharf there." "what are you carrying that stuff around for?" asked bannon. "moving it back to make room by the siding. we're expecting a big bill of cribbing. you're mr. bannon, ain't you?" bannon nodded. "peterson had a telegram from the office saying to expect you." "you're still expecting that cribbing, eh?" "harder than ever. that's most all we've been doing for ten days. there's peterson, now; up there with the sledge." bannon looked in time to see the boss spring out on a timber that was still balancing and swaying upon the hoisting rope. it was a good forty feet above the dock. clinging to the rope with one hand, with the other peterson drove his sledge against the side of the timber which swung almost to its exact position in the framing. "slack away!" he called to the engineers, and he cast off the rope sling. then cautiously he stepped out to the end of the timber. it tottered, but the lithe figure moved on to within striking distance. he swung the twenty-four pound sledge in a circle against the butt of the timber. every muscle in his body from the ankles up had helped to deal the blow, and the big stick bucked. the boss sprang erect, flinging his arms wide and using the sledge to recover his balance. he struck hard once more and again lightly. then he hammered the timber down on the iron dowel pins. "all right," he shouted to the engineer; "send up the next one." a few minutes later bannon climbed out on the framing beside him. "hello, charlie!" said the boss, "i've been looking for you. they wired me you was coming." "well, i'm here," said bannon, "though i 'most met my death climbing up just now. where do you keep your ladders?" "what do i want of a ladder? i've no use for a man who can't get up on the timbers. if a man needs a ladder, he'd better stay abed." "that's where i get fired first thing," said bannon. "why, you come up all right, with your overcoat on, too." "i had to wear it or scratch up the timbers with my bones. i lost thirty-two pounds up at duluth." another big timber came swinging up to them at the end of the hoisting rope. peterson sprang out upon it. "i'm going down before i get brushed off," said bannon. "i'll be back at the office as soon as i get this corbel laid." "no hurry. i want to look over the drawings. go easy there," he called to the engineer at the hoist; "i'm coming down on the elevator." peterson had already cast off the rope, but bannon jumped for it and thrust his foot into the hook, and the engineer, not knowing who he was, let him down none too gently. on his way to the office he spoke to two carpenters at work on a stick of timber. "you'd better leave that, i guess, and get some four-inch cribbing and some inch stuff and make some ladders; i guess there's enough lying 'round for that. about four'll do." it was no wonder that the calumet k job had proved too much for peterson. it was difficult from the beginning. there was not enough ground space to work in comfortably, and the proper bestowal of the millions of feet of lumber until time for it to be used in the construction was no mean problem. the elevator was to be a typical "chicago" house, built to receive grain from cars and to deliver it either to cars or to ships. as has been said, it stood back from the river, and grain for ships was to be carried on belt conveyors running in an inclosed bridge above the railroad tracks to the small spouting house on the wharf. it had originally been designed to have a capacity for twelve hundred thousand bushels, but the grain men who were building it, page & company, had decided after it was fairly started that it must be larger; so, in the midst of his work, peterson had received instructions and drawings for a million bushel annex. he had done excellent work--work satisfactory even to macbride & company--on a smaller scale, and so he had been given the opportunity, the responsibility, the hundreds of employees, the liberal authority, to make what he could of it all. there could be no doubt that he had made a tangle; that the big job as a whole was not under his hand, but was just running itself as best it could. bannon, who, since the days when he was chief of the wrecking gang on a division of the grand trunk, had made a business of rising to emergencies, was obviously the man for the situation. he was worn thin as an old knife-blade, he was just at the end of a piece of work that would have entitled any other man to a vacation; but macbride made no apologies when he assigned him the new task--"go down and stop this fiddling around and get the house built. see that it's handling grain before you come away. if you can't do it, i'll come down and do it myself." bannon shook his head dubiously. "well, i'm not sure----" he began. but macbride laughed, whereupon bannon grinned in spite of himself. "all right," he said. it was no laughing matter, though, here on the job this monday morning, and, once alone in the little section house, he shook his head again gravely. he liked peterson too well, for one thing, to supersede him without a qualm. but there was nothing else for it, and he took off his overcoat, laid aside the coupling pin, and attacked the stack of blue prints. he worked rapidly, turning now and then from the plans for a reference to the building book or the specifications, whistling softly, except when he stopped to growl, from force of habit, at the office, or, with more reasonable disapproval, at the man who made the drawings for the annex. "regular damn bird cage," he called it. it was half an hour before peterson came in. he was wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, and drawing long breaths with the mere enjoyment of living. "i feel good," he said. "that's where i'd like to work all day. you ought to go up and sledge them timbers for a while. that'd warm you through, i bet." "you ought to make your timekeeper give you one of those brass checks there and pay you eighteen cents an hour for that work. that's what i'd do." peterson laughed. it took more than a hint to reach him. "i have to do it. those laborers are no good. honest, i can lift as much as any three men on the job." "that's all right if those same three don't stop to swap lies while you're lifting." "well, i guess they don't come any of that on me," said peterson, laughing again. "how long are you going to stay with us?" the office, then, had not told him. bannon was for a moment at a loss what to say. luckily there was an interruption. the red-headed young man he had spoken to an hour before came in, tossed a tally board on the desk, and said that another carload of timber had come in. "mr. bannon," said peterson, "shake hands with mr. max vogel, our lumber checker." that formality attended to, he turned to bannon and repeated his question. by that time the other had his answer ready. "oh, it all depends on the office," he said. "they're bound to keep me busy at something. i'll just stay until they tell me to go somewhere else. they ain't happy except when they've just put me in a hole and told me to climb out. generally before i'm out they pick me up and chuck me down another one. old macbride wouldn't think the company was prosperous if i wasn't working nights and sundays." "you won't be doing that down here." "i don't know about that. why, when i first went to work for 'em, they hired me by the day. my time cards for the first years figured up four hundred and thirty-six days." peterson laughed. "oh, that's straight," said bannon. "next time you're at the office, ask brown about it. since then they've paid me a salary. they seem to think they'd have to go out of business if i ever took a vacation. i've been with 'em twelve years and they've never given me one yet. they made a bluff at it once. i was down at newport news, been doing a job for the c. & o., and fred brown was down that way on business. he----" "what does brown look like?" interrupted peterson. "i never saw him." "you didn't! oh, he's a good-looking young chap. dresses kind of sporty. he's a great jollier. you have to know him a while to find out that he means business. well, he came 'round and saw i was feeling pretty tired, so he asked me to knock off for a week and go fishing with him. i did, and it was the hardest work i ever tackled." "did you get any fish?" "fish? whales! you'd no sooner throw your line over than another one'd grab it--great, big, heavy fish, and they never gave us a minute's rest. i worked like a horse for about half a day and then i gave up. told brown i'd take a duplex car-puller along next time i tackled that kind of a job, and i went back to the elevator." "i'd like to see brown. i get letters from him right along, of course. he's been jollying me about that cribbing for the last two weeks. i can't make it grow, and i've written him right along that we was expecting it, but that don't seem to satisfy him." "i suppose not," said bannon. "they're mostly out for results up at the office. let's see the bill for it." vogel handed him a thin typewritten sheet and bannon looked it over thoughtfully. "big lot of stuff, ain't it? have you tried to get any of it here in chicago?" "course not. it's all ordered and cut out up to ledyard." "cut out? then why don't they send it?" "they can't get the cars." "that'll do to tell. 'can't get the cars!' what sort of a railroad have they got up there?" "max, here, can tell you about that, i guess," said peterson. "it's the g. & m.," said the lumber checker. "that's enough for any one who's lived in michigan. it ain't much good." "how long have they kept 'em waiting for the cars?" "how long is it, max?" asked peterson. "let's see. it was two weeks ago come tuesday." "sure?" "yes. we got the letter the same day the red-headed man came here. his hair was good and red." max laughed broadly at the recollection. "he came into the office just as we was reading it." "oh, yes. my friend, the walking delegate." "what's that?" bannon snapped the words out so sharply that peterson looked at him in slow surprise. "oh, nothing," he said. "a darn little rat of a red-headed walking delegate came out here--had a printed card with business agent on it--and poked his long nose into other people's business for a while, and asked the men questions, and at last he came to me. i told him that we treated our men all right and didn't need no help from him, and if i ever caught him out here again i'd carry him up to the top of the jim pole and leave him there. he went fast enough." "i wish he'd knocked you down first, to even things up," said bannon. "him! oh, i could have handled him with three fingers." "i'm going out for a look around," said bannon, abruptly. he left peterson still smiling good-humoredly over the incident. it was not so much to look over the job as to get where he could work out his wrath that bannon left the office. there was no use in trying to explain to peterson what he had done, for even if he could be made to understand, he could undo nothing. bannon had known a good many walking delegates, and he had found them, so far, square. but it would be a large-minded man who could overlook what peterson had done. however, there was no help for it. all that remained was to wait till the business agent should make the next move. so bannon put the whole incident out of his mind, and until noon inspected the job in earnest. by the time the whistle blew, every one of the hundreds of men on the job, save peterson himself, knew that there was a new boss. there was no formal assumption of authority; bannon's supremacy was established simply by the obvious fact that he was the man who knew how. systematizing the confusion in one corner, showing another gang how to save handling a big stick twice, finally putting a runway across the drillage of the annex, and doing a hundred little things between times, he made himself master. the afternoon he spent in the little office, and by four o'clock had seen everything there was in it, plans, specifications, building book, bill file, and even the pay roll, the cash account, and the correspondence. the clerk, who was also timekeeper, exhibited the latter rather grudgingly. "what's all this stuff?" bannon asked, holding up a stack of unfiled letters. "letters we ain't answered yet." "well, we'll answer them now," and bannon commenced dictating his reply to the one on top of the stack. "hold on," said the clerk, "i ain't a stenographer." "so?" said bannon. he scribbled a brief memorandum on each sheet. "there's enough to go by," he said. "answer 'em according to instructions." "i won't have time to do it till to-morrow some time." "i'd do it to-night, if i were you," said bannon, significantly. then he began writing letters himself. peterson and vogel came into the office a few minutes later. "writing a letter to your girl?" said peterson, jocularly. "we ought to have a stenographer out here, pete." "stenographer! i didn't know you was such a dude. you'll be wanting a solid silver electric bell connecting with the sody fountain next." "that's straight," said bannon. "we ought to have a stenographer for a fact." he said nothing until he had finished and sealed the two letters he was writing. they were as follows:-- dear mr. brown: it's a mess and no mistake. i'm glad mr. macbride didn't come to see it. he'd have fits. the whole job is tied up in a hard knot. peterson is wearing out chair bottoms waiting for the cribbing from ledyard. i expect we will have a strike before long. i mean it. the main house is most up to the distributing floor. the spouting house is framed. the annex is up as far as the bottom, waiting for cribbing. yours, bannon. p.s. i hope this letter makes you sweat to pay you for last saturday night. i am about dead. can't get any sleep. and i lost thirty-two pounds up to duluth. i expect to die down here. c. b. p.s. i guess we'd better set fire to the whole damn thing and collect the insurance and skip. c. the other was shorter. macbride & company, minneapolis: _gentlemen_: i came on the calumet job to-day. found it held up by failure of cribbing from ledyard. will have at least enough to work with by end of the week. we will get the house done according to specifications. yours truly, macbride & company. charles bannon. chapter ii the five o'clock whistle had sounded, and peterson sat on the bench inside the office door, while bannon washed his hands in the tin basin. the twilight was already settling; within the shanty, whose dirty, small-paned windows served only to indicate the lesser darkness without, a wall lamp, set in a dull reflector, threw shadows into the corners. "you're coming up with me, ain't you?" said peterson. "i don't believe you'll get much to eat. supper's just the pickings from dinner." "well, the dinner was all right. but i wish you had a bigger bed. i ain't slept for two nights." "what was the matter?" "i was on the sleeper last night; and i didn't get in from the duluth job till seven o'clock saturday night, and brown was after me before i'd got my supper. those fellows at the office wouldn't let a man sleep at all if they could help it. here i'd been working like a nigger 'most five months on the duluth house--and the last three weeks running night shifts and sundays; didn't stop to eat, half the time--and what does brown do but--'well,' he says, 'how're you feeling, charlie?' 'middling,' said i. 'are you up to a little job to-morrow?' 'what's that?' i said. 'seems to me if i've got to go down to the calumet job sunday night i might have an hour or so at home.' 'well, charlie,' he says, 'i'm mighty sorry, but you see we've been putting in a big rope drive on a water-power plant over at stillwater. we got the job on the high bid,' he says, 'and we agreed to have it running on monday morning. it'll play the devil with us if we can't make good.' 'what's the matter?' said i. 'well,' he says, 'murphy's had the job and has balled himself up.'" by this time the two men had their coats on, and were outside the building. "let's see," said bannon, "we go this way, don't we?" "yes." there was still the light, flying flakes of snow, and the biting wind that came sweeping down from the northwest. the two men crossed the siding, and, picking their way between the freight cars on the belt line tracks, followed the path that wound across the stretch of dusty meadow. "go ahead," said peterson; "you was telling about murphy." "well, that was the situation. i could see that brown was up on his hind legs about it, but it made me tired, all the same. of course the job had to be done, but i wasn't letting him have any satisfaction. i told him he ought to give it to somebody else, and he handed me a lot of stuff about my experience. finally i said: 'you come around in the morning, mr. brown. i ain't had any sleep to speak of for three weeks. i lost thirty-two pounds,' i said, 'and i ain't going to be bothered to-night.' well, sir, he kind of shook his head, but he went away, and i got to thinking about it. long about half-past seven i went down and got a time-table. there was a train to stillwater at eight-forty-two." "that night?" "sure. i went over to the shops with an express wagon and got a thousand feet of rope--had it in two coils so i could handle it--and just made the train. it was a mean night. there was some rain when i started, but you ought to have seen it when i got to stillwater--it was coming down in layers, and mud that sucked your feet down halfway to your knees. there wasn't a wagon anywhere around the station, and the agent wouldn't lift a finger. it was blind dark. i walked off the end of the platform, and went plump into a mudhole. i waded up as far as the street crossing, where there was an electric light, and ran across a big lumber yard, and hung around until i found the night watchman. he was pretty near as mean as the station agent, but he finally let me have a wheelbarrow for half a dollar, and told me how to get to the job. "he called it fifty rods, but it was a clean mile if it was a step, and most of the way down the track. i wheeled her back to the station, got the rope, and started out. did you ever try to shove two five hundred foot coils over a mile of crossties? well, that's what i did. i scraped off as much mud as i could, so i could lift my feet, and bumped over those ties till i thought the teeth were going to be jarred clean out of me. after i got off the track there was a stretch of mud that left the road by the station up on dry land. "there was a fool of a night watchman at the power plant--i reckon he thought i was going to steal the turbines, but he finally let me in, and i set him to starting up the power while i cleaned up murphy's job and put in the new rope." "all by yourself?" asked peterson. "sure thing. then i got her going and she worked smooth as grease. when we shut down and i came up to wash my hands, it was five minutes of three. i said, 'is there a train back to minneapolis before very long?' 'yes,' says the watchman, 'the fast freight goes through a little after three.' 'how much after?' i said. 'oh,' he says, 'i couldn't say exactly. five or eight minutes, i guess.' i asked when the next train went, and he said there wasn't a regular passenger till six-fifty-five. well, sir, maybe you think i was going to wait four hours in that hole! i went out of that building to beat the limited--never thought of the wheelbarrow till i was halfway to the station. and there was some of the liveliest stepping you ever saw. couldn't see a thing except the light on the rails from the arc lamp up by the station. i got about halfway there--running along between the rails--and banged into a switch--knocked me seven ways for sunday. lost my hat picking myself up, and couldn't stop to find it." peterson turned in toward one of a long row of square frame houses. "here we are," he said. as they went up the stairs he asked: "did you make the train?" "caught the caboose just as she was swinging out. they dumped me out in the freight yards, and i didn't get home till 'most five o'clock. i went right to bed, and along about eight o'clock brown came in and woke me up. he was feeling pretty nervous. 'say, charlie,' he said, 'ain't it time for you to be starting?' 'where to?' said i. 'over to stillwater,' he said. 'there ain't any getting out of it. that drive's got to be running to-morrow.' 'that's all right,' said i, 'but i'd like to know if i can't have one day's rest between jobs--sunday, too. and i lost thirty-two pounds.' well, sir, he didn't know whether to get hot or not. i guess he thought himself they were kind of rubbing it in. 'look here,' he said, 'are you going to stillwater, or ain't you?' 'no,' said i, 'i ain't. not for a hundred rope drives.' well, he just got up and took his hat and started out. 'mr. brown,' i said, when he was opening the door, 'i lost my hat down at stillwater last night. i reckon the office ought to stand for it.' he turned around and looked queer, and then he grinned. 'so you went over?' he said. 'i reckon i did,' said i. 'what kind of a hat did you lose?' he asked, and he grinned again. 'i guess it was a silk one, wasn't it?' 'yes,' said i, 'a silk hat--something about eight dollars.'" "did he mean he'd give you a silk hat?" asked peterson. "couldn't say." they were sitting in the ten-by-twelve room that peterson rented for a dollar a week. bannon had the one chair, and was sitting tipped back against the washstand. peterson sat on the bed. bannon had thrown his overcoat over the foot of the bed, and had dropped his bag on the floor by the window. "ain't it time to eat, pete?" he said. "yes, there's the bell." the significance of bannon's arrival, and the fact that he was planning to stay, was slow in coming to peterson. after supper, when they had returned to the room, his manner showed constraint. finally he said:-- "is there any fuss up at the office?" "what about?" "why--do they want to rush the job or something?" "well, we haven't got such a lot of time. you see, it's november already." "what's the hurry all of a sudden? they didn't say nothing to me." "i guess you haven't been crowding it very hard, have you?" peterson flushed. "i've been working harder than i ever did before," he said. "if it wasn't for the cribbing being held up like this, i'd 'a' had the cupola half done before now. i've been playing in hard luck." bannon was silent for a moment, then he said:-- "how long do you suppose it would take to get the cribbing down from ledyard?" "not very long if it was rushed, i should think--a couple of days, or maybe three. and they'll rush it all right when they can get the cars. you see, it's only ten or eleven hours up there, passenger schedule; and they could run it right in on the job over the belt line." "it's the belt line that crosses the bridge, is it?" "yes." bannon spread his legs apart and drummed on the front of his chair. "what's the other line?" he asked--"the four track line?" "that's the c. & s. c. we don't have nothing to do with them." they were both silent for a time. the flush had not left peterson's face. his eyes were roving over the carpet, lifting now and then to bannon's face with a quick glance. "guess i'll shave," said bannon. "do you get hot water here?" "why, i don't know," replied peterson. "i generally use cold water. the folks here ain't very obliging. kind o' poor, you know." bannon was rummaging in his grip for his shaving kit. "you never saw a razor like that, pete," he said. "just heft it once." "light, ain't it," said peterson, taking it in his hand. "you bet it's light. and look here"--he reached for it and drew it back and forth over the palm of his hand--"that's the only stropping i ever give it." "don't you have to hone it?" "no, sir; it's never been touched to a stone or leather. you just get up and try it once. those whiskers of yours won't look any the worse for a chopping." peterson laughed, and lathered his face, while bannon put an edge on the razor, testing it with a hair. "say, that's about the best yet," said peterson, after the first stroke. "you're right it is." bannon looked on for a few minutes, then he took a railroad "pathfinder" from his grip and rapidly turned the pages. peterson saw it in the mirror, and asked, between strokes:-- "what are you going to do?" "looking up trains." while peterson was splashing in the washbowl, bannon took his turn at the mirror. "how's the duluth job getting on?" asked peterson, when bannon had finished, and was wiping his razor. "all right--'most done. just a little millwright work left, and some cleaning up." "there ain't any marine leg on the house, is there?" "no." "how big a house is it?" "eight hundred thousand bushels." "that so? ain't half as big as this one, is it?" "guess not. built for the same people, though, page & company." "they must be going in pretty heavy." "they are. there's a good deal of talk about it. some of the boys up at the office say there's going to be fun with december wheat before they get through with it. it's been going up pretty steadily since the end of september--it was seventy-four and three-eighths saturday in minneapolis. it ain't got up quite so high down here yet, but the boys say there's going to be a lot of money in it for somebody." "be a kind of a good thing to get in on, eh?" said peterson, cautiously. "maybe, for those that like to put money in wheat. i've got no money for that sort of thing myself." "yes, of course," was peterson's quick reply. "a fellow doesn't want to run them kind o' chances. i don't believe in it myself." "the fact's this,--and this is just between you and me, mind you; i don't know anything about it, it's only what i think,--somebody's buying a lot of december wheat, or the price wouldn't keep going up. and i've got a notion that, whoever he is, it's page & company that's selling it to him. that's just putting two and two together, you see. it's the real grain that the pages handle, and if they sell to a man it means that they're going to make a mighty good try at unloading it on him and making him pay for it. that's all i know about it. i see the pages selling--or what looks mighty like it--and i see them beginning to look around and talk on the quiet about crowding things a little on their new houses, and it just strikes me that there's likely to be a devil of a lot of wheat coming into chicago before the year runs out; and if that's so, why, there's got to be a place to put it when it gets here." "do they have to have an elevator to put it in?" asked peterson. "can't they deliver it in the cars? i don't know much about that side of the business." "i should say not. the board of trade won't recognize grain as delivered until it has been inspected and stored in a registered house." "when would the house have to be ready?" "well, if i'm right, if they're going to put december wheat in this house, they'll have to have it in before the last day of december." "we couldn't do that," said peterson, "if the cribbing was here." bannon, who had stretched out on the bed, swung his feet around and sat up. the situation was not easy, but he had been sent to calumet to get the work done in time, and he meant to do it. "now, about this cribbing, pete," he said; "we've got to have it before we can touch the annex?" "i guess that's about it," peterson replied. "i've been figuring a little on this bill. i take it there's something over two million feet altogether. is that right?" "it's something like that. couldn't say exactly. max takes care of the lumber." bannon's brows came together. "you ought to know a little more about this yourself, pete. you're the man that's building the house." "i guess i've been pushing it along as well as any one could," said peterson, sullenly. "that's all right. i ain't hitting at you. i'm talking business, that's all. now, if vogel's right, this cribbing ought to have been here fourteen days ago--fourteen days to-morrow." peterson nodded. "that's just two weeks of lost time. how've you been planning to make that up?" "why--why--i reckon i can put things together soon's i get the cribbing." "look here, pete. the office has contracted to get this house done by a certain date. they've got to pay $ for every day that we run over that date. there's no getting out of that, cribbing or no cribbing. when they're seeing ten or twenty thousand dollars slipping out of their hands, do you think they're going to thank you for telling 'em that the g. & m. railroad couldn't get cars? they don't care what's the matter--all they want of you is to do the work on time." "now, look here, charlie----" "hold on, pete. don't get mad. it's facts, that's all. here's these two weeks gone. you see that, all right enough. now, the way this work's laid out, a man's got to make every day count right from the start if he wants to land on his feet when the house is done. maybe you think somebody up in the sky is going to hand you down a present of two extra weeks so the lost time won't count. that would be all right, only it ain't very likely to happen." "well," said peterson, "what are you getting at? what do you want me to do? perhaps you think it's easy." "no, i don't. but i'll tell you what to do. in the first place you want to quit this getting out on the job and doing a laborer's work. the office is paying out good money to the men that should do that. you know how to lay a corbel, but just now you couldn't tell me how much cribbing was coming. you're paid to direct this whole job and to know all about it, not to lay corbels. if you put in half a day swinging a sledge out there on the spouting house, how're you going to know that the lumber bills tally, and the carpenters ain't making mistakes, and that the timber's piled right. here to-day you had a dozen men throwing away their time moving a lot of timber that ought to have been put in the right place when it first came in." peterson was silent. "now to-morrow, pete, as soon as you've got the work moving along, you'd better go over to the electric light company and see about having the whole ground wired for arc lamps, so we can be ready to put on a night shift the minute the cribbing comes in. you want to crowd 'em, too. they ought to have it ready in two days." bannon sat for a moment, then he arose and looked at his watch. "i'm going to leave you, pete," he said, as he put on his collar. "where're you going?" "i've got to get up to the city to make the ten o'clock train. i'm going up to ledyard to get the cribbing. be back in a couple of days." he threw his shaving kit into his grip, put on his overcoat, said good-night, and went out. chapter iii next morning at eight o'clock charlie bannon walked into the office of c. h. dennis, the manager of the ledyard salt and lumber company. "i'm bannon," he said, "of macbride & company. come up to see why you don't get out our bill of cribbing." "told you by letter," retorted dennis. "we can't get the cars." "i know you did. that's a good thing to say in a letter. i wanted to find out how much of it really was cut." "it's all cut and stacked by the siding, taking up half the yard. want to see it?" bannon smiled and nodded. "here's a good cigar for you," he said, "and you're a good fellow, but i think i'd like to see the cribbing." "oh, that's all right," laughed dennis. "i'd have said the same thing if it wasn't cut. come out this way." bannon followed him out into the yard. "there it is," said the manager. there was no need of pointing it out. it made a pile more than three hundred feet long. it was nothing but rough hemlock, two inches thick, and from two to ten inches wide, intended to be spiked together flatwise for the walls of the bins, but its bulk was impressive. bannon measured it with his eye and whistled. "i wish that had been down on our job ten days ago," he said, presently. "i'd be taking a vacation now if it had." "well, it was ready then. you can tell by the color." "what's the matter with the g. & m. anyway? they don't seem to be hauling very much. i noticed that last night when i came up. i'm no good at sleeping on the train." "search me," said dennis. "they've tied us up for these two weeks. i've kicked for cars, and the old man--that's sloan--he's kicked, but here we are yet--can't move hand or foot." "who's sloan?" "oh, he's the whole thing. owns the first national bank and the trolley line and the ledyard salt and lumber company and most of the downtown real estate." "where can i find him? is he in town?" "i guess so. he's got an office across the river. just ask anybody where the sloan building is." "likely to be there as early as this?" asked bannon, looking at his watch. "sure, if he's in town." bannon slipped his watch into his pocket. "much obliged," he said. "glad to have met you. good morning;" and, turning, he walked rapidly away down the plank wagon road. in sloan's office he stated his errand as briefly as on the former occasion, adding only that he had already seen dennis. "i guess he told you all there is to tell," said the magnate. "we can't make the g. & m. give us cars. i've told dennis to stir 'em up as hard as he could. i guess we'll have to wait." "i can't wait." "what else can you do? it's every bit as bad for us as it is for you, and you can rest assured that we'll do all we can." as if the cadence of his last sentence were not sufficiently recognizable as a formula of dismissal, he picked up a letter that lay on his desk and began reading it. "this isn't an ordinary kick," said bannon, sharply. "it isn't just a case of us having to pay a big delay forfeit. there's a reason why our job's got to be done on time. i want to know the reason why the g. & m. won't give you cars. it ain't because they haven't got them." "what makes you say that?" "because there's three big strings of empties within twenty miles of here this minute. i saw them when i came up this morning." for a minute sloan said nothing, only traced designs on the blotter with his pencil. bannon saw that there was no longer any question of arousing his interest. at last he spoke:-- "i've suspected that there was something in the wind, but i've been too busy with other things to tend to it, so i turned it over to dennis. perhaps he's done as well as i could. i don't know much about g. & m. these days. for a long time they were at me to take a big block of treasury stock, but the road seemed to me in bad shape, so i wouldn't go in. lately they've reorganized--have got a lot of new money in there--i don't know whose, but they've let me alone. there's been no row, you understand. that ain't the reason they've tied us up, but i haven't known much about what was going on inside." "would they be likely to tell you if you asked? i mean if you took it to headquarters?" "i couldn't get any more out of them than you could--that is, not by asking." "i guess i'll go look 'em up myself. where can i find anybody that knows anything?" "the division offices are at blake city. that's only about twenty miles. you could save time by talking over the 'phone." "not me," said bannon. "in a case like this i couldn't express myself properly unless i saw the fellow i was talking to." sloan laughed. "i guess you're right. but i'll call up the division superintendent and tell him you're coming. then you'll be sure of finding him." bannon shook his head. "i'd find him with his little speech all learned. no, i'll take my chances on his being there. when's the train?" "nine-forty-six." "that gives me fifteen minutes. can i make it?" "not afoot, and you ain't likely to catch a car. i'll drive you down. i've got the fastest mare in pottawatomie county." the fact that the g. & m. had been rescued from its poverty and was about to be "developed" was made manifest in blake city by the modern building which the railroad was erecting on the main street. eventually the division officials were to be installed in office suites of mahogany veneer, with ground glass doors lettered in gold leaf. for the present, as from the beginning, they occupied an upper floor of a freight warehouse. bannon came in about eleven o'clock, looked briefly about, and seeing that one corner was partitioned off into a private office, he ducked under the hand rail intended to pen up ordinary visitors, and made for it. a telegraph operator just outside the door asked what his business was, but he answered merely that it was with the superintendent, and went in. he expected rather rough work. the superintendent of a railroad, or of a division, has to do with the employees, never with the customers, and his professional manner is not likely to be distinguished by suavity. so he unconsciously squared his shoulders when he said, "i'm bannon, of macbride & company." the superintendent dismissed his stenographer, swept with his arm a clear space on the desk, and then drummed on it with his fingers, but he did not look up immediately. when he did, it was with an expression of grave concern. "mr. bannon," he said, "i'm mighty sorry. i'll do anything i can for you. you can smoke ten cent cigars on me from now till christmas, and light them with passes. anything----" "if you feel like that," said bannon, "we can fix things all comfortable in three minutes. all i want is cars." the superintendent shook his head. "there's where you stump me," he said. "i haven't got 'em." "mr. superintendent, that's what they told me in chicago, and that's what they told me at ledyard. i didn't come up here to blake city to be told the same thing and then go back home." "well, i don't know what else i can tell you. that's just the size of it. i hope we'll be able to fix you in a few days, but we can't promise anything." bannon frowned, and after an expectant pause, the superintendent went on talking vaguely about the immense rush of traffic. finally he asked, "why do you think we'd hold you up if we had the cars?" "that's what i came here to find out. i think you're mistaken about not having them." the superintendent laughed. "you can't expect to know more about that than i do. you doubtless understand your business, but this is my business. if you can tell me where the cars are, you can have them." "well, as you say, that's your business. but i can tell you. there's a big string of empties--i counted fourteen--on the siding at victory." the superintendent looked out of the window and again drummed on the desk. when he spoke again, his manner was more what one would expect from a division superintendent. "you don't know anything about it. when we want advice how to run our road we'll ask you for it. victory isn't in my division anyway." "then wire the general manager. he ought to know something about it." "wire him yourself, if you like. i can't bother about it. i'm sorry i can't do anything, but i haven't got time." "i haven't begun sending telegrams yet. and i haven't very much more time to fool away. i'd like to have you find out if the ledyard salt and lumber company can have those cars that are on the siding at victory." "all right," said the superintendent, rising. at the door he turned back to ask, "when was it you saw them?" bannon decided to chance it. "yesterday morning," he said. the superintendent returned presently, and, turning to his desk, resumed his work. a few minutes later the telegraph operator came in and told him that the cars at victory had been loaded with iron truss work the night before, and had gone off down the state. "just too late, wasn't i?" said bannon. "that's hard luck." he went to the window and, staring out into the yards, began tapping idly with his pencil on the glass. the office door was open, and when he paused he heard the telegraph instrument just without, clicking out a message. "anything else i can do for you?" asked the superintendent. his good humor was returning at the sight of his visitor's perplexity. "i wish you'd just wire the general manager once more and ask him if he can't possibly let us have those cars." "all right," said the other, cheerfully. he nodded to the operator. "for the ledyard salt and lumber company," he said. bannon dropped into a chair, stretched himself, and yawned. "i'm sleepy," he said; "haven't had any sleep in three weeks. lost thirty-two pounds. if you fellows had only got that cribbing down on time, i'd be having a vacation----" another yawn interrupted him. the telegraph receiver had begun giving out the general manager's answer. _tell-ledyard-we-hope-to-have-cars-in-a-few-days-_ the superintendent looked at bannon, expecting him to finish his sentence, but he only yawned again. _obey-previous-instructions.--do-not-give-ledyard-cars-in-any-case-_ bannon's eyes were half closed, but the superintendent thought he was turning a little toward the open doorway. "do you feel cold?" he asked. "i'll shut the door." he rose quickly and started toward it, but bannon was there before him. he hesitated, his hand on the knob. "why don't you shut it?" snapped the superintendent. "i think i'll--i think i'll send a telegram." "here's a blank, in here. come in." but bannon had slipped out and was standing beside the operator's table. from the doorway the superintendent saw him biting his pencil and frowning over a bit of paper. the general manager's message was still coming in. _we-don't-help-put-up-any-grain-elevator-in-chicago-these-days._ as the last click sounded, bannon handed his message to the operator. "send it collect," he said. with that he strode away, over the hand rail, this time, and down the stairs. the operator carried the message to the superintendent. "it seems to be for you," he said. the superintendent read-- div. supt. g. & m., blake city. tell manager it takes better man than him to tie us up. macbride & company. bannon had nearly an hour to wait for the next train back to ledyard, but it was not time wasted, for as he paced the smoky waiting room, he arrived at a fairly accurate estimate of the meaning of the general manager's message. it was simply a confirmation of the cautious prediction he had made to peterson the night before. why should any one want to hinder the construction of an elevator in chicago "these days" except to prevent its use for the formal delivery of grain which the buyer did not wish delivered? and why had page & company suddenly ordered a million bushel annex? why had they suddenly become anxious that the elevator should be ready to receive grain before january first, unless they wished to deliver a vast amount of december wheat? before bannon's train came in he understood it all. a clique of speculators had decided to corner wheat, an enterprise nearly enough impossible in any case, but stark madness unless they had many millions at command. it was a long chance, of course, but after all not wonderful that some one in their number was a power in the reorganized g. & m. already the immense amount of wheat in chicago was testing the capacity of the registered warehouses, and plainly, if the calumet k should be delayed long enough, it might prevent page & company from carrying out their contract to deliver two million bushels of the grain, even though it were actually in the cars in chicago. bannon knew much of page & company; that dotted all over the vast wheat tracts of minnesota and montana were their little receiving elevators where they bought grain of the farmers; that miles of wheat-laden freight cars were already lumbering eastward along the railroad lines of the north. he had a touch of imagination, and something of the enormous momentum of that northern wheat took possession of him. it would come to chicago, and he must be ready for it. it would be absurd to be balked by the refusal of a little single-track road up in michigan to carry a pile of planks. he paused before the grated window of the ticket and telegraph office and asked for a map. he studied it attentively for a while; then he sent a telegram:-- macbride & company, _minneapolis_: g. & m. r. r. wants to tie us up. will not furnish cars to carry our cribbing. can't get it elsewhere inside of three weeks. find out if page will o. k. any bill of extras i send in for bringing it down. if so, can they have one or more steam barges at manistogee within forty-eight hours? wire ledyard hotel. c. h. bannon. it was an hour's ride back to ledyard. he went to the hotel and persuaded the head waiter to give him something to eat, although it was long after the dinner hour. as he left the dining room, the clerk handed him two telegrams. one read:-- get cribbing down. page pays the freight. brown. the other:-- steam barge demosthenes leaves milwaukee to-night for manistogee. page & co. chapter iv as bannon was paying for his dinner, he asked the clerk what sort of a place manistogee was. the clerk replied that he had never been there, but that he understood it was quite a lively town. "good road over there?" "pretty fair." "that means you can get through if you're lucky." the clerk smiled. "it won't be so bad to-day. you see we've been getting a good deal of rain. that packs down the sand. you ought to get there all right. were you thinking of driving over?" "that's the only way to go, is it? well, i'll see. maybe a little later. how far is it?" "the farmers call it eighteen miles." bannon nodded his thanks and went back to sloan's office. "well, it didn't take you long," said the magnate. "find out what was the matter with 'em?" he enjoyed his well-earned reputation for choler, and as bannon told him what he had discovered that morning, the old man paced the room in a regular beat, pausing every time he came to a certain tempting bit of blank wall to deal it a thump with his big fist. when the whole situation was made clear to him, he stopped walking and cursed the whole g. & m. system, from the ties up. "i'll make 'em smart for that," he said. "they haul those planks whether they want to or not. you hear me say it. there's a law that covers a case like that. i'll prosecute 'em. they'll see whether j. b. sloan is a safe kind of man to monkey with. why, man," he added, turning sharply to bannon, "why don't you get mad? you don't seem to care--no more than the angel gabriel." [illustration: he ... cursed the whole g. & m. system, from the ties up] "i don't care a damn for the g. & m. i want the cribbing." "don't you worry. i'll have the law on those fellows----" "and i'd get the stuff about five years from now, when i was likely enough dead." "what's the best way to get it, according to your idea?" "take it over to manistogee in wagons and then down by barges." sloan snorted. "you'd stand a chance to get some of it by fourth of july that way." "do you want to bet on that proposition?" sloan made no reply. he had allowed his wrath to boil for a few minutes merely as a luxury. now he was thinking seriously of the scheme. "it sounds like moonshine," he said at last, "but i don't know as it is. how are you going to get your barges?" "i've got one already. it leaves milwaukee to-night." sloan looked him over. "i wish you were out of a job," he said. then abruptly he went on: "where are your wagons coming from? you haven't got them all lined up in the yard now, have you? it'll take a lot of them." "i know it. well, we'll get all there are in ledyard. there's a beginning. and the farmers round here ain't so very fond of the g. & m., are they? don't they think the railroad discriminates against them--and ain't they right about it? i never saw a farmer yet that wouldn't grab a chance to get even with a railroad." "that's about right, in this part of the country, anyway." "you get up a regular circus poster saying what you think of the g. & m., and call on the farmers to hitch up and drive to your lumber yard. we'll stick that up at every crossroads between here and manistogee." sloan was scribbling on a memorandum pad before bannon had finished speaking. he made a false start or two, but presently got something that seemed to please him. he rang for his office boy, and told him to take it to the _eagle_ office. "it's got to be done in an hour," said bannon. "that's when the procession moves," he added; as sloan looked at him questioningly. the other nodded. "in an hour," he said to the office boy. "what are you going to do in an hour?" he asked, as the boy went out. "why, it'll be four o'clock then, and we ought to start for manistogee as early as we can." "we! well, i should think not!" said sloan. "you're going to drive me over with that fast mare of yours, aren't you?" sloan laughed. "look at it rain out there." "best thing in the world for a sand road," said bannon. "and we'll wash, i guess. both been wet before." "but it's twenty-five miles over there--twenty-five to thirty." bannon looked at his watch. "we ought to get there by ten o'clock, i should think." "ten o'clock! what do you think she is--a sawhorse! she never took more than two hours to manistogee in her life." the corners of bannon's mouth twitched expressively. sloan laughed again. "i guess it's up to me this time," he said. before they started sloan telephoned to the _eagle_ office to tell them to print a full-sized reproduction of his poster on the front page of the ledyard _evening eagle_. "crowd their news a little, won't it?" bannon asked. sloan shook his head. "that helps 'em out in great shape." the _eagle_ did not keep them waiting. the moment sloan pulled up his impatient mare before the office door, the editor ran out, bare-headed, in the rain, with the posters. "they're pretty wet yet," he said. "that's all right. i only want a handful. send the others to my office. they know what to do with 'em." "i was glad to print them," the editor went on deferentially. "you have expressed our opinion of the g. & m. exactly." "guess i did," said sloan as they drove away. "the reorganized g. & m. decided they didn't want to carry him around the country on a pass." bannon pulled out one of the sheets and opened it on his knee. he whistled as he read the first sentence, and swore appreciatively over the next. when he had finished, he buttoned the waterproof apron and rubbed his wet hands over his knees. "it's grand," he said. "i never saw anything like it." sloan spoke to the mare. he had held her back as they jolted over the worn pavement of cedar blocks, but now they had reached the city limits and were starting out upon the rain-beaten sand. she was a tall, clean-limbed sorrel, a kentucky-bred morgan, and as she settled into her stride, bannon watched her admiringly. her wet flanks had the dull sheen of bronze. "don't tell me," said sloan, "that michigan roads are no good for driving. you never had anything finer than this in your life." they sped along as on velvet, noiselessly save when their wheels sliced through standing pools of water. "she can keep this up till further notice, i suppose," said bannon. sloan nodded. soon they reached the first crossroad. there was a general store at one corner, and, opposite, a blacksmith's shop. sloan pulled up and bannon sprang out with a hammer, a mouthful of tacks, and three or four of the posters. he put them up on the sheltered side of conspicuous trees, left one with the storekeeper, and another with the smith. then they drove on. they made no pretence at conversation. bannon seemed asleep save that he was always ready with his hammer and his posters whenever sloan halted the mare. the west wind freshened as the evening came on and dashed fine, sleety rain into their faces. bannon huddled his wet coat closer about him. sloan put the reins between his knees and pulled on a pair of heavy gloves. it had been dark for half an hour--bannon could hardly distinguish the moving figure of the mare--when sloan spoke to her and drew her to a walk. bannon reached for his hammer. "no crossroad here," said sloan. "bridge out of repair. we've got to fetch a circle here up to where she can wade it." "hold on," said bannon sharply. "let me get out." "don't be scared. we'll make it all right." "we! yes, but will fifteen hundred feet of lumber make it? i want to take a look." he splashed forward in the dark, but soon returned. "it's nothing that can't be fixed in two hours. where's the nearest farmhouse?" "fifty rods up the road to your right." again bannon disappeared. presently sloan heard the deep challenge of a big dog. he backed the buggy around up against the wind so that he could have shelter while he waited. then he pulled a spare blanket from under the seat and threw it over the mare. at the end of twenty minutes, he saw a lantern bobbing toward him. the big farmer who accompanied bannon held the lantern high and looked over the mare. "it's her all right," he said. then he turned so that the light shone full in sloan's face. "good evening, mr. sloan," he said. "you'll excuse me, but is what this gentleman tells me all straight?" "guess it is," sloan smiled. "i'd bank on him myself." the farmer nodded with satisfaction. "all right then, mr. what's-your-name. i'll have it done for you." sloan asked no questions until they had forded the stream and were back on the road. then he inquired, "what's he going to do?" "mend the bridge. i told him it had to be done to-night. said he couldn't. hadn't any lumber. couldn't think of it i told him to pull down the lee side of his house if necessary; said you'd give him the lumber to build an annex on it." "what!" "oh, it's all right. send the bill to macbride. i knew your name would go down and mine wouldn't." the delay had proved costly, and it was half-past seven before they reached the manistogee hotel. "now," said bannon, "we'll have time to rub down the mare and feed her before i'm ready to go back." sloan stared at him for a moment in unfeigned amazement. then slowly he shook his head. "all right, i'm no quitter. but i will say that i'm glad you ain't coming to ledyard to live." bannon left the supper table before sloan had finished, and was gone nearly an hour. "it's all fixed up," he said when he returned. "i've cinched the wharf." they started back as they had come, in silence, bannon crowding as low as possible in his ulster, dozing. but he roused when the mare, of her own accord, left the road at the detour for the ford. "you don't need to do that," he said. "the bridge is fixed." so they drove straight across, the mare feeling her way cautiously over the new-laid planks. the clouds were thinning, so that there was a little light, and bannon leaned forward and looked about. "how did you get hold of the message from the general manager?" asked sloan abruptly. "heard it. i can read morse signals like print. used to work for the grand trunk." "what doing?" "boss of a wrecking gang." bannon paused. presently he went on. "yes, there was two years when i slept with my boots on. didn't know a quiet minute. never could tell what i was going to get up against. i never saw two wrecks that were anything alike. there was a junction about fifty miles down the road where they used to have collisions regular; but they were all different. i couldn't figure out what i was going to do till i was on the ground, and then i didn't have time to. my only order was, 'clear the road--and be damn quick about it. 'what i said went. i've set fire to fifty thousand dollars' worth of mixed freight just to get it out of the way--and they never kicked. that ain't the kind of life for me, though. no, nor this ain't, either. i want to be quiet. i've never had a chance yet, and i've been looking for it ever since i was twelve years old. i'd like to get a little farm and live on it all by myself. i'd raise garden truck, cabbages, and such, and i'd take piano lessons." "is that why you quit the grand trunk? so that you could take piano lessons?" sloan laughed as he asked the question, but bannon replied seriously:-- "why, not exactly. there was a little friction between me and the master mechanic, so i resigned. i didn't exactly resign, either," he added a moment later. "i wired the superintendent to go to hell. it came to the same thing." "i worked for a railroad once myself," said sloan. "was a hostler in the round-house at syracuse, new york. i never worked up any higher than that. i had ambitions to be promoted to the presidency, but it didn't seem very likely, so i gave it up and came west." "you made a good thing of it. you seem to own most all pottawatomie county." "pretty much." "i wish you would tell me how to do it. i have worked like an all-the-year-round blast furnace ever since i could creep, and never slighted a job yet, but here i am--can't call my soul my own. i have saved fifteen thousand dollars, but that ain't enough to stop with. i don't see why i don't own a county too." "there's some luck about it. and then i don't believe you look very sharp for opportunities. i suppose you are too busy. you've got a chance this minute to turn your fifteen thousand to fifty; maybe lot more." "i'm afraid i'm too thick-headed to see it." "why, what you found out this morning was the straightest kind of a straight tip on the wheat market for the next two months. a big elevator like yours will be almost decisive. the thing's right in your own hands. if page & company can't make that delivery, why, fellows who buy wheat now are going to make money." "i see," said bannon, quickly. "all i'd have to do would be to buy all the wheat i could get trusted for and then hold back the job a little. and while i was at it, i might just as well make a clean job and walk off with the pay roll." he laughed. "i'd look pretty, wouldn't i, going to old macbride with my tail between my legs, telling him that the job was too much for me and i couldn't get it done on time. he'd look me over and say: 'bannon, you're a liar. you've never had to lay down yet, and you don't now. go back and get that job done before new year's or i'll shoot you.'" "you don't want to get rich, that's the trouble with you," said sloan, and he said it almost enviously. bannon rode to manistogee on the first wagon. the barge was there, so the work of loading the cribbing into her began at once. there were numerous interruptions at first, but later in the day the stream of wagons became almost continuous. farmers living on other than the manistogee roads came into ledyard and hurried back to tell their neighbors of the chance to get ahead of the railroad for once. dennis, who was in charge at the yard, had hard work to keep up with the supply of empty wagons. sloan disappeared early in the morning, but at five o'clock bannon had a telephone message from him. "i'm here at blake city," he said, "raising hell. the general manager gets here at nine o'clock to-night to talk with me. they're feeling nervous about your getting that message. i think you'd better come up here and talk to him." so a little after nine that night the three men, sloan, bannon, and the manager, sat down to talk it over. and the fact that in the first place an attempt to boycott could be proved, and in the second that page & company were getting what they wanted anyway--while they talked a long procession of cribbing was creaking along by lantern light to manistogee--finally convinced the manager that the time had come to yield as gracefully as possible. "he means it this time," said sloan, when he and bannon were left alone at the blake city hotel to talk things over. "yes, i think he does. if he don't, i'll come up here again and have a short session with him." chapter v [illustration: layout] it was nearly five o'clock when bannon appeared at the elevator on thursday. he at once sought peterson. "well, what luck did you have?" he asked. "did you get my message?" "your message? oh, sure. you said the cribbing was coming down by boat. i don't see how, though. ledyard ain't on the lake." "well, it's coming just the same, two hundred thousand feet of it. what have you done about it?" "oh, we'll be ready for it, soon's it gets here." they were standing at the north side of the elevator near the paling fence which bounded the c. & s. c. right of way. bannon looked across the tracks to the wharf; the pile of timber was still there. "did you have any trouble with the railroad when you took your stuff across for the spouting house?" he asked. "not much of any. the section boss came around and talked a little, but we only opened the fence in one place, and that seemed to suit him." bannon was looking about, calculating with his eye the space that was available for the incoming lumber. "how'd you manage that business, anyway?" asked peterson. "what business?" "the cribbing. how'd you get it to the lake?" "oh, that was easy. i just carried it off." "yes, you did!" "look here, pete, that timber hasn't got any business out there on the wharf. we've got to have that room for the cribbing." "that's all right. the steamer won't get in much before to-morrow night, will it?" "we aren't doing any banking on that. i've got a notion that the pages aren't sending out any six-mile-an-hour scow to do their quick work. that timber's got to come over here to-night. may as well put it where the carpenters can get right at it. we'll be on the cupola before long, anyhow." "but it's five o'clock already. there's the whistle." bannon waited while the long blast sounded through the crisp air. then he said:-- "offer the men double pay, and tell them that any man can go home that wants to, right now, but if they say they'll stay, they've got to see it through." already the laborers were hurrying toward the tool house in a long, irregular line. peterson started toward the office, to give the word to the men before they could hand in their time checks. "mr. bannon." the foreman turned; vogel was approaching. "i wanted to see about that cribbing bill. how much of it's coming down by boat?" "two hundred thousand. you'd better help peterson get that timber out of the way. we're holding the men." "yes, i've been waiting for directions about that. we can put a big gang on it, and snake it across in no time." "you'll have to open up the fence in half a dozen places, and put on every man you've got. there's no use in making an all-night job of it." "i'm afraid we'll have trouble with the railroad." "no, we won't. if they kick, you send them to me. are your arc lights in?" "yes, all but one or two. they were going to finish it to-day, but they ain't very spry about it." "tell you what you do, max; you call them up and tell them we want a man to come out here and stay for a while. i may want to move the lights around a little. and, anyhow, they may as well clean up their job and have it done with." he was starting back after the returning laborers when max said:-- "mr. bannon." "hello?" "i heard you speaking about a stenographer the other day." "yes--what about it? haven't you got one yet?" "no, but i know of one that could do the work first-rate." "i want a good one--he's got to keep time besides doing the office work." "yes, i thought of that. i don't suppose she----" "she? we can't have any shes on this job." "well, it's like this, mr. bannon; she's an a stenographer and bookkeeper; and as for keeping the time, why, i'm out on the job all day anyhow, and i reckon i could take care of it without cutting into my work." bannon looked quizzically down at him. "you don't know what you're talking about," he said slowly. "just look around at this gang of men--you know the likes of them as well as i do--and then talk to me about bringing a girl on the job." he his head. "i reckon it's some one you're interested in." "yes," said max, "it's my sister." max evidently did not intend to be turned off. as he stood awaiting a reply--his broad, flat features, his long arms and bow legs with their huge hands and feet, his fringe of brick-red hair cropping out behind his cap, each contributing to the general appearance of utter homeliness--a faint smile came over bannon's face. the half-formed thought was in his mind, "if she looks anything like that, i guess she's safe." he was silent for a moment, then he said abruptly:-- "when can she start?" "right away." "all right. we'll try it for a day or so and see how it goes. tell that boy in the office that he can charge his time up to saturday night, but he needn't stay around any longer." max hurried away. group after group of laborers, peavies or cant-hooks on shoulders, were moving slowly past him toward the wharf. it was already nearly dark, and the arc lights on the elevator structure, and on the spouting house, beyond the tracks, were flaring. he started toward the wharf, walking behind a score of the laborers. from the east, over the flats and marshes through which the narrow, sluggish river wanders to lake michigan, came the hoarse whistle of a steamer. bannon turned and looked. his view was blocked by some freight cars that were standing on the c. & s. c tracks at some distance to the east. he ran across the tracks and out on the wharf, climbing on the timber pile, where peterson and his gang were rolling down the big sticks with cant-hooks. not a quarter of a mile away was a big steamer, ploughing slowly up the river; the cough of her engines and the swash of the churning water at her bow and stern could be plainly heard. peterson stopped work for a moment, and joined him. "well," bannon said, "we're in for it now. i never thought they'd make such time as this." "she can lay up here all night till morning, i guess." bannon was thinking hard. "no," he finally said, "she can't. there ain't any use of wasting all day to-morrow unloading that cribbing and getting it across." peterson, too, was thinking; and his eye-brows were coming together in a puzzled scowl. "oh," he said, "you mean to do it to-night?" "yes, sir. we don't get any sleep till every piece of that cribbing is over at the annex, ready for business in the morning. your sills are laid--there's nothing in the way of starting those bins right up. this ain't an all-night job if we hustle it." the steamer was a big lake barge, with high bow and stern, and a long, low, cargo deck amidships that was piled squarely and high with yellow two-inch plank. her crew had clearly been impressed with the need of hurry, for long before she could be worked into the wharf they had rigged the two hoists and got the donkey engines into running order. the captain stood by the rail on the bridge, smoking a cigar, his hand on the bell-pull. "where do you want it?" he called to bannon. "right here, where i'm standing. you can swing your bow in just below the bridge there." the captain pulled the bell, and the snub-nosed craft, stirring up a whirl of mud from the bottom of the river, was brought alongside the wharf. "where are you going to put it?" the captain called. "here. we'll clean this up as fast as we can. i want that cribbing all unloaded to-night, sure." "that suits me," said the captain. "i don't want to be held up here--ought to pull out the first thing in the morning." "all right, you can do it." bannon turned to peterson and vogel (who had just reached the wharf). "you want to rush this, boys. i'll go over and see to the piling." he hurried away, pausing at the office long enough to find the man sent by the electric light company, and to set him at work. the arc lamps had been placed, for the most part, where they would best illuminate the annex and the cupola of the elevator, and there was none too much light on the tracks, where the men were stumbling along, hindered rather than helped by the bright light before them. on the wharf it was less dark, for the lights of the steamer were aided by two on the spouting house. before seven o'clock bannon had succeeded in getting two more lights up on poles, one on each side of the track. it was just at seven that the timbers suddenly stopped coming in. bannon looked around impatiently. the six men that had brought in the last stick were disappearing around the corner of the great, shadowy structure that shut off bannon's view of the wharf. he waited for a moment, but no more gangs appeared, and then he ran around the elevator over the path the men had already trampled. within the circle of light between him and the c. & s. c. tracks stood scattered groups of the laborers, and others wandered about with their hooks over their shoulders. there was a larger, less distinct crowd out on the tracks. bannon ran through an opening in the fence, and pushed into the largest group. here peterson and vogel were talking to a stupid-looking man with a sandy mustache. "what does this mean, pete?" he said shortly. "we can't be held up this way. get your men back on the work." "no, he won't," said the third man. "you can't go on with this work." bannon sharply looked the man over. there was in his manner a dogged authority. "who are you?" bannon asked. "who do you represent?" "i represent the c. & s. c. railroad, and i tell you this work stops right here." "why?" the man waved his arm toward the fence. "you can't do that sort of business." "what sort?" "you look at that fence and then talk to me about what sort." "what's the matter with the fence?" "what's the matter with it! there ain't more'n a rod of it left, that's what." bannon's scowl relaxed. "oh," he said, "i see. you're the section boss, ain't you?" "yes." "that's all right then. come over here and i'll show you how we've got things fixed." he walked across the track, followed by the section boss and pete, and pointed out the displaced sections of the fence, each of which had been carefully placed at one side. "we'll have it all up all right before morning," he said. the man was running his fingers up under his cap. "i don't know anything about that," he replied sullenly. "i've got my orders. we didn't make any kick when you opened up in one place, but we can't stand for all this." he was not speaking firmly, and bannon, watching him closely, jumped at the conclusion that his orders were not very definite. probably his superintendent had instructed him to keep a close eye on the work, and perhaps to grant no privileges. bannon wished he knew more about the understanding between the railroad and macbride & company. he felt sure, however, that an understanding did exist or he would not have been told to go ahead. "that's all right," he said, with an air of easy authority. "we've got to be working over your tracks for the next two months. it's as much to our interest as it is to yours to be careful, and i guess we can pull together. we've got an agreement with your general manager, and that's what goes." he turned away, but paused and added, "i'll see that you don't have any reason to complain." the section boss looked about with an uncertain air at the crowd of waiting men. "don't go too fast there----" he began. "look here," said bannon, abruptly. "we'll sit right down here and send a message to the general manager. that's the quickest way to settle it--tell him that we're carrying out timber across the tracks and you've stopped us." it was a bluff, but bannon knew his man. "now, how about this?" was the reply. "how long will it take you?" "till some time before daylight." bannon was feeling for his pencil. "you see that the fence goes back, will you? we ain't taking any chances, you understand." bannon nodded. "all right, max," he shouted. "get to work there. and look here, max," in a stern voice, "i expect you to see that the road is not blocked or delayed in any way. that's your business now, mind." he turned to the boss as the men hurried past to the wharf. "i used to be a railroad man myself--chief wrecker on the grand trunk--and i guess we won't have any trouble understanding each other." again the six long lines of men were creeping from the brightly lighted wharf across the shadowy tracks and around the end of the elevator. bannon had held the electric light man within call, and now set him at work moving two other arc lamps to a position where they made the ground about the growing piles of timber nearly as light as day. through the night air he could hear the thumping of the planks on the wharf. faintly over this sound came the shouting of men and the tramp and shuffle of feet. and at intervals a train would rumble in the distance, slowly coming nearer, until with a roar that swallowed all the other noises it was past. the arc lamps glowed and buzzed over the heads of the sweating, grunting men, as they came along the path, gang after gang, lifting an end of a heavy stick to the level of the steadily rising pile, and sliding it home. bannon knew from long experience how to pile the different sizes so that each would be ready at the hands of the carpenters when the morning whistle should blow. he was all about the work, giving a hand here, an order there, always good-humored, though brusque, and always inspiring the men with the sight of his own activity. toward the middle of the evening vogel came up from the wharf with a question. as he was about to return, bannon, who had been turning over in his mind the incident of the section boss, said:-- "wait a minute, max. what about this railroad business--have they bothered you much before now?" "not very much, only in little ways. i guess it's just this section boss that does it on his own hook. he's a sort of a fool, you know, and he's got it into his head that we're trying to do him some way." bannon put his hands into his pockets, and studied the checkered pattern in the ground shadow of the nearest arc lamp. then he slowly shook his head. "no," he said, "that ain't it. he's too big a fool to do much on his own hook. he's acting on orders of some sort, and that's just what i don't understand. as a general thing a railroad's mighty white to an elevator. come to think of it, they said something about it up at the office,"--he was apparently speaking to himself, and max quietly waited,--"brown said something about the c. & s. c. having got in the way a little down here, but i didn't think much about it at the time." "what could they do?" max asked. "a lot, if they wanted to. but that ain't what's bothering me. they haven't any connection with the g. & m., have they?" "no"--max shook his head--"no, not that i know of." "well, it's funny, that's all. the man behind those orders that the section boss talks about is the general manager; and it's my notion that we're likely to hear from him again. i'll tell you what it is. somebody--i don't know who, but somebody--is mighty eager to keep this house from being finished by the first of january. after this i wish you'd keep your eyes open for this section boss. have you had any trouble with the men?" "no, only that clerk that we laid off to-day, he 'lowed he was going to make trouble. i didn't say anything about it, because they always talk like that." "yes, i know. what's his name?" "briggs." "i guess he can't hurt us any." bannon turned back to his work; and vogel disappeared in the shadows along the path. nine o'clock came, and the timber was still coming in. the men were growing tired and surly from the merciless strain of carrying the long, heavy sticks. the night was raw and chill. bannon felt it as he stood directing the work, and he kept his hands in his pockets, and wished he had worn his overcoat; but the laborers, barearmed and bare-headed, clad only in overalls or in thin trousers and cotton shirts, were shaking sweat from their eyes, and stealing moments between trips to stand where the keen lake breeze could cool them. another half-hour or so should see the last stick on the piles, and bannon had about decided to go over to the office when he saw vogel moving among the men, marking their time in his book. "here, max," he called, adding, when vogel had reached his side: "just keep an eye on this, will you? i'll be at the office. keep things going just as they are." there was a light in the office. bannon stepped into the doorway, and, with a suppressed word of impatience, stood looking at the scene within. the desk that peterson had supplied for the use of his clerk was breast-high from the floor, built against the wall, with a high stool before it. the wall lamp had been taken down; now it stood with its reflector on the top of the desk, which was covered with books and papers. a girl was sitting on the stool, bending over a ledger and rapidly footing up columns. bannon could not see her face, for a young fellow stood leaning over the railing by the desk, his back to the door. he had just said something, and now he was laughing in a conscious manner. bannon quietly stepped to one side. the girl looked up for a moment and brushed her hair back from her face. the fellow spoke again in a low tone, but beyond a slight compressing of her lips she did not seem to hear him. without a word, bannon came forward, took him by the arm, and led him out of the door. still holding his arm, he took a step back, and (they stood in the outer circle of the electric light) looked him over. "let's see," he said, "you're the man that was clerking here." there was no reply. "and your name's--what?" "briggs." "well, mr. briggs, did you get a message from me?" "i don't know what you mean," said the young man, his eyes on the ground. "max, he come around, but i wanted to wait and see you. he's a mean cuss----" "you see me now, don't you?" "yes." the reply was indistinct. "you keep out of the office after this. if i catch you in there again, i won't stop to talk. now, clear out." briggs walked a little way, then turned. "maybe you think you can lay me off without notice--but you'll wish----" bannon turned back to the office, giving no heed to briggs' last words: "i've got you fixed already." he was thinking of the girl there on the stool. she did not look like the girl he had expected to see. to be sure her hair was red, but it was not of the red that outcropped from max's big head; it was of a dark, rich color, and it had caught the light from the lamp with such a shine as there is in new red gold. when he entered, she was again footing columns. she was slender, and her hand, where it supported her forehead was white. again bannon stood motionless, slowly shaking his head. then he came forward. she heard his step and looked up, as if to answer a question, letting her eyes rest on his face. he hesitated, and she quietly asked:-- "what is it, please?" "miss vogel?" "yes." "i'm mr. bannon. there wasn't any need of your working to-night. i'm just keeping the men on so we can get in this cribbing. when did you come?" "my brother telephoned to me. i wanted to look things over before starting in to-morrow." "how do you find it?" she hesitated, glancing over the jumble of papers on the desk. "it hasn't been kept up very well," she presently said. "but it won't be hard, i think, to straighten it out." bannon leaned on the rail and glanced at the paper on which she had been setting down totals. "i guess you'd better go home, miss vogel. it's after nine o'clock." "i can finish in an hour." "you'd better go. there'll be chances enough for night work without your making them." she smiled, cleared up the desk, and reached for her jacket, which hung from the nail behind her. then she paused. "i thought i would wait for my brother, mr. bannon." "that's all right. i guess we can spare him. i'll speak to him. do you live far?" "no; max and i are boarding at the same place." he had got to the door when she asked:-- "shall i put out the light?" he turned and nodded. she was drawing on her gloves. she perhaps was not a very pretty girl, but there was something in her manner, as she stood there in the dim light, her hair straying out from beneath her white "sombrero" hat, that for the moment took bannon far away from this environment of railroad tracks and lumber piles. he waited till she came out, then he locked the door. "i'll walk along with you myself, if you don't mind," he said. and after they had crossed the belt line tracks, and he had helped her, with a little laugh from each of them, to pick her way over the switches and between the freight cars, he said: "you don't look much like your brother." it was not a long walk to the boarding house but before they had reached it bannon was nervous. it was not a custom with him to leave his work on such an errand. he bade her a brusque good-night, and hurried back, pausing only after he had crossed the tracks, to cast his eye over the timber. there was no sign of activity, though the two arc lamps were still in place. "all in, eh," he said. he followed the path beside the elevator and on around the end, and then, with an exclamation, he hurried forward; for there was the same idle crowd about the tracks that had been there during the trouble with the section boss--the same buzz of talk, and the idle laughter and shouting. as he ran, his foot struck a timber-end, and he sprawled forward for nearly a rod before recovering his balance; then he stopped and looked along the ground. a long line of timbers lay end to end, the timber hooks across them or near by on the ground, where they had been dropped by the laborers. on along the path, through the fence openings, and out on the tracks, lay the lines of timber. here and there bannon passed gangs of men lounging on the ground, waiting for the order to move on. as he passed through the fence, walking on the timbers, and hurried through the crowd, which had been pushed back close to the fence, he heard a low laugh that came along like a wave from man to man. in a moment he was in front of them all. the middle tracks were clear, excepting a group of three or four men, who stood a little to one side. bannon could not make them out. another crowd of laborers was pressed back against the opposite fence. these had moved apart at one of the fence openings, and as bannon looked, two men came through, stumbling and staggering under a long ten-by-twelve timber, which they were carrying on their shoulders. bannon looked sharply; the first, a big, deep-chested man, bare-headed and in his shirt sleeves, was peterson. bannon started forward, when max, who had been hurrying over to him, touched his arm. "what's all this, max?" "i'm glad you've come. it's grady, the walking delegate--that's him over there where those men are standing, the little fellow with his hat on one side--he's been here for ten minutes." "speak quick. what's the trouble?" "first he wanted to know how much we were paying the men for night work, and i told him. thought i might as well be civil to him. then he said we'd got to take briggs back, and i told him briggs wasn't a union man, and he hadn't anything to say about it. he and briggs seemed to know each other. finally he came out here on the job and said we were working the men too hard--said we'd have to put ten men on the heavy sticks and eight on the others. i was going to do it, but peterson came up and said he wouldn't do it, and grady called the men off, just where they were. he wouldn't let 'em lift a finger. you see there's timber all over the tracks. then pete got mad, and said him and donnelly could bring a twenty-foot stick over alone, and it was all rot about putting on more men. here they come--just look at pete's arms! he could lift a house." some of the men were laughing, others growling, but all had their eyes fixed on peterson and donnelly as they came across the tracks, slowly picking their way, and shifting the weight a little, at every few seconds, on their shoulders. bannon was glancing swiftly about, taking in the situation. he would not imperil his discipline by reproving peterson before the men, so he stood for a moment, thinking, until the task should be accomplished. "it's briggs that did the whole business," max was saying. "he brought the delegate around--he was blowing about it among the men when i found him." "is he on the job now?" bannon asked. "no, and i don't think he'll be around again very soon. there were some loafers with him, and they took him away." peterson and donnelly had disappeared through the fence, and a few of the crowd were following, to see them get the timber clear around the building to the pile. "have you sent out flagmen, max?" bannon asked. "no, i didn't." "get at it quick--send a man each way with a lantern--put something red over them, their shirts if necessary." "none of the men will dare do it while the delegate's here." "find some one--take one side yourself, if you have to." max hurried away for the lanterns, bannon walked out to the group of men on the middle tracks. "where's mr. grady?" he said. one of the men pointed, but the delegate gave no attention. "you're mr. grady, are you?" said bannon. "i'm mr. bannon, of macbride & company. what's the trouble here?" the delegate was revelling in his authority: his manner was not what it was to be when he should know bannon better. he waved his hand toward the wharf. "you ought to know better than that," he said curtly. "than what?" "than what?--than running a job the way this is run." "i think i can run this job," said bannon, quietly. "you haven't told me what's the trouble yet." "it's right here--you're trying to make money by putting on one man to do the work of two." "how?" bannon's quiet manner exasperated the delegate. "use your eyes, man--you can't make eight men carry a twelve-by-fourteen stick." "how many shall i put on?" "ten." "all right." "and you'd better put eight men on the other sticks." the delegate looked up, nettled that bannon should yield so easily. "that's all right," said bannon. "we aren't fighting the union. after this, if you've got anything to say, i wish you'd come to me with it before you call off the men. is there anything else before i start up?" grady was chewing the stub of a cigar. he stood looking about with an ugly air, then he said:-- "you ain't starting up just yet." "why not?" the delegate's reply was lost in the shout that suddenly went up from the western end of the line of laborers. then came the sound of a locomotive bell and exhaust. bannon started down the track, jumping the timbers as he ran, toward vogel's lantern, that was bobbing along toward him. the train had stopped, but now it was puffing slowly forward, throwing a bright light along the rails. "it's a c. & s. c. local," max shouted. "can't we clear up the right track?" bannon stopped and looked around. about half of the men had followed him, and were strung out in irregular groups between him and the timbers. walking up between the groups came the delegate, with two men, chewing his cigar in silence as he walked. the train was creeping along, the fireman leaning far out of the cab window, closely scanning the track for signs of an obstruction. on the steps between the cars a few passengers were trying to get a view up the track; and others were running along beside the train. "this has gone too far," bannon muttered. he turned and shouted to the men: "clear up that track. quick, now!" some of the men started, but stopped, and all looked at the delegate. he stepped to one side and coolly looked over the train; then he raised his hand. "don't touch the timbers," he said. "it ain't a mail train." his voice was not loud, but those near at hand passed the word along, and the long line of men stood motionless. by that time the train had stopped, and three of the crew had come forward. they saw the timbers on the track and hurried toward them, but the delegate called out:-- "watch those sticks, boys! don't let a man touch them!" there was no hesitation when the delegate spoke in that tone. a score of men blocked the way of the train crew. bannon was angry. he stood looking at grady with snapping eyes, and his hands closed into knotted fists. but bannon knew the power of the unions, and he knew that a rash step now might destroy all hope of completing the elevator in time. he crossed over to the delegate. "what do you want?" he said gruffly. "nothing from you." "what do you want?" bannon repeated, and there was something in his voice that caused the delegate to check a second retort. "you'll kill these men if you work them like this. they've been on the job all day." bannon was beginning to see that grady was more eager to make trouble than to uphold the cause of the men he was supposed to represent. in his experience with walking delegates he had not met this type before. he was proud of the fact that he had never had any serious trouble in dealing with his workmen or their representatives. mr. macbride was fond of saying that bannon's tact in handling men was unequalled; but bannon himself did not think of it in this way--to him, trouble with the laborers or the carpenters or the millwrights meant loss of time and loss of money, the two things he was putting in his time to avoid; and until now he had found the maligned walking delegate a fair man when he was fairly dealt with. so he said:-- "well, what are you asking?" "these gangs ought to be relieved every two hours." "i'll do it. now clear up those timbers." the delegate turned with a scowl, and waved the men back to their work. in a moment the track was clear, and the train was moving slowly onward between the long lines of men. bannon started the gangs at work. when the timbers were again coming across from the wharf in six slowly moving streams that converged at the end of the elevator, he stood looking after the triangle of red lights on the last car of the train until they had grown small and close together in the distance. then he went over to the wharf to see how much timber remained, and to tell peterson to hurry the work; for he did not look for any further accommodation on the part of the c. & s. c. railroad, now that a train had been stopped. the steamer lay quietly at the dock, the long pile of cribbing on her deck shadowed by the high bow deckhouse from the lights on the spouting house. her crew were bustling about, rigging the two hoisting engines, and making all ready for unloading when the order should be given. peterson had been working through the timber pile from the shore side, so that now only a thin wall remained at the outer edge of the wharf. bannon found him standing on the pile, rolling down the sticks with a peavey to where the carrying gangs could pick them up. "better bring all your men up here, pete, and clean it all away by the steamer. she may as well begin unloading now." bannon walked back to the tracks, in time to see a handcar and trailer, packed with men, come up the track and stop near at hand. the men at once scattered, and brushing aside bannon's laborers, they began replacing the sections of fence. bannon crossed to the section boss, who recognized him and without comment handed him a telegraphed order. "there's no getting around that," he said, when bannon had read it. "that's straight from the old man." bannon returned it, called peterson, and hurried with him around the elevator to find max, who was overseeing the piling. "what'll we do?" peterson asked, as they ran; but bannon made no reply until the three were together. then he said, speaking shortly:-- "get the wire cable off one of your hoisting engines, pete, and make one end fast as high as you can on the spouting house. we'll run it across the tracks, on a slope, down to this side. max, you get a light rope and a running block, and hang a hook on it." "i see," said max, eagerly. "you're going to run it over on a trolley." "yes. the engineers have gone, haven't they?" "went at five," said peterson. "that's all right. we'll only need the hoist at the spouting house. the rest of it's just plain sliding down hill." "but who'll run it?" "i will. pete, you get up on the spouting house and see that they're started down. max will stay over here and watch the piling. now rush it." half an hour had gone before the cable could be stretched from the spouting house, high over the tracks, down to the elevator structure, and before the hoisting engine could be got under steam. meanwhile, for the third time since five o'clock, the laborers stood about, grumbling and growing more impatient. but at last it was all under way. the timbers were hoisted lightly up the side of the spouting house, hooked to the travelling block, and sent whirling down to max's waiting hands, to be snatched away and piled by the men. but compared with the other method, it was slow work, and bannon found that, for lack of employment, it was necessary to let half of the men go for the night. soon, to the rattle of blocks and the tramping of feet and the calling and shouting of men, was added the creak of the steamer's hoists, and the groan of her donkey engines as her crew began the work of dumping out the cribbing by hand and steam, on the cleared space on the wharf. and then, when the last big stick had gone over, peterson began sending bundles of two-inch cribbing. before the work was finished, and the last plank from the steamer's cargo had been tossed on the pile by the annex, the first faint color was spreading over the eastern sky, and the damp of a low-country morning was in the air. bannon stopped the engine and drew the fire; peterson and his crew clambered to the ground, and max put on his coat and waited for the two foremen to come across the tracks. when they joined him, bannon looked sharply at him in the growing light. "hello, max," he said; "where did you get that black eye?" "that ain't much," max replied. "you ought to see briggs." chapter vi when bannon came on the job on friday morning at seven o'clock, a group of heavy-eyed men were falling into line at the timekeeper's window. max was in the office, passing out the checks. his sister was continuing her work of the night before, going over what books and papers were to be found in the desk. bannon hung up his overcoat and looked through the doorway at the square mass of the elevator that stood out against the sky like some gigantic, unroofed barn. the walls rose nearly eighty feet from the ground--though the length and breadth of the structure made them appear lower--so close to the tops of the posts that were to support the cupola frame that bannon's eyes spoke of satisfaction. he meant to hide those posts behind the rising walls of cribbing before the day should be gone. he glanced about at the piles of two-inch plank that hid the annex foundation work. there it lay, two hundred thousand feet of it--not very much, to be sure, but enough to keep the men busy for the present, and enough, too, to give a start to the annex bins and walls. peterson was approaching from the tool house, and bannon called. "how many laborers have you got, pete?" "hardly any. max, there, can tell." max, who had just passed out his last check, now joined them at the doorstep. "there's just sixty-two that came for checks," he said, "not counting the carpenters." "about what i expected," bannon replied. "this night business lays them out." he put his head in at the door. "you'd better give checks to any new men that we send to the window, miss vogel; but keep the names of the old men, and if they show up in the morning, take them back on the job. now, boys"--to peterson and max--"pick up the men you see hanging around and send them over. i'll be at the office for a while. we'll push the cribbing on the main house and start right in on the annex bins. there ain't much time to throw around if we're going to eat our christmas dinner." the two went at once. the hoisting engines were impatiently blowing off steam. new men were appearing every moment, delaying only to answer a few brisk questions and to give their names to miss vogel, and then hurrying away to the tool house, each with his brass check fastened to his coat. when bannon was at last ready to enter the office, he paused again to look over the ground. the engines were now puffing steadily, and the rapping of many hammers came through the crisp air. gangs of laborers were swarming over the lumber piles, pitching down the planks, and other gangs were carrying them away and piling them on "dollies," to be pushed along the plank runways to the hoist. there was a black fringe of heads between the posts on the top of the elevator, where the carpenters were spiking down the last planks of the walls and bins. miss vogel was at work on the ledger when bannon entered the office. he pushed his hat back on his head and came up beside her. "how's it coming out?" he asked. "do we know how much we're good for?" she looked up, smiling. "i think so. i'm nearly through. it's a little mixed in some places, but i think everything has been entered." "can you drop it long enough to take a letter or so?" "oh, yes." she reached for her notebook, saying, with a nod toward the table: "the mail is here." bannon went rapidly through the heap of letters and bills. "there's nothing much," he said. "you needn't wait for me to open it after this. you'll want to read everything to keep posted. these bills for cribbing go to your brother, you know." there was one chair within the enclosure; he brought it forward and sat down, tipping back against the railing. "well, i guess we may as well go ahead and tell the firm that we're still moving around and drawing our salaries. to macbride & company, minneapolis, gentlemen: cribbing is now going up on elevator and annex. a little over two feet remains to be done on the elevator beneath the distributing floor. the timber is ready for framing the cupola. two hundred thousand feet of the ledyard cribbing reached here by steamer last night, and the balance will be down in a few days. very truly yours, macbride & company. that will do for them. now, we'll write to mr. brown--no, you needn't bother, though; i'll do that one myself. you might run off the other and i'll sign it." he got up and moved his chair to the table. "i don't generally seem able to say just what i want to brown unless i write it out." his letter ran:-- dear mr. brown: we've finally got things going. had to stir them up a little at ledyard. can you tell me who it is that's got hold of our coat tails on this job? there's somebody trying to hold us back, all right. had a little fuss with a red-headed walking delegate last night, but fixed him. that hat hasn't come yet. shall i call up the express company and see what's the matter? - / is my size. yours, bannon. he had folded the letter and addressed the envelope, when he paused and looked around. the typewritten letter to macbride & company lay at his elbow. he signed it before he spoke. "miss vogel, have you come across any letters or papers about an agreement with the c. & s. c.?" "no," she replied, "there is nothing here about the railroad." bannon drummed on the table; then he went to the door and called to a laborer who was leaving the tool house:-- "find mr. peterson and ask him if he will please come to the office for a moment." he came slowly back and sat on the corner of the table, watching miss vogel as her pencil moved rapidly up column after column. "had quite a time up there in michigan," he said. "those g. & m. people were after us in earnest. if they'd had their way, we'd never have got the cribbing." she looked up. "you see, they had told sloan--he's the man that owns the lumber company and the city of ledyard and pretty much all of the lower peninsula--that they hadn't any cars; and he'd just swallowed it down and folded up his napkin. i hadn't got to ledyard before i saw a string of empties on a siding that weren't doing a thing but waiting for our cribbing, so i caught a train to blake city and gave the division superintendent some points on running railroads. he was a nice, friendly man"--bannon clasped his hands about one knee and smiled reminiscently--"i had him pretty busy there for a while thinking up lies. he was wondering how he could get ready for the next caller, when i came at him and made him wire the general manager of the line. the operator was sitting right outside the door, and when the answer came i just took it in--it gave the whole snap away, clear as you want." miss vogel turned on her stool. "you took his message?" "i should say i did. it takes a pretty lively man to crowd me off the end of a wire. he told the superintendent not to give us cars. that was all i wanted to know. so i told him how sorry i was that i couldn't stay to lunch, caught the next train back to ledyard, and built a fire under sloan." miss vogel was looking out of the window. "he said he could not give us cars?" she repeated. bannon smiled. "but we didn't need them," he said. "i got a barge to come over from milwaukee, and we loaded her up and started her down." "i don't understand, mr. bannon. ledyard isn't on the lake--and you couldn't get cars." "that wasn't very hard." he paused, for a step sounded outside the door and in a moment peterson had come in. "i guess you wanted to talk to me, didn't you, charlie?" "yes, i'm writing to the office. it's about this c. & s. c. business. you said you'd had trouble with them before." "oh, no," said peterson, sitting on the railing and removing his hat, with a side glance at miss vogel, "not to speak of. there wasn't nothing so bad as last night." "what was it?" "why, just a little talk when we opened the fence first time. that section boss was around, but i told him how things was, and he didn't seem to have no kick coming as long as we was careful." bannon had taken up his letter to brown, and was slowly unfolding it and looking it over. when peterson got to his feet, he laid it on the table. "anything else, charlie? i'm just getting things to going on the annex. we're going to make her jump, i tell you. i ain't allowing any loafing there." "no," bannon replied, "i guess not." he followed the foreman out of doors. "do you remember having any letters, pete, about our agreement with the c. & s. c. to build over the tracks--from the office or anybody?" peterson brought his brows together and tried to remember. after a moment he slowly shook his head. "nothing, eh?" said bannon. "not that i can think of. something may have come in while max was here in the office----" "i wish you'd ask him." "all right. he'll be around my way before long, taking the time." "and say," bannon added, with one foot on the doorstep, "you haven't seen anything more of that man briggs, have you?" peterson shook his head. "if you see him hanging around, you may as well throw him right off the job." peterson grinned. "i guess he won't show up very fast. max did him up good last night, when he was blowing off about bringing the delegate around." bannon had drawn the door to after him when he came out. he was turning back, with a hand on the knob, when peterson, who was lingering, said in a low voice, getting out the words awkwardly:-- "say, charlie, she's all right, ain't she." bannon did not reply, and peterson jerked his thumb toward the office. "max's sister, there. i never saw any red hair before that was up to the mark. ain't she a little uppish, though, don't you think?" "i guess not." "red-haired girls generally is. they've got tempers, too, most of them. it's funny about her looks. she don't look any more like max than anything." he grinned again. "lord, max is a peach, though, ain't he." bannon nodded and reëntered the office. he sat down and added a postscript to his letter: the c. & s. c. people are trying to make it warm for us about working across their tracks. can't we have an understanding with them before we get ready to put up the belt gallery? if we don't, we'll have to build a suspension bridge. c. b. he sealed the envelope and tossed it to one side. "miss vogel," he said, pushing his chair back, "didn't you ask me something just now?" "it was about getting the cribbing across the lake," she replied. "i don't see how you did it." her interest in the work pleased bannon. "it ain't a bad story. you see the farmers up in that country hate the railroads. it's the tariff rebate, you know. they have to pay more to ship their stuff to market than some places a thousand miles farther off. and i guess the service is pretty bad all around. i was figuring on something like that as soon as i had a look at things. so we got up a poster and had it printed, telling what they all think of the g. & m."--he paused, and his eyes twinkled--"i wouldn't mind handing one to that superintendent just for the fun of seeing him when he read it. it told the farmers to come around to sloan's lumber yard with their wagons." "and you carried it across in the wagons?" "i guess we did." "isn't it a good ways?" "eighteen to thirty miles, according to who you ask. as soon as things got to going we went after the general manager and gave him a bad half hour; so i shouldn't be surprised to see the rest of the bill coming in by rail any time now." bannon got up and slowly buttoned his coat. he was looking about the office, at the mud-tracked floor and the coated windows, and at the hanging shreds of spider web in the corners and between the rafters overhead. "it ain't a very cheerful house to live in all day, is it?" he said. "i don't know but what we'd better clean house a little. there's not much danger of putting a shine on things that'll hurt your eyes. we ought to be able to get hold of some one that could come in once in a while and stir up the dust. do you know of any one?" "there is a woman that comes to our boarding-house. i think they know about her at the hotel." he went to the telephone and called up the hotel. "she'll be here this afternoon," he said as he hung up the receiver. "will she bring her own scrubbing things, or are we supposed to have them for her? this is some out of my line." miss vogel was smiling. "she'll have her own things, i guess. when she comes, would you like me to start her to work?" "if you'd just as soon. and tell her to make a good job of it. i've got to go out now, but i'll be around off and on during the day." when the noon whistle blew bannon and max were standing near the annex. already the bins and walls had been raised more than a foot above the foundation, which gave it the appearance of a great checker-board. "looks like business, doesn't it," said max. he was a little excited, for now there was to be no more delaying until the elevator should stand completed from the working floor to the top, one hundred and sixty feet above the ground; until engines, conveyors, and scales should be working smoothly and every bin filled with grain. indeed, nearly everybody on the job had by this time caught the spirit of energy that bannon had infused into the work. "i'll be glad when it gets up far enough to look like something, so we can feel that things are really getting on." "they're getting on all right," bannon replied. "how soon will we be working on the cupola?" "to-morrow." "to-morrow!" max stopped (they had started toward the office) and looked at bannon in amazement. "why, we can't do it, can we?" "why not?" bannon pointed toward a cleared space behind the pile of cribbing, where the carpenters had been at work on the heavy timbers. "they're all ready for the framing." max made no reply, but he looked up as they passed the elevator and measured with his eyes the space remaining between the cribbing and the tops of the posts. he had yet to become accustomed to bannon's methods; but he had seen enough of him to believe that it would be done if bannon said so. they were halfway to the office when max said, with a touch of embarrassment:-- "how's hilda going to take hold, mr. bannon?" "first-class." max's eyes sparkled. "she can do anything you give her. her head's as clear as a bell." for the moment bannon made no reply, but as they paused outside the office door he said: "we'd better make a point of dropping in at the office now and then during the day. any time you know i'm out on the job and you're up this way, just look in." max nodded. "and nights when we're working overtime, there won't be any trouble about your getting off long enough to see your sister home. she won't need to do any night work." they entered the office. miss vogel was standing by the railing gate, buttoning her jacket and waiting for max. behind her, bending over the blue prints on the table, stood peterson, apparently too absorbed to hear the two men come in. bannon gave him a curious glance, for no blue prints were needed in working on the annex, which was simply a matter of building bins up from the foundation. when max and his sister had gone the foreman looked around, and said, with a show of surprise:-- "oh, hello, charlie. going up to the house?" "yes." peterson's manner was not wholly natural. as they walked across the flats his conversation was a little forced, and he laughed occasionally at certain occurrences in the morning's work that were not particularly amusing. bannon did not get back to the office until a half hour after work had commenced for the afternoon. he carried a large bundle under one arm and in his hand a wooden box with a slot cut in the cover. he found the scrub-woman hard at work on the office floor. the chair and the unused stool were on the table. he looked about with satisfaction. "it begins to look better already," he said to miss vogel. "you know we're not going to be able to keep it all clean; there'll be too many coming in. but there's going to be a law passed about tracking mud inside the railing." he opened his bundle and unrolled a door mat, which he laid in front of the gate. miss vogel was smiling, but bannon's face was serious. he cut a square piece from the wrapping paper, and sitting on the table, printed the placard: "wipe your feet! or put five cents in the box." then he nailed both box and placard to the railing, and stood back to look at his work. "that will do it," he said. she nodded. "there's no danger that they won't see it." "we had a box down on the new orleans job," said bannon, "only that was for swearing. every time anybody swore he put in a nickel, and then when saturday came around we'd have ten or fifteen dollars to spend." "it didn't stop the swearing, then?" "oh, yes. everybody was broke a day or so after pay day, and for a few days every week it was the best crowd you ever saw. but we won't spend this money that way. i guess we'll let you decide what to do with it." hour by hour the piles of cribbing dwindled, and on the elevator the distance from bin walls to post-tops grew shorter. before five o'clock the last planks were spiked home on the walls and bins in the northwest corner. a few hours' work in the morning would bring the rest of the house to the same level, and then work could commence on the distributing floor and on the frame of the cupola. before the middle of the afternoon he had started two teams of horses dragging the cupola timbers, which had been cut ready for framing, to the foot of the hoist. by ten o'clock in the morning, bannon figured, the engine would be lifting timbers instead of bundles of cribbing. there was a chill wind, up there on the top of the elevator, coming across the flats out of the glowing sunset. but bannon let his coat flap open, as he gave a hand now and then to help the men. he liked to feel the wind tugging at sleeves and cap, and he leaned against it, bare-throated and bare-handed--bare-headed, too, he would have been had not a carpenter, rods away on the cribbing, put out a hand to catch his cap as it tried to whirl past on a gust. the river wound away toward the lake, touched with the color of the sky, to lose itself half a mile away among the straggling rows of factories and rolling mills. from the splendid crimson of the western sky to the broken horizon line of south chicago, whose buildings hid lake michigan, the air was crisp and clear; but on the north, over the dim shops and blocks of houses that grew closer together as the eye went on, until spires and towers and gray walls were massed in confusion, hung a veil of smoke, like a black cloud, spreading away farther than eye could see. this was chicago. bannon climbed to the ground and took a last look about the work before going to the office. the annex was growing slowly but surely; and peterson, coatless and hatless as usual, with sleeves rolled up, was at work with the men, swinging a hammer here, impatiently shouldering a bundle of planks there. and bannon saw more clearly what he had known before, that peterson was a good man when kept within his limitations. certainly the annex could not have been better started. when bannon entered the office, miss vogel handed him a sheet of paper. he came in through the gate and stood at the desk beside her to have the light of the lamp. it was a balance sheet, giving the results of her examination of the books. "all right, eh?" he said. a glance had been enough to show him that hereafter there would be no confusion in the books; the cashier of a metropolitan bank could not have issued a more businesslike statement. he tossed it on the desk, saying, "you might file it." then he took time to look about the office. it was as clean as blackened, splintered planks could be made; even the ceiling had been attacked and every trace of cobweb removed. "well," he said, "this is business. and we'll keep it this way, too." she had faced about on the stool and was looking at him with a twinkle in her eye. "yes," she said, evidently trying not to laugh; "we'll try to." he was not looking at her as she spoke, but when, a moment later, the laugh broke away from her, he turned. she was looking at his feet. he glanced down and saw a row of black footprints leading from the door to where he stood, one of them squarely in the centre of the new mat. he gazed ruefully, then he reached into his pocket and drew out a quarter, dropping it in the box. "well----" he said, wiping his feet; but the whistle just then gave a long blast, and he did not finish the sentence. after supper bannon and peterson sat in the room they occupied together. in the walk home and during supper there had been the same sullen manner about the younger man that bannon had observed at noon. half a day was a long time for peterson to keep to himself something that bothered him, and before the close of dinner he had begun working the talk around. now, after a long silence, that bannon filled with sharpening pencils, he said: "some people think a lot of themselves, don't they, charlie?" bannon looked up from his pencils; he was sitting on the edge of the bed. "she seems to think she's better'n max and you and me, and everybody. i thought she looked pretty civil, and i didn't say a word she need to have got stuck-up about." bannon asked no questions. after waiting to give him an opportunity, peterson went on:-- "there's going to be a picnic sunday of the iron workers up at sharpshooters' park. i know a fellow that has tickets. it'd be just as quiet as anywhere--and speeches, you know. i don't see that she's any better than a lot of the girls that'll be there." "do you mean to say you asked her to go?" bannon asked. "yes, and she----" bannon had turned away to strop his razor on his hand, and peterson, after one or two attempts to begin the story, let the subject drop. chapter vii bannon had the knack of commanding men. he knew the difference between an isolated--or better, perhaps, an insulated--man and the same man in a crowd. without knowing how he did it, he could, nevertheless, distinguish between the signs of temporary ill feeling among the men and the perhaps less apparent danger signal that meant serious mischief. since his first day on the job the attitude of the men had worried him a little. there was something in the air he did not like. peterson, accustomed to handling smaller bodies of men, had made the natural mistake of driving the very large force employed on the elevator with much too loose a rein. the men were still further demoralized by the episode with the walking delegate, grady, on thursday night. bannon knew too much to attempt halfway measures, so he waited for a case of insubordination serious enough to call for severe treatment. when he happened into the office about the middle of saturday morning, miss vogel handed him two letters addressed to him personally. one was from brown,--the last paragraph of it as follows:-- young page has told macbride in so many words what we've all been guessing about, that is, that they are fighting to break the corner in december wheat. they have a tremendous short line on the chicago board, and they mean to deliver it. twenty-two hundred thousand has got to be in the bins there at calumet before the first of january unless the day of judgment happens along before then. never mind what it costs you. brown. p.s. macbride has got down an atlas and is trying to figure out how you got that cribbing to the lake. i told him you put the barge on rollers and towed it up to ledyard with a traction engine. the letter from sloan was to the effect that twelve cars were at that moment on the yard siding, loading with cribbing, and that all of it, something more than eighteen hundred thousand feet, would probably be in chicago within a week. a note was scribbled on the margin in sloan's handwriting. "those fool farmers are still coming in expecting a job. one is out in the yard now. came clear from victory. i've had to send out a man to take down the posters." "that's just like a farmer," bannon said to miss vogel. "time don't count with him. to-morrow morning or two weeks from next tuesday--he can't see the difference. i suppose if one of those posters on an inconspicuous tree happens to be overlooked that some old fellow'll come driving in next fourth of july." he buttoned his coat as though going out, but stood looking at her thoughtfully awhile. "all the same," he said, "i'd like to be that way myself; never do anything till to-morrow. i'm going to turn farmer some day. once i get this job done, i'd like to see the man who can hurry me. i'll say to macbride: 'i'm willing to work on nice, quiet, easy little jobs that never have to be finished. i'll want to sit at the desk and whittle most of the time. but if you ever try to put me on a rush job i'll quit and buy a small farm.' i could make the laziest farmer in twelve states. well, i've got to go out on the job." an elevator is simply a big grain warehouse, and of course the bins where the grain is kept occupy most of the building. but for handling the grain more than bin room is necessary. beneath the bins is what is called the working story, where is the machinery for unloading cars and for lifting the grain. the cupola, which bannon was about to frame, is a five-story building perched atop the bins. it contains the appliances for weighing the grain and distributing it. when bannon climbed out on top of the bins, he found the carpenters partially flooring over the area, preparatory to putting in place the framework of the cupola. below them in the bins, like bees in a honeycomb, laborers were taking down the scaffolding which had served in building their walls. at the south side of the building a group of laborers, under one of the foremen, was rigging what is known as a boom hoist, which was to lift the timbers for framing the cupola. while bannon stood watching the carpenters, one of them sawed off the end of a plank and dropped it down into the bin. there was a low laugh, and one or two of the men glanced uneasily at bannon. he spoke to the offender "don't do that again if you want to stay on this job. you know there are men at work down there." then: "look here," he called, getting the attention of all the carpenters, "every man that drops anything into the bins gets docked an hour's pay. if he does it twice he leaves the job just as quick as we can make out a time-check. i want you to be careful." he was picking his way over to the group of men about the hoisting pole, when he heard another general laugh from the carpenters. turning back he saw them all looking at a fellow named reilly, who, trying to suppress a smile, was peering with mock concern down into the dark bin. "my hammer slipped," bannon heard him say in a loud aside to the man nearest him. then, with a laugh: "accidents will happen." bannon almost smiled himself, for the man had played right into his hand. he had, in the four days since he took command, already become aware of reilly and had put him down for the sort ambitious to rise rather in the organization of his union than in his trade. "i guess we won't take the trouble to dock you," he said. "go to the office and get your time. and be quick about it, too." "did ye mean me?" the man asked impudently, but bannon, without heeding, went over to the hoist. presently a rough hand fell on his shoulder. "say," demanded reilly again, "did ye mean me?" "no doubt of that. go and get your time." "i guess not," said the man. "not me. my hammer just slipped. how're you going to prove i meant to do it?" "i'm not. i'm going to fire you. you ain't laid off, you understand; you're fired. if you ever come back, i'll have you kicked off the place." "you don't dare fire me," the man said, coming nearer. "you'll have to take me back to-morrow." "i'm through talking with you," said bannon, still quietly. "the faster you can light out of here the better." "we'll see about that. you can't come it on the union that way----" then, without any preparatory gesture whatever, bannon knocked him down. the man seemed to fairly rebound from the floor. he rushed at the boss, but before he could come within striking distance, bannon whipped out a revolver and dropped it level with reilly's face. "i've talked to you," he said slowly, his eye blazing along the barrel, "and i've knocked you down. but----" the man staggered back, then walked away very pale, but muttering. bannon shoved back the revolver into his hip pocket. "it's all right, boys," he said, "nothing to get excited about." he walked to the edge and looked over. "we can't wait to pick it up a stick at a time," he said. "i'll tell 'em to load four or five on each larry. then you can lift the whole bunch." "we run some chances of a spill or a break that way," said the foreman. "i know it," answered bannon, dryly. "that's the kind of chances we'll have to run for the next two months." descending to the ground, he gave the same order to the men below; then he sent word to peterson and vogel that he wished to see them in the office. he wiped his feet on the mat, glancing at hilda as he did so, but she was hard at work and did not look up. he took the one unoccupied chair and placed it where he could watch the burnished light in her red hair. presently she turned toward him. "did you want something?" she asked. "excuse me. i guess--i----" in the midst of his embarrassment, max and pete came in. "i've got a couple of letters i want to talk over with you boys," he said. "that's why i sent for you." pete laughed and vaulted to a seat on the draughting-table. "i was most afraid to come," he said. "i heard you drawed a gun on that fellow, reilly. what was he doing to make you mad?" "nothing much." "well, i'm glad you fired him. he's made trouble right along. how'd it happen you had a gun with you? do you always carry one?" "haven't been without one on a job since i've worked for the old man." "well," said pete, straightening up, "i've never so much as owned one, and i never want to. i don't like 'em. if my fists ain't good enough to take care of me against any fellow that comes along, why, he's welcome to lick me, that's all." hilda glanced at him, and for a moment her eyes rested on his figure. there was not a line of it but showed grace and strength and a magnificent confidence. then, as if for the contrast, she looked at bannon. he had been watching her all the while, and he seemed to guess her thought. "that's all right," he said in answer to peterson, "when it's just you and him and a fellow to hold your coats. but it don't always begin that way. i've been in places where things got pretty miscellaneous sometimes, but i never had a man come up and say: 'mr. bannon, i'm going to lick you. any time when you're ready,' there's generally from three to thirty, and they all try to get on your back." peterson laughed reminiscently. "i was an attendant in the insane ward of the massachusetts general hospital for a while, and one time when i wasn't looking for it, twenty-four of those lunatics all jumped on me at once. they got me on the floor and 'most killed me." he paused, as though there was nothing more to tell. "don't stop there," said max. "why," he went on, "i crawled along the floor till i got to a chair, and i just knocked 'em around with that till they was quiet." bannon looked at his watch; then he took brown's letter from his pocket. "it's from the office," he said. "we've got to have the bins full before new year's day." "got to!" exclaimed pete. "i don't see it that way. we can't do it." "can or can't, that don't interest macbride a bit. he says it's got to be done and it has." "why, he can't expect us to do it. he didn't say anything about january first to me. _i_ didn't know it was a rush job. and then we played in hard luck, too, before you came. that cribbing being tied up, for instance. he certainly can't blame us if----" "that's got nothing to do with it," bannon cut in shortly. "he don't pay us to make excuses; he pays us to do as we're told. when i have to begin explaining to macbride why it can't be done, i'll send my resignation along in a separate envelope and go to peddling a cure for corns. what we want to talk about is how we're going to do it." peterson flushed, but said nothing, and bannon went on: "now, here's what we've got to do. we've got to frame the cupola and put on the roof and sheathe the entire house with galvanized iron; we've got to finish the spouting house and sheathe that; we've got to build the belt gallery--and we'll have no end of a time doing it if the c. & s. c. is still looking for trouble. then there's all the machinery to erect and the millwright work to do. and we've got to build the annex." "i thought you was going to forget that," said pete. "that's the worst job of all." "no, it ain't. it's the easiest. it'll build itself. it's just a case of two and two makes four. all you've got to do is spike down two-inch planks till it's done, and then clap on some sort of a roof. there's no machinery, no details, just straight work. it's just a question of having the lumber to do it with, and we've got it now. it's the little work that can raise ned with you. there is more than a million little things that any man ought to do in half an hour, but if one of 'em goes wrong, it may hold you up for all day. now, i figure the business this way." he took a memorandum from his pocket and began reading. there was very little guesswork about it; he had set down as nearly as possible the amount of labor involved in each separate piece of construction, and the number of men who could work on it at once. allowing for the different kinds of work that could be done simultaneously, he made out a total of one hundred and twenty days. "well, that's all right, i guess," said pete, "but you see that takes us way along into next year sometime." "about march first," said max. "you haven't divided by three yet," said bannon. "we'll get three eight-hour days into every twenty-four hours, and twenty-one of 'em into every week." "why, that's better than we need to do," said pete, after a moment. "that gets us about two weeks ahead of time." "did you ever get through when you thought you would?" bannon demanded. "i never did. don't you know that you always get hit by something you ain't looking for? i'm figuring in our hard-luck margin, that's all. there are some things i _am_ looking for, too. we'll have a strike here before we get through." "oh, i guess not," said pete, easily. "you're still thinking of reilly, aren't you." "and for another thing, page & company are likely to spring something on us at the last moment." "what sort of thing?" "if i knew i'd go ahead and build it now, but i don't." "how are you going to work three gangs? who'll look after 'em?" "one of us has got to stay up nights, i guess," said bannon. "we'll have to get a couple of boys to help max keep time. it may take us a day or two to get the good men divided up and the thing to running properly, but we ought to be going full blast by the first of the week." he arose and buttoned his coat. "you two know the men better than i do. i wish you'd go through the pay roll and pick out the best men and find out, if you can, who'll work nights at regular night wages." peterson came out of the office with him. "i suppose you'll put me in the night gang," he said. "i haven't decided yet what i'll do." "when i came by the main hoist," pete went on, "they was picking up four and five sticks at once. i stopped 'em, and they said it was your orders. you'll come to smash that way, sure as a gun." "not if they don't take more than i told 'em to and if they're careful. they have to do it to keep up with the carpenters." "well, it's running a big risk, that's all. i don't like it." "my god, don't i know it's a risk! do you suppose i like it? we've got something to do, and we've got to do it somehow." pete laughed uneasily. "i--i told 'em not to pick up more than two sticks at a time till they heard from me." "i think," said bannon, with a look that was new to pete, "i think you'd better go as fast as you can and tell them to go on as they were when you found them." late on tuesday afternoon the hoist broke. it was not easy to get from the men a clear account of the accident. the boss of the gang denied that he had carried more of a load than bannon had authorized, but some of the talk among the men indicated the contrary. only one man was injured and he not fatally, a piece of almost miraculous good luck. some scaffolding was torn down and a couple of timbers badly sprung, but the total damage was really slight. bannon in person superintended rigging the new hoist. it was ready for work within two hours after the accident. "she's guyed a little better than the other was, i think," said bannon to the foreman. "you won't have any more trouble. go ahead." "how about the load?" "carry the same load as before. you weren't any more than keeping up." chapter viii five minutes after the noon whistle blew, on saturday, every carpenter and laborer knew that bannon had "pulled a gun" on reilly. those who heard it last heard more than that, for when the story had passed through a few hands it was bigger and it took longer to tell. and every man, during the afternoon, kept his eyes more closely on his work. some were angry, but these dropped from muttering into sullenness; the majority were relieved, for a good workman is surer of himself under a firm than under a slack hand; but all were cowed. and bannon, when after dinner he looked over the work, knew more about all of them and their feelings, perhaps, than they knew themselves. he knew, too, that the incident might in the long run make trouble. but trouble was likely in any case, and it was better to meet it after he had established his authority than while discipline was at loose ends. but hilda and max were disappointed. they were in the habit of talking over the incidents and problems of the day every night after supper. and while hilda, as max used to say, had a mind of her own, she had fallen into the habit of seeing things much as max saw them. max had from the start admired, in his boyish way, peterson's big muscles and his easy good nature. he had been the first to catch the new spirit that bannon had got into the work, but it was more the outward activity that he could understand and admire than bannon's finer achievements in organization. like hilda, he did not see the difference between dropping a hammer down a bin and overloading a hoist. bannon's distinction between running risks in order to push the work and using caution in minor matters was not recognized in their talks. and as bannon was not in the habit of giving his reasons, the misunderstanding grew. but more than all max felt, and in a way hilda felt, too, that peterson would never have found it necessary to use a revolver; his fists would have been enough for a dozen reillys. max did not tell hilda about all the conversations he and peterson had had during the last week, for they were confidential. peterson had never been without a confidant, and though he still shared a room with bannon, he could not talk his mind out with him. max, who to bannon was merely an unusually capable lumber-checker, was to peterson a friend and adviser. and though max tried to defend bannon when peterson fell into criticism of the way the work was going, he was influenced by it. during the few days after the accident hilda was so deeply distressed about the injured man that max finally went to see him. "he's pretty well taken care of," he said when he returned. "there's some ribs broken, he says, and a little fever, but it ain't serious. he's got a couple of sneaking little lawyers around trying to get him to sue for damages, but i don't think he'll do it. the company's giving him full pay and all his doctor's bills." nearly every evening after that max took him some little delicacy. hilda made him promise that he would not tell who sent them. bannon had quickly caught the changed attitude toward him, and for several days kept his own counsel. but one morning, after dictating some letters to hilda, he lingered. "how's our fund getting on?" he said, smiling. "have you looked lately?" "no," she said, "i haven't." he leaned over the railing and opened the box. "it's coming slow," he said, shaking his head. "are you sure nobody's been getting away from us?" hilda was seated before the typewriter. she turned partly around, without taking her fingers from the keys. "i don't know," she said quietly. "i haven't been watching it." "we'll have to be stricter about it," said bannon. "these fellows have got to understand that rules are rules." he spoke with a little laugh, but the remark was unfortunate. the only men who came within the railing were max and peterson. "i may have forgotten it, myself," she said. "that won't do, you know. i don't know but what i can let you off this time--i'll tell you what i'll do, miss vogel: i'll make a new rule that you can come in without wiping your feet if you'll hand in a written excuse. that's the way they did things when i went to school." he turned to go, then hesitated again. "you haven't been out on the job yet, have you?" "no, i haven't." "i rather think you'd like it. it's pretty work, now that we're framing the cupola. if you say so, i'll fix it for you to go up to the distributing floor this afternoon." she looked back at the machine. "the view ain't bad," he went on, "when you get up there. you can see down into indiana, and all around. you could see all chicago, too, if it wasn't for the smoke." there was a moment's silence. "why, yes, mr. bannon," she said; "i'd like to go very much." "all right," he replied, his smile returning. "i'll guarantee to get you up there somehow, if i have to build a stairway. ninety feet's pretty high, you know." when bannon reached the elevator he stood for a moment in the well at the west end of the structure. this well, or "stairway bin," sixteen by thirty-two feet, and open from the ground to the distributing floor, occupied the space of two bins. it was here that the stairway would be, and the passenger elevator, and the rope-drive for the transmission of power from the working to the distributing floor. the stairway was barely indicated by rude landings. for the present a series of eight ladders zigzagged up from landing to landing. bannon began climbing; halfway up he met max, who was coming down, time book in hand. "look here, max," he said, "we're going to have visitors this afternoon. if you've got a little extra time i'd like to have you help get things ready." "all right," max replied. "i'm not crowded very hard to-day." "i've asked your sister to come up and see the framing." max glanced down between the loose boards on the landing. "i don't know," he said slowly; "i don't believe she could climb up here very well." "she won't have to. i'm going to put in a passenger elevator, and carry her up as grand as the palmer house. you put in your odd minutes between now and three o'clock making a box that's big and strong enough." max grinned. "say, that's all right. she'll like that. i can do most of it at noon." bannon nodded and went on up the ladders. at the distributing floor he looked about for a long timber, and had the laborers lay it across the well opening. the ladders and landings occupied only about a third of the space; the rest was open, a clear drop of eighty feet. at noon he found max in an open space behind the office, screwing iron rings into the corners of a stout box. max glanced up and laughed. "i made hilda promise not to come out here," he said. he waved his hand toward the back wall of the office. bannon saw that he had nailed strips over the larger cracks and knot holes. "she was peeking, but i shut that off before i'd got very far along. i don't think she saw what it was. i only had part of the frame done." "she'll be coming out in a minute," said bannon. "i know. i thought of that." max threw an armful of burlap sacking over the box. "that'll cover it up enough. i guess it's time to quit, anyway, if i'm going to get any dinner. there's a little square of carpet up to the house that i'm going to get for the bottom, and we can run pieces of half-inch rope from the rings up to a hook, and sling it right on the hoist." "it's not going on the hoist," said bannon. "i wouldn't stop the timbers for mr. macbride himself. when you go back, you'll see a timber on the top of the well. i'd like you to sling a block under it and run an inch-and-a-quarter rope through. we'll haul it up from below." "what power?" "man power." "all right, mr. bannon. i'll see to it. there's hilda now." he called to her to wait while he got his coat, and then the two disappeared across the tracks. hilda had bowed to bannon, but without the smile and the nod that he liked. he looked after her as if he would follow; but he changed his mind, and waited a few minutes. the "elevator" was ready soon after the afternoon's work had commenced. bannon found time between two and three o'clock to inspect the tackle. he picked up an end of rope and lashed the cross timber down securely. then he went down the ladders and found max, who had brought the carpet for the box and was looking over his work. the rope led up to the top of the well through a pulley and then back to the working floor and through another pulley, so that the box could be hoisted from below. "it's all ready," said max. "it'll run up as smooth as you want." "you'd better go for your sister, then," bannon replied. max hesitated. "you meant for me to bring her?" "yes, i guess you might as well." bannon stood looking after max as he walked along the railroad track out into the open air. then he glanced up between the smooth walls of cribbing that seemed to draw closer and closer together until they ended, far overhead, in a rectangle of blue sky. the beam across the top was a black line against the light. the rope, hanging from it, swayed lazily. he walked around the box, examining the rings and the four corner ropes, and testing them. hilda was laughing when she came with max along the track. bannon could not see her at first for the intervening rows of timbers that supported the bins. then she came into view through an opening between two "bents" of timber, beyond a heap of rubbish that had been thrown at one side of the track. she was trying to walk on the rail, one arm thrown out to balance, the other resting across max's shoulders. her jacket was buttoned snugly up to the chin, and there was a fresh color in her face. bannon had called in three laborers to man the rope; they stood at one side, awaiting the order to haul away. he found a block of wood, and set it against the box for a step. "this way, miss vogel," he called. "the elevator starts in a minute. you came pretty near being late." "am i going to get in that?" she asked; and she looked up, with a little gasp, along the dwindling rope. "here," said max, "don't you say nothing against that elevator. i call it pretty grand." she stood on the block, holding to one of the ropes, and looking alternately into the box and up to the narrow sky above them. "it's awfully high," she said. "is that little stick up there all that's going to hold me up?" "that little stick is ten-by-twelve," max replied. "it would hold more'n a dozen of you." she laughed, but still hesitated. she lowered her eyes and looked about the great dim space of the working story with its long aisles and its solid masses of timber. suddenly she turned to bannon, who was standing at her side, waiting to give her a hand. "oh, mr. bannon," she said, "are you sure it's strong enough? it doesn't look safe." "i think it's safe," he replied quietly. he vaulted into the box and signalled to the laborers. hilda stepped back off the block as he went up perhaps a third of the way, and then came down. she said nothing, but stepped on the block. "how shall i get in?" she asked, laughing a little, but not looking at bannon. "here," said bannon, "give us each a hand. a little jump'll do it. max here'll go along the ladders and steady you if you swing too much. wait a minute, though." he hurried out of doors, and returned with a light line, one end of which he made fast to the box, the other he gave to max. "now," he said, "you can guide it as nice as walking upstairs." they started up, hilda sitting in the box and holding tightly to the sides, max climbing the ladders with the end of the line about his wrist. bannon joined the laborers, and kept a hand on the hoisting rope. "you'd better not look down," he called after her. she laughed and shook her head. bannon waited until they had reached the top, and max had lifted her out on the last landing; then, at max's shout, he made the rope fast and followed up the ladders. he found them waiting for him near the top of the well. "we might as well sit down," he said. he led the way to a timber a few steps away. "well, miss vogel, how do you like it?" she was looking eagerly about; at the frame, a great skeleton of new timber, some of it still holding so much of the water of river and mill-yard that it glistened in the sunlight; at the moving groups of men, the figure of peterson standing out above the others on a high girder, his arms knotted, and his neck bare, though the day was not warm; at the straining hoist, trembling with each new load that came swinging from somewhere below, to be hustled off to its place, stick by stick; and then out into the west, where the november sun was dropping, and around at the hazy flats and the strip of a river. she drew in her breath quickly, and looked up at bannon with a nervous little gesture. "i like it," she finally said, after a long silence, during which they had watched a big stick go up on one of the small hoists, to be swung into place and driven home on the dowel pins by peterson's sledge. "isn't pete a hummer?" said max. "i never yet saw him take hold of a thing that was too much for him." neither hilda nor bannon replied to this, and there was another silence. "would you like to walk around and see things closer to?" bannon asked, turning to miss vogel. "i wouldn't mind. it's rather cold, sitting still." he led the way along one side of the structure, guiding her carefully in places where the flooring was not yet secure. "i'm glad you came up," he said. "a good many people think there's nothing in this kind of work but just sawing wood and making money for somebody up in minneapolis. but it isn't that way. it's pretty, and sometimes it's exciting; and things happen every little while that are interesting enough to tell to anybody, if people only knew it. i'll have you come up a little later, when we get the house built and the machinery coming in. that's when we'll have things really moving. there'll be some fun putting up the belt gallery, too. that'll be over here on the other side." he turned to lead the way across the floor to the north side of the building. they had stopped a little way from the boom hoist, and she was standing motionless, watching as the boom swung out and the rope rattled to the ground. there was the puffing of the engine far below, the straining of the rope, and the creaking of the blocks as the heavy load came slowly up. gangs of men were waiting to take the timbers the moment they reached the floor. the foreman of the hoist gang was leaning out over the edge, looking down and shouting orders. hilda turned with a little start and saw that bannon was waiting for her. following him, she picked her way between piles of planks and timber, and between groups of laborers and carpenters, to the other side. now they could look down at the four tracks of the c. & s. c., the unfinished spouting house on the wharf, and the river. "here's where the belt gallery will go," he said, pointing downward: "right over the tracks to the spouting house. they carry the grain on endless belts, you know." "doesn't it ever fall off?" "not a kernel. it's pretty to watch. when she gets to running we'll come up some day and look at it." they walked slowly back toward the well. before they reached it peterson and max joined them. peterson had rolled down his sleeves and put on his coat. "you ain't going down now, are you?" he said. "we'll be starting in pretty soon on some of the heavy framing. this is just putting in girders." he was speaking directly to miss vogel, but he made an effort to include bannon in the conversation by an awkward movement of his head. this stiffness in peterson's manner when bannon was within hearing had been growing more noticeable during the past few days. "don't you think of going yet," he continued, with a nervous laugh, for hilda was moving on. "she needn't be in such a rush to get to work, eh, charlie?" hilda did not give bannon a chance to reply. "thank you very much, mr. peterson," she said, smiling, "but i must go back, really. maybe you'll tell me some day when you're going to do something special, so i can come up again." peterson's disappointment was so frankly shown in his face that she smiled again. "i've enjoyed it very much," she said. she was still looking at peterson, but at the last word she turned to include bannon, as if she had suddenly remembered that he was in the party. there was an uncomfortable feeling, shown by all in their silence and in their groping about for something to say. "i'll go ahead and clear the track," said bannon. "i'll holler up to you, max, when we're ready down below." "here," said max, "let me go down." but bannon had already started down the first ladder. "the next time you come to visit us, miss vogel," he called back, "i guess we'll have our real elevator in, and we can run you up so fast it'll take your breath away. we'll be real swells here yet." when he reached the working floor, he called in the laborers and shouted to max. but when the box, slowly descending, appeared below the bin walls, it was peterson who held the line and chatted with hilda as he steadied her. the next day a lot of cribbing came from ledyard, and bannon at once set about reorganizing his forces so that work could go on night and day. he and peterson would divide the time equally into twelve-hour days; but three divisions were necessary for the men, the morning shift working from midnight until eight o'clock, the day shift from eight to four, and the night shift from four to midnight. finally, when the whistle blew, at noon, bannon tipped back his chair and pushed his hat back on his head. "well," he said, "that's fixed." "when will we begin on it?" peterson asked. "to-day. have the whistle blow at four. it'll make some of the men work overtime to-day, but we'll pay them for it." miss vogel was putting on her jacket. before joining max, who was waiting at the door, she asked:-- "do you want me to make any change in my work, mr. bannon?" "no, you'd better go ahead just as you are. we won't try to cut you up into three shifts yet awhile. we can do what letters and accounts we have in the daytime." she nodded and left the office. all through the morning's work peterson had worn a heavy, puzzled expression, and now that they had finished, he seemed unable to throw it off. bannon, who had risen and was reaching for his ulster, which he had thrown over the railing, looked around at him. "you and i'll have to make twelve-hour days of it, you know," he said. he knew, from his quick glance and the expression almost of relief that came over his face, that this was what peterson had been waiting for. "you'd better come on in the evening, if it's all the same to you--at seven. i'll take it in the morning and keep an eye on it during the day." peterson's eyes had lowered at the first words. he swung one leg over the other and picked up the list of carpenters that max had made out, pretending to examine it. bannon was not watching him closely, but he could have read the thoughts behind that sullen face. if their misunderstanding had arisen from business conditions alone, bannon would have talked out plainly. but now that hilda had come between them, and particularly that it was all so vague--a matter of feeling, and not at all of reason--he had decided to say nothing. it was important that he should control the work during the day, and coming on at seven in the morning, he would have a hand on the work of all three shifts. he knew that peterson would not see it reasonably; that he would think it was done to keep him away from hilda. he stood leaning against the gate to keep it open, buttoning his ulster. "coming on up to the house, pete?" peterson got down off the railing. "so you're going to put me on the night shift," he said, almost as a child would have said it. "i guess that's the way it's got to work out," bannon replied. "coming up?" "no--not yet. i'll be along pretty soon." bannon started toward the door, but turned with a snap of his finger. "oh, while we're at it, pete--you'd better tell max to get those men to keep time for the night shifts." "you mean you want him to go on with you in the daytime?" "that's just as he likes. but i guess he'll want to be around while his sister is here. you see about that after lunch, will you?" peterson came in while bannon was eating his dinner and stayed after he had gone. in the evening, when he returned to the house for his supper, after arranging with peterson to share the first night's work, bannon found that the foreman's clothes and grip had been taken from the room. on the stairs he met the landlady, and asked her if mr. peterson had moved. "yes," she replied; "he took his things away this noon. i'm sorry he's gone, for he was a good young man. he never give me any trouble like some of the men do that's been here. the trouble with most of them is that they get drunk on pay-days and come home simply disgusting." bannon passed on without comment. during the evening he saw peterson on the distributing floor, helping the man from the electric light company rig up a new arc light. his expression when he caught sight of bannon, sullen and defiant, yet showing a great effort to appear natural, was the only explanation needed of how matters stood between them. it took a few days to get the new system to running smoothly--new carpenters and laborers had to be taken on, and new foremen worked into their duties--but it proved to be less difficult than max and hilda had supposed from what peterson had to say about the conduct of the work. the men all worked better than before; each new move of bannon's seemed to infuse more vigor and energy into the work; and the cupola and annex began rapidly, as max said, "to look like something." bannon was on hand all day, and frequently during a large part of the night. he had a way of appearing at any hour to look at the work and keep it moving. max, after hearing the day men repeat what the night men had to tell of the boss and his work, said to his sister: "honest, hilda, i don't see how he does it. i don't believe he ever takes his clothes off." chapter ix the direct result of the episode with the carpenter reilly was insignificant. he did not attempt to make good his boast that he would be back at work next day, and when he did appear, on wednesday of the next week, his bleared eyes and dilapidated air made the reason plain enough. a business agent of his union was with him; bannon found them in the office. he nodded to the delegate. "sit down," he said. then he turned to reilly. "i don't ask you to do the same. you're not wanted on the premises. i told you once before that i was through talking." reilly started to reply, but his companion checked him. "that's all right," he said. "i know your side of it. wait for me up by the car line." when reilly had gone bannon repeated his invitation to sit down. "you probably know why i've come," the delegate began. "mr. reilly has charged you with treating him unjustly and with drawing a revolver on him. of course, in a case like this, we try to get at both sides before we take any action. would you give me your account of it?" bannon told in twenty words just how it had happened. the agent said cautiously: "reilly told another story." "i suppose so. now, i don't ask you to take my word against his. if you'd like to investigate the business, i'll give you all the opportunity you want." "if we find that he did drop the hammer by accident, would you be willing to take him back?" bannon smiled. "there's no use in my telling you what i'll do till you tell me what you want me to do, is there?" bannon held out his hand when the man rose to go. "any time you think there's something wrong out here, or anything you don't understand, come out and we'll talk it over. i treat a man as well as i can, if he's square with me." he walked to the door with the agent and closed it after him. as he turned back to the draughting table, he found hilda's eyes on him. "they're very clean chaps, mostly, those walking delegates," he said. "if you treat 'em half as well as you'd treat a yellow dog, they're likely to be very reasonable. if one of 'em does happen to be a rascal, though, he's meaner to handle than frozen dynamite. i expect to be white-headed before i'm through with that man grady." "is he a rascal?" she asked. "he's as bad as you find 'em. even if he'd been handled right----" bannon broke off abruptly and began turning over the blue prints. "suppose i'd better see how this next story looks," he said. hilda had heard how pete had dealt with grady at their first meeting, and she could complete the broken sentence. bannon never heard whether the agent from the carpenters' union had looked further into reilly's case, but he was not asked to take him back on the pay roll. but that was not the end of the incident. coming out on the distributing floor just before noon on thursday, he found grady in the act of delivering an impassioned oration to the group of laborers about the hoist. before grady saw him, bannon had come near enough to hear something about being "driven at the point of a pistol." the speech came suddenly to an end when grady, following the glances of his auditors, turned and saw who was coming. bannon noted with satisfaction the scared look of appeal which he turned, for a second, toward the men. it was good to know that grady was something of a coward. bannon nodded to him pleasantly enough. "how are you, grady?" he said. seeing that he was in no danger, the delegate threw back his shoulders, held up his head, and, frowning in an important manner, he returned bannon's greeting with the scantest civility. bannon walked up and stood beside him. "if you can spare the time," he said politely, "i'd like to see you at the office for a while." convinced now that bannon was doing everything in his power to conciliate him, grady grew more important "very well," he said; "when i've got through up here, ye can see me if ye like." "all right," said bannon, patiently; "no hurry." during the full torrent of grady's eloquence the work had not actually been interrupted. the big boom bearing its load of timber swept in over the distributing floor with unbroken regularity; but the men had worked with only half their minds and had given as close attention as they dared to the delegate's fervid utterances. but from the moment bannon appeared there had been a marked change in the attitude of the little audience; they steered the hoist and canted the timbers about with a sudden enthusiasm which made bannon smile a little as he stood watching them. grady could not pump up a word to say. he cleared his throat loudly once or twice, but the men ignored him utterly. he kept casting his shifty little sidewise glances at the boss, wondering why he didn't go away, but bannon continued to stand there, giving an occasional direction, and watching the progress of the work with much satisfaction. the little delegate shifted his weight from one foot to the other and cleared his throat again. then he saw that two or three of the men were grinning. that was too much. "well, i'll go with you," he snapped. bannon could not be sure how much of an impression grady's big words and his ridiculous assumption of importance had made upon the men, but he determined to counteract it as thoroughly as possible, then and there. it was a sort of gallery play that he had decided on, but he felt sure it would prove effective. grady turned to go down as he had come up, by the ladders, but bannon caught him by the shoulder, saying with a laugh: "oh, don't waste your time walking. take the elevator." his tone was friendly but his grip was like a man-trap, and he was propelling grady straight toward the edge of the building. four big timbers had just come up and bannon caught the released rope as it came trailing by. "here," he said; "put your foot in the hook and hang on, and you'll come down in no time." grady laughed nervously. "no you don't. i suppose you'd be glad to get rid of me that way. you don't come that on me." the men were watching with interest; bannon raised his voice a little. "all right," he said, thrusting his foot into the great hook, "if you feel that way about it. we'll have a regular passenger elevator in here by and by, with an electric bell and sliding door, for the capitalist crowd that are going to own the place. but we workingmen get along all right on this. swing off, boys." he waited for grady down below. it mattered very little to him now whether the walking delegate chose to follow him down the hoist or to walk down on the ladders, for every one had seen that grady was afraid. bannon had seen all the men grinning broadly as he began his descent, and that was all he wanted. evidently grady's fear of the rope was less than his dread of the ridicule of the men, for bannon saw him preparing to come down after the next load. he took a long time getting ready, but at last they started him. he was the color of a handful of waste when he reached the ground, and he staggered as he walked with bannon over to the office. he dropped into a chair and rubbed his forehead with his coat-sleeve. "well," said bannon, "do you like the look of things? i hope you didn't find anything out of the way?" "do you dare ask me that?" grady began. his voice was weak at first, but as his giddiness passed away it arose again to its own inimitable oratorical level. "do you dare pretend that you are treating these men right? who gave you the right to decide that this man shall live and this man shall die, and that this poor fellow who asks no more than to be allowed to earn his honest living with his honest sweat shall be stricken down with two broken ribs?" "i don't know," said bannon. "you're speaking of the hoist accident, i suppose. well, go and ask that man if he has any complaint to make. if he has, come and let me know about it." "they call this a free country, and yet you oppressors can compel men to risk their lives----" "have you any changes to suggest in the way that hoist is rigged?" bannon cut in quietly. "you've been inspecting it. what did you think was unsafe about it?" grady was getting ready for his next outburst, but bannon prevented him. "there ain't many jobs, if you leave out tacking down carpets, where a man don't risk his life more or less. macbride don't compel men to risk their lives; he pays 'em for doing it, and you can bet he's done it himself. we don't like it, but it's necessary. now, if you saw men out there taking risks that you think are unnecessary, why, say so, and we'll talk it over." "there's another thing you've got to answer for, mr. bannon. these are free men that are devoting their honest labor to you. you may think you're a slave driver, but you aren't. you may flourish your revolver in the faces of slaves, but free american citizens will resent it----" "mr. grady, the man i drew a gun on was a carpenter. his own union is looking after him. he had thrown a hammer down into a bin where some of your laborers were at work, so i acted in their defence." grady stood up. "i come here to give you warning to-day, mr. bannon. there is a watchful eye on you. the next time i come it will not be to warn, but to act. that's all i've got to say to you now." bannon, too, was on his feet. "mr. grady, we try to be fair to our men. it's your business to see that we are fair, so we ought to get on all right together. after this, if the men lodge any complaint with you, come to me; don't go out on the job and make speeches. if you're looking for fair play, you'll get it. if you're looking for trouble, you'll get it. good-morning." the new _régime_ in operation at the elevator was more of a hardship to peterson than to any one else, because it compelled him to be much alone. not only was he quite cut off from the society of max and hilda, but it happened that the two or three under-foremen whom he liked best were on the day shift. the night's work with none of those pleasant little momentary interruptions that used to occur in the daytime was mere unrelieved drudgery, but the afternoons, when he had given up trying to sleep any longer, were tedious enough to make him long for six o'clock. naturally, his disposition was easy and generous, but he had never been in the habit of thinking much, and thinking, especially as it led to brooding, was not good for him. from the first, of course, he had been hurt that the office should have thought it necessary to send bannon to supersede him, but so long as he had plenty to do and was in bannon's company every hour of the day, he had not taken time to think about it much. but now he thought of little else, and as time went on he succeeded in twisting nearly everything the new boss had said or done to fit his theory that bannon was jealous of him and was trying to take from him the credit which rightfully belonged to him. and bannon had put him in charge of the night shift, so peterson came to think, simply because he had seen that hilda was beginning to like him. about four o'clock one afternoon, not many days after grady's talk with bannon, peterson sat on the steps of his boarding-house, trying to make up his mind what to do, and wishing it were six o'clock. he wanted to stroll down to the job to have a chat with his friends, but he had somewhat childishly decided he wasn't wanted there while miss vogel was in the office, so he sat still and whittled, and took another view of his grievances. glancing up, he saw grady, the walking delegate, coming along the sidewalk. now that the responsibility of the elevator was off his shoulders he no longer cherished any particular animosity toward the little irishman, but he remembered their last encounter and wondered whether he should speak to him or not. but grady solved his doubt by calling out cheerfully to know how he was and turning in toward the steps. "i suppose i ought to lick you after what's passed between us," he added with a broad smile, "but if you're willing we'll call it bygones." "sure," said peterson. "it's fine seasonable weather we're having, and just the thing for you on the elevator. it's coming right along." "first-rate." "it's as interesting a bit of work as i ever saw. i was there the other day looking at it. and, by the way, i had a long talk with mr. bannon. he's a fine man." grady had seated himself on the step below peterson. now for the first time he looked at him. "he's a good hustler," said peterson. "well, that's what passes for a fine man, these days, though mistakes are sometimes made that way. but how does it happen that you're not down there superintending? i hope some carpenter hasn't taken it into his head to fire the boss." "i'm not boss there any longer. the office sent bannon down to take it over my head." "you don't tell me that? it's a pity." grady was shaking his head solemnly. "it's a pity. the men like you first-rate, mr. peterson. i'm not saying they don't like anybody else, but they like you. but people in an office a thousand miles away can't know everything, and that's a fact. and so he laid you off." "oh, no, i ain't quite laid off--yet. he's put me in charge of the night shift." "so you're working nights, then? it seemed to me you was working fast enough in the daytime to satisfy anybody. but i suppose some rich man is in a hurry for it and you must do your best to accommodate him." "you bet, he's in a hurry for it. he won't listen to reason at all. says the bins have got to be chock full of grain before january first, no matter what happens to us. he don't care how much it costs, either." "i must be going along," said grady, getting to his feet. "that man must be in a hurry. january first! that's quick work, and he don't care how much it costs him. oh, these rich devils! they're hustlers, too, mr. peterson. well, good-night to you." peterson saw bannon twice every day,--for a half hour at night when he took charge of the job, and for another half hour in the morning when he relinquished it. that was all except when they chanced to meet during bannon's irregular nightly wanderings about the elevator. as the days had gone by these conversations had been confined more and more rigidly to necessary business, and though this result was peterson's own bringing about, still he charged it up as another of his grievances against bannon. when, about an hour after his conversation with grady, he started down to the elevator to take command, he knew he ought to tell bannon of his conversation with grady, and he fully intended doing so. but his determination oozed away as he neared the office, and when he finally saw bannon he decided to say nothing about it whatever. he decided thus partly because he wished to make his conversation with bannon as short as possible, partly because he had not made up his mind what significance, if any, the incident had, and (more than either of these reasons) because ever since grady had repeated the phrase: "he don't care what it costs him," peterson had been uneasily aware that he had talked too much. chapter x grady's affairs were prospering beyond his expectations, confident though he had been. away back in the summer, when the work was in its early stages, his eye had been upon it; he had bided his time in the somewhat indefinite hope that something would turn up. but he went away jubilant from his conversation with peterson, for it seemed that all the cards were in his hands. just as a man running for a car is the safest mark for a gamin's snowball, so calumet k, through being a rush job as well as a rich one, offered a particularly advantageous field for grady's endeavors. men who were trying to accomplish the impossible feat of completing, at any cost, the great hulk on the river front before the first of january, would not be likely to stop to quibble at paying the five thousand dollars or so that grady, who, as the business agent of his union was simply in masquerade, would like to extort. he had heard that peterson was somewhat disaffected to bannon's authority, but had not expected him to make so frank an avowal of it. that was almost as much in his favor as the necessity for hurry. these, with the hoist accident to give a color of respectability to the operation, ought to make it simple enough. he had wit enough to see that bannon was a much harder man to handle than peterson, and that with peterson restored to full authority, the only element of uncertainty would be removed. and he thought that if he could get peterson to help him it might be possible to secure bannon's recall. if the scheme failed, he had still another shot in his locker, but this one was worth a trial, anyway. one afternoon in the next week he went around to peterson's boarding-house and sent up his card with as much ceremony as though the night boss had been a railway president. "i hope you can spare me half an hour, mr. peterson. there's a little matter of business i'd like to talk over with you." the word affected peterson unpleasantly. that was a little farther than he could go without a qualm. "sure," he said uneasily, looking at his watch. "i don't know as i should call it business, either," grady went on. "when you come right down to it, it's a matter of friendship, for surely it's no business of mine. maybe you think it's queer--i think it's queer myself, that i should be coming 'round tendering my friendly services to a man who's had his hands on my throat threatening my life. that ain't my way, but somehow i like you, mr. peterson, and there's an end of it. and when i like a man, i like him, too. how's the elevator? everything going to please you?" "i guess it's going all right. it ain't----" pete hesitated, and then gave up the broken sentence. "it's all right," he repeated. grady smiled. "there's the good soldier. won't talk against his general. but, mr. peterson, let me ask you a question; answer me as a man of sense. which makes the best general--the man who leads the charge straight up to the intrenchments, yellin': 'come on, boys!'--or the one who says, very likely shaking a revolver in their faces: 'get in there, ye damn low-down privates, and take that fort, and report to me when i've finished my breakfast'? which one of those two men will the soldiers do the most for? for the one they like best, mr. peterson, and don't forget it. and which one of these are they going to like best, do you suppose--the brave leader who scorns to ask his men to go where he wouldn't go himself, who isn't ashamed to do honest work with honest hands, whose fists are good enough to defend him against his enemies; or the man who is afraid to go out among the men without a revolver in his hip pocket? answer me as a man of sense, mr. peterson." peterson was manifestly disturbed by the last part of the harangue. now he said: "oh, i guess bannon wasn't scared when he drawed that gun on reilly. he ain't that kind." "would _you_ draw a gun on an unarmed, defenceless man?" grady asked earnestly. "no, i wouldn't. i don't like that way of doing." "the men don't like it either, mr. peterson. no more than you do. they like you. they'll do anything you ask them to. they know that you can do anything that they can. but, mr. peterson, i'll be frank with you. they don't like the man who crowded you out. that's putting it mild. i won't say they hate him for an uncivil, hard-tongued, sneaking weasel of a spy----" "i never knew bannon to do anything like that," said peterson, slowly. "i did. didn't he come sneaking up and hear what i was saying--up on top of the elevator the other day? i guess he won't try that again. i told him that when i was ready to talk to _him_, i'd come down to the office to do it." grady was going almost too far; pete would not stand very much more; already he was trying to get on his feet to put an end to the conversation. "i ask your pardon, mr. peterson. i forgot he was a friend of yours. but the point is right here. the men don't like him. they've been wanting to strike these three days, just because they don't want to work for that ruffian. i soothed them all i can, but they won't hold in much longer. mark my words, there'll be a strike on your hands before the week's out unless you do something pretty soon." "what have they got to strike about? don't we treat them all right? what do they kick about?" "a good many things, big and little. but the real reason is the one i've been giving you--bannon. neither more nor less." "do you mean they'd be all right if another man was in charge?" grady could not be sure from peterson's expression whether the ice were firm enough to step out boldly upon, or not. he tested it cautiously. "mr. peterson, i know you're a good man. i know you're a generous man. i know you wouldn't want to crowd bannon out of his shoes the way he crowded you out of yours; not even after the way he's treated you. but look here, mr. peterson. who's your duty to? the men up in minneapolis who pay your salary, or the man who has come down here and is giving orders over your head? "--no, just let me finish, mr. peterson. i know what you're going to say. but do your employers want to get the job done by new year's? they do. do they pay you to help get it done? they do. will it be done if that would-be murderer of a bannon is allowed to stay here? it will not, you can bet on that. then it's your duty to get him out of here, and i'm going to help you do it." grady was on his feet when he declaimed the last sentence. he flung out his hand toward pete. "shake on it!" he cried. peterson had also got to his feet, but more slowly. he did not take the hand. "i'm much obliged, mr. grady," he said. "it's very kind in you. if that's so as you say, i suppose he'll have to go. and he'll go all right without any shoving when he sees that it is so. you go and tell just what you've told me to charlie bannon. he's boss on this job." grady would have fared better with a man of quicker intelligence. peterson was so slow at catching the blackmailer's drift that he spoke in perfectly good faith when he made the suggestion that he tell bannon, and grady went away a good deal perplexed as to the best course to pursue,--whether to go directly to bannon, or to try the night boss again. as for peterson, four or five times during his half-hour talk with bannon at the office that evening, he braced himself to tell the boss what grady had said, but it was not till just as bannon was going home that it finally came out. "have you seen grady lately?" pete asked, as calmly as he could. "he was around here something more than a week ago; gave me a little bombthrowers' anniversary oratory about oppressors and a watchful eye. there's no use paying any attention to him yet. he thinks he's got some trouble cooking for us on the stove, but we'll have to wait till he turns it into the dish. he ain't as dangerous as he thinks he is." "he's been around to see me lately--twice." "he has! what did he want with you? when was it he came?" "the first time about a week ago. that was nothing but a little friendly talk, but----" "friendly! him! what did he have to say?" "why, it was nothing. i don't remember. he wanted to know if i was laid off, and i told him i was on the night shift." "was that all?" "pretty near. he wanted to know what we was in such a hurry about, working nights, and i said we had to be through by january first. then he said he supposed it must be for some rich man who didn't care how much it cost him; and i said yes, it was. that was all. he didn't mean nothing. we were just passing the time of day. i don't see any harm in that." bannon was leaning on the rail, his face away from peterson. after a while he spoke thoughtfully. "well, that cinches it. i guess he meant to hold us up, anyway, but now he knows we're a good thing." "how's that? i don't see," said peterson; but bannon made no reply. "what did he have to offer the next time he came around? more in the same friendly way? when was it?" "just this afternoon. why, he said he was afraid we'd have a strike on our hands." "he ought to know," said bannon. "did he give any reason?" "yes, he did. you won't mind my speaking it right out, i guess. he said the men didn't like you, and if you wasn't recalled they'd likely strike. he said they'd work under me if you was recalled, but he didn't think he could keep 'em from going out if you stayed. that ain't what i think, mind you; i'm just telling you what he said. then he kind of insinuated that i ought to do something about it myself. that made me tired, and i told him to come to you about it. i said you was the boss here now, and i was only the foreman of the night shift." until that last sentence bannon had been only half listening. he made no sign, indeed, of having heard anything, but stood hacking at the pine railing with his pocket-knife. he was silent so long that at last peterson arose to go. bannon shut his knife and wheeled around to face him. "hold on, pete," he said. "we'd better talk this business out right here." "talk out what?" "oh, i guess you know. why don't we pull together better? what is it you're sore about?" "nothing. you don't need to worry about it." "look here, pete. you've known me a good many years. do you think i'm square?" "i never said you wasn't square." "you might have given me the benefit of the doubt, anyway. i know you didn't like my coming down here to take charge. do you suppose i did? you were unlucky, and a man working for macbride can't afford to be unlucky; so he told me to come and finish the job. and once i was down here he held me responsible for getting it done. i've got to go ahead just the best i can. i thought you saw that at first, and that we'd get on all right together, but lately it's been different." "i thought i'd been working hard enough to satisfy anybody." "it ain't that, and you know it ain't. it's just the spirit of the thing. now, i don't ask you to tell me why it is you feel this way. if you want to talk it out now, all right. if you don't, all right again. but if you ever think i'm not using you right, come to me and say so. just look at what we've got to do here, pete, before the first of january. sometimes i think we can do it, and sometimes i think we can't, but we've got to anyway. if we don't, macbride will just make up his mind we're no good. and unless we pull together, we're stuck for sure. it ain't a matter of work entirely. i want to feel that i've got you with me. come around in the afternoon if you happen to be awake, and fuss around and tell me what i'm doing wrong. i want to consult you about a good many things in the course of a day." pete's face was simply a lens through which one could see the feelings at work beneath, and bannon knew that he had struck the right chord at last. "how is it? does that go?" "sure," said pete. "i never knew you wanted to consult me about anything, or i'd have been around before." friday afternoon bannon received a note from grady saying that if he had any regard for his own interests or for those of his employers, he would do well to meet the writer at ten o'clock sunday morning at a certain downtown hotel. it closed with a postscript containing the disinterested suggestion that delays were dangerous, and a hint that the writer's time was valuable and he wished to be informed whether the appointment would be kept or not. bannon ignored the note, and all day monday expected grady's appearance at the office. he did not come, but when bannon reached his boarding-house about eight o'clock that evening, he found grady in his room waiting for him. "i can't talk on an empty stomach," said the boss, cheerfully, as he was washing up. "just wait till i get some supper." "i'll wait," said grady, grimly. when bannon came back to talk, he took off his coat and sat down astride a chair. "well, mr. grady, when you came here before you said it was to warn me, but the next time you came you were going to begin to act. i'm all ready." "all right," said grady, with a vicious grin. "be as smart as you like. i'll be paid well for every word of it and for every minute you've kept me waiting yesterday and to-night that was the most expensive supper you ever ate. i thought you had sense enough to come, mr. bannon. that's why i wasted a stamp on you. you made the biggest mistake of your life----" during the speech bannon had sat like a man hesitating between two courses of action. at this point he interrupted:-- "let's get to business, mr. grady." "i'll get to it fast enough. and when i do you'll see if you can safely insult the representative of the mighty power of the honest workingman of this vast land." "well?" "i hear you folks are in a hurry, mr. bannon?" "yes." "and that you'll spend anything it costs to get through on time. how'd it suit you to have all your laborers strike about now? don't that idea make you sick?" "pretty near." "well, they will strike inside two days." "what for? suppose we settle with them direct." "just try that," said grady, with withering sarcasm. "just try that and see how it works." "i don't want to. i only wanted to hear you confess that you are a rascal." "you'll pay dear for giving me that name. but we come to that later. do you think it would be worth something to the men who hire you for a dirty slave-driver to be protected against a strike? wouldn't they be willing to pay a round sum to get this work done on time? take a minute to think about it. be careful how you tell me they wouldn't. you're not liked here, mr. bannon, by anybody----" "you're threatening to have me recalled, according to your suggestions to mr. peterson the other night. well, that's all right if you can do it. but i think that sooner than recall me or have a strike they would be willing to pay for protection." "you do. i didn't look for that much sense in you. if you'd shown it sooner it might have saved your employers a large wad of bills. if you'd taken the trouble to be decent when i went to you in a friendly way a very little would have been enough. but now i've got to be paid. what do you say to five thousand as a fair sum?" "they'd be willing to pay fully that to save delay," said bannon, cheerfully. "they would!" to save his life grady could not help looking crestfallen. it seemed then that he might have got fifty. "all right," he went on, "five thousand it is; and i want it in hundred-dollar bills." "you do!" cried bannon, jumping to his feet. "do you think you're going to get a cent of it? i might pay blackmail to an honest rascal who delivered the goods paid for. but i had your size the first time you came around. don't you think i knew what you wanted? if i'd thought you were worth buying, i'd have settled it up for three hundred dollars and a box of cigars right at the start. that's about your market price. but as long as i knew you'd sell us out again if you could, i didn't think you were even worth the cigars. no; don't tell me what you're going to do. go out and do it if you can. and get out of here." for the second time bannon took the little delegate by the arm. he marched him to the head of the long, straight flight of stairs. then he hesitated a moment. "i wish you were three sizes larger," he said. chapter xi the organization of labor unions is generally democratic. the local lodge is self-governing; it elects its delegate, who attends a council of fellow-delegates, and this council may send representatives to a still more powerful body. but however high their titles, or their salaries, these dignitaries have power only to suggest action, except in a very limited variety of cases. there must always be a reference back to the rank and file. the real decision lies with them. that is the theory. the laborers on calumet k, with some others at work in the neighborhood, had organized into a lodge and had affiliated with the american federation of labor. grady, who had appeared out of nowhere, who had urged upon them the need of combining against the forces of oppression, and had induced them to organize, had been, without dissent, elected delegate. he was nothing more in theory than this: simply their concentrated voice. and this theory had the fond support of the laborers. "he's not our boss; he's our servant," was a sentiment they never tired of uttering when the delegate was out of earshot. they met every friday night, debated, passed portentous resolutions, and listened to grady's oratory. after the meeting was over they liked to hear their delegate, their servant, talk mysteriously of the doings of the council, and so well did grady manage this air of mystery that each man thought it assumed because of the presence of others, but that he himself was of the inner circle. they would not have dreamed of questioning his acts in meeting or after, as they stood about the dingy, reeking hall over barry's saloon. it was only as they went to their lodgings in groups of two and three that they told how much better they could manage things themselves. bannon enjoyed his last conversation with grady, though it left him a good deal to think out afterward. he had acted quite deliberately, had said nothing that afterward he wished unsaid; but as yet he had not decided what to do next. after he heard the door slam behind the little delegate, he walked back into his room, paced the length of it two or three times, then put on his ulster and went out. he started off aimlessly, paying no attention to whither he was going, and consequently he walked straight to the elevator. he picked his way across the c. & s. c. tracks, out to the wharf, and seated himself upon an empty nail keg not far from the end of the spouting house. he sat there for a long while, heedless of all that was doing about him, turning the situation over and over in his mind. like a good strategist, he was planning grady's campaign as carefully as his own. finally he was recalled to his material surroundings by a rough voice which commanded, "get off that keg and clear out. we don't allow no loafers around here." turning, bannon recognized one of the under-foremen. "that's a good idea," he said. "are you making a regular patrol, or did you just happen to see me?" "i didn't know it was you. no, i'm tending to some work here in the spouting house." "do you know where mr. peterson is?" "he was right up here a bit ago. do you want to see him?" "yes, if he isn't busy. i'm not the only loafer here, it seems," added bannon, nodding toward where the indistinct figures of a man and a woman could be seen coming slowly toward them along the narrow strip of wharf between the building and the water. "never mind," he added, as the foreman made a step in their direction, "i'll look after them myself." the moment after he had called the foreman's attention to them he had recognized them as hilda and max. he walked over to meet them. "we can't get enough of it in the daytime, can we." "it's a great place for a girl, isn't it, mr. bannon," said max. "i was coming over here and hilda made me bring her along. she said she thought it must look pretty at night." "doesn't it?" she asked. "don't you think it does, mr. bannon?" he had been staring at it for half an hour. now for the first time he looked at it. for ninety feet up into the air the large mass was one unrelieved, unbroken shadow, barely distinguishable from the night sky that enveloped it. above was the skeleton of the cupola, made brilliant, fairly dazzling, in contrast, by scores of arc lamps. at that distance and in that confused tangle of light and shadow the great timbers of the frame looked spidery. the effect was that of a luminous crown upon a gigantic, sphinx-like head. "i guess you are right," he said slowly. "but i never thought of it that way before. and i've done more or less night work, too." a moment later peterson came up. "having a tea party out here?" he asked; then turning to bannon: "was there something special you wanted, charlie? i've got to go over to the main house pretty soon." "it's our friend grady. he's come down to business at last. he wants money." hilda was quietly signalling max to come away, and bannon, observing it, broke off to speak to them. "don't go," he said. "we'll have a brief council of war right here." so hilda was seated on the nail keg, while bannon, resting his elbows on the top of a spile which projected waist high through the floor of the wharf, expounded the situation. "you understand his proposition," he said, addressing hilda, rather than either of the men. "it's just plain blackmail. he says, 'if you don't want your laborers to strike, you'll have to pay my price.'" "not much," pete broke in. "i'd let the elevator rot before i'd pay a cent of blackmail." "page wouldn't," said bannon, shortly, "or macbride, neither. they'd be glad to pay five thousand or so for protection. but they'd want protection that would protect. grady's trying to sell us a gold brick. he hated us to begin with, and when he'd struck us for about all he thought we'd stand, he'd call the men off just the same, and leave us to waltz the timbers around all by ourselves." "how much did he want?" "all he could get. i think he'd have been satisfied with a thousand, but he'd come 'round next week for a thousand more." "what did you tell him?" "i told him that a five-cent cigar was a bigger investment than i cared to make on him and that when we paid blackmail it would be to some fellow who'd deliver the goods. i said he could begin to make trouble just as soon as he pleased." "seems to me you might have asked for a few days' time to decide. then we could have got something ready to come at him with. he's liable to call our men out to-night, ain't he?" "i don't think so. i thought of trying to stave him off for a few days, but then i thought, 'why, he'll see through that game and he'll go on with his scheme for sewing us up just the same.' you see, there's no good saying we're afraid. so i told him that we didn't mind him a bit; said he could go out and have all the fun he liked with us. if he thinks we've got something up our sleeve he may be a little cautious. anyway, he knows that our biggest rush is coming a little later, and he's likely to wait for it." then hilda spoke for the first time. "has he so much power as that? will they strike just because he orders them to?" "why, not exactly," said bannon. "they decide that for themselves, or at least they think they do. they vote on it." "well, then," she asked hesitatingly, "why can't you just tell the men what mr. grady wants you to do and show them that he's dishonest? they know they've been treated all right, don't they?" bannon shook his head. "no use," he said. "you see, these fellows don't know much. they aren't like skilled laborers who need some sense in their business. they're just common roustabouts, and most of 'em have gunpowder in place of brains. they don't want facts or reason either; what they like is grady's oratory. they think that's the finest thing they ever heard. they might all be perfectly satisfied and anxious to work, but if grady was to sing out to know if they wanted to be slaves, they'd all strike like a freight train rolling down grade. "no," he went on, "there's nothing to be done with the men. do you know what would happen if i was to go up to their lodge and tell right out that grady was a blackmailer? why, after they'd got through with me, personally, they'd pass a resolution vindicating grady. they'd resolve that i was a thief and a liar and a murderer and an oppressor of the poor and a traitor, and if they could think of anything more than that, they'd put it in, too. and after vindicating grady to their satisfaction, they'd take his word for law and the gospel more than ever. in this sort of a scrape you want to hit as high as you can, strike the biggest man who will let you in his office. it's the small fry that make the trouble. i guess that's true 'most everywhere. i know the general manager of a railroad is always an easier chap to get on with than the division superintendent." "well," said pete, after waiting a moment to see if bannon had any definite suggestion to make as to the best way to deal with grady, "i'm glad you don't think he'll try to tie us up to-night. maybe we'll think of something to-morrow. i've got to get back on the job." "i'll go up with you," said max, promptly. then, in answer to hilda's gesture of protest, "you don't want to climb away up there to-night. i'll be back in ten minutes," and he was gone before she could reply. "i guess i can take care of you till he comes back," said bannon. hilda made no answer. she seemed to think that silence would conceal her annoyance better than anything she could say. so, after waiting a moment, bannon went on talking. "i suppose that's the reason why i get ugly sometimes and call names; because i ain't a big enough man not to. if i was getting twenty-five thousand a year maybe i'd be as smooth as anybody. i'd like to be a general manager for a while, just to see how it would work." "i don't see how anybody could ever know enough to run a railroad." hilda was looking up at the c. & s. c. right of way, where red and white semaphore lights were winking. "i was offered that job once myself, though, and turned it down," said bannon. "i was superintendent of the electric light plant at yawger. yawger's quite a place, on a branch of the g. t. there was another road ran through the town, called the bemis, yawger and pacific. it went from bemis to stiles corners, a place about six miles west of yawger. it didn't get any nearer the pacific than that. nobody in yawger ever went to bemis or stiles, and there wasn't anybody in bemis and stiles to come to yawger, or if they did come they never went back, so the road didn't do a great deal of business. they assessed the stock every year to pay the officers' salaries--and they had a full line of officers, too--but the rest of the road had to scrub along the best it could. "when they elected me alderman from the first ward up at yawger, i found out that the b. y. & p. owed the city four hundred and thirty dollars, so i tried to find out why they wasn't made to pay. it seemed that the city had had a judgment against them for years, but they couldn't get hold of anything that was worth seizing. they all laughed at me when i said i meant to get that money out of 'em. "the railroad had one train; there was an engine and three box cars and a couple of flats and a combination--that's baggage and passenger. it made the round trip from bemis every day, fifty-two miles over all, and considering the roadbed and the engine, that was a good day's work. "well, that train was worth four hundred and thirty dollars all right enough, if they could have got their hands on it, but the engineer was such a peppery chap that nobody ever wanted to bother him. but i just bided my time, and one hot day after watering up the engine him and the conductor went off to get a drink. i had a few lengths of log chain handy, and some laborers with picks and shovels, and we made a neat, clean little job of it. then i climbed up into the cab. when the engineer came back and wanted to know what i was doing there, i told him we'd attached his train. 'don't you try to serve no papers on me,' he sung out, 'or i'll split your head.' 'there's no papers about this job,' said i. 'we've attached it to the track,' at that he dropped the fire shovel and pulled open the throttle. the drivers spun around all right, but the train never moved an inch. "he calmed right down after that and said he hadn't four hundred and thirty dollars with him, but if i'd let the train go, he'd pay me in a week. i couldn't quite do that, so him and the conductor had to walk 'way to bemis, where the general offices was. they was pretty mad. we had that train chained up there for 'most a month, and at last they paid the claim." "was that the railroad that offered to make you general manager?" hilda asked. "yes, provided i'd let the train go. i'm glad i didn't take it up, though. you see, the farmers along the road who held the stock in it made up their minds that the train had quit running for good, so they took up the rails where it ran across their farms, and used the ties for firewood. that's all they ever got out of their investment." a few moments later max came back and bannon straightened up to go. "i wish you'd tell pete when you see him to-morrow," he said to the boy, "that i won't be on the job till noon." "going to take a holiday?" "yes. tell him i'm taking the rest cure up at a sanitarium." at half-past eight next morning bannon entered the outer office of r. s. carver, president of the central district of the american federation of labor, and seated himself on one of the long row of wood-bottomed chairs that stood against the wall. most of them were already occupied by poorly dressed men who seemed also to be waiting for the president. one man, in dilapidated, dirty finery, was leaning over the stenographer's desk, talking about the last big strike and guessing at the chance of there being any fun ahead in the immediate future. but the rest of them waited in stolid, silent patience, sitting quite still in unbroken rank along the wall, their overcoats, if they had them, buttoned tight around their chins, though the office was stifling hot. the dirty man who was talking to the stenographer filled a pipe with some very bad tobacco and ostentatiously began smoking it, but not a man followed his example. bannon sat in that silent company for more than an hour before the great man came. even then there was no movement among those who sat along the wall, save as they followed him almost furtively with their eyes. the president never so much as glanced at one of them; for all he seemed to see the rank of chairs might have been empty. he marched across to his private office, and, leaving the door open behind him, sat down before his desk. bannon sat still a moment, waiting for those who had come before him to make the first move, but not a man of them stirred, so, somewhat out of patience with this mysteriously solemn way of doing business, he arose and walked into the president's office with as much assurance as though it had been his own. he shut the door after him. the president did not look up, but went on cutting open his mail. "i'm from macbride & company, of minneapolis," said bannon. "guess i don't know the parties." "yes, you do. we're building a grain elevator at calumet." the president looked up quickly. "sit down," he said. "are you superintending the work?" "yes. my name's bannon--charles bannon." "didn't you have some sort of an accident out there? an overloaded hoist? and you hurt a man, i believe." "yes." "and i think one of your foremen drew a revolver on a man." "i did, myself." the president let a significant pause intervene before his next question. "what do you want with me?" "i want you to help me out. it looks as though we might get into trouble with our laborers." "you've come to the wrong man. mr. grady is the man for you to talk with. he's their representative." "we haven't got on very well with mr. grady. the first time he came on the job he didn't know our rule that visitors must apply at the office, and we weren't very polite to him. he's been down on us ever since. we can't make any satisfactory agreement with him." carver turned away impatiently. "you'll have to," he said, "if you want to avoid trouble with your men. it's no business of mine. he's acting on their instructions." "no, he isn't," said bannon, sharply. "what they want, i guess, is to be treated square and paid a fair price. what he wants is blackmail." "i've heard that kind of talk before. it's the same howl that an employer always makes when he's tried to bribe an agent who's active in the interest of the men, and got left at it. what have you got to show for it? anything but just your say so?" bannon drew out grady's letter of warning and handed it to him. carver read it through, then tossed it on his desk. "you certainly don't offer that as proof that he wants blackmail, mr. bannon." "there's never any proof of blackmail. when a man can see me alone, he isn't going to talk before witnesses, and he won't commit himself in writing. grady told me that unless we paid his price he'd tie us up. no one else was around when he said it." "then you haven't anything but your say so. but i know him, and i don't know you. do you think i'd take your word against his?" "that letter doesn't prove blackmail," said bannon, "but it smells of it. and there's the same smell about everything grady has done. when he came to my office a day or two after that hoist accident, i tried to find out what he wanted, and he gave me nothing but oratory. i tried to pin him down to something definite, but my stenographer was there and grady didn't have a suggestion to make. then by straining his neck and asking questions, he found out we were in a hurry, that the elevator was no good unless it was done by january first, and that we had all the money we needed. "two days after he sent me that letter. look at it again. why does he want to take both of us to chicago on sunday morning, when he can see me any time at my office on the job?" bannon spread the letter open before carver's face. "why doesn't he say right here what it is he wants, if it's anything he dares to put in black and white? i didn't pay any attention to that letter; it didn't deserve any. and then will you tell me why he came to my room at night to see me instead of to my office in the daytime? i can prove that he did. does all that look as if i tried to bribe him? forget that we're talking about grady, and tell me what you think it looks like." carver was silent for a moment. "that wouldn't do any good," he said at last. "if you had proof that i could act on, i might be able to help you. i haven't any jurisdiction in the internal affairs of that lodge; but if you could offer proof that he is what you say he is, i could tell them that if they continued to support him, the federation withdraws its support. but i don't see that i can help you as it is. i don't see any reason why i should." "i'll tell you why you should. because if there's any chance that what i've said is true, it will be a lot better for your credit to have the thing settled quietly. and it won't be settled quietly if we have to fight. it isn't very much you have to do; just satisfy yourself as to how things are going down there. see whether we're square, or grady is. then when the scrap comes on you'll know how to act. that's all. do your investigating in advance." "that's just what i haven't any right to do. i can't mix up in the business till it comes before me in the regular way." "well," said bannon, with a smile, "if you can't do it yourself, maybe some man you have confidence in would do it for you." carver drummed thoughtfully on his desk for a few minutes. then he carefully folded grady's letter and put it in his pocket. "i'm glad to have met you, mr. bannon," he said, holding out his hand. "good morning." next morning while bannon was opening his mail, a man came to the timekeeper's window and asked for a job as a laborer. "guess we've got men enough," said max. "haven't we, mr. bannon?" the man put his head in the window. "a fellow down in chicago told me if i'd come out here to calumet k and ask mr. bannon for a job, he'd give me one." "are you good up high?" bannon asked. the man smiled ruefully, and said he was afraid not. "well, then," returned bannon, "we'll have to let you in on the ground floor. what's your name?" "james." "go over to the tool house and get a broom. give him a check, max." chapter xii on the twenty-second of november bannon received this telegram:-- mr. charles bannon, care of macbride & company, south chicago: we send to-day complete drawings for marine tower which you will build in the middle of spouting house. harahan company are building the leg. macbride & co. bannon read it carefully, folded it, opened it and read it again, then tossed it on the desk. "we're off now, for sure," he said to miss vogel. "i've known that was coming sure as christmas." hilda picked it up. "is there an answer, mr. bannon?" "no, just file it. do you make it out?" she read it and shook her head. bannon ignored her cool manner. "it means that your friends on macbride & company's calumet house are going to have the time of their lives for the next few weeks. i'm going to carry compressed food in my pockets, and when meal time comes around, just take a capsule." "i think i know," she said slowly; "a marine leg is the thing that takes grain up out of ships." "that's right. you'd better move up head." "and we've been building a spouting house instead to load it into ships." "we'll have to build both now. you see, it's getting around to the time when the pages'll be having a fit every day until the machinery's running, and every bin is full. and every time they have a fit, the people up at the office'll have another, and they'll pass it on to us." "but why do they want the marine leg?" she asked, "any more now than they did at first?" "they've got to get the wheat down by boat instead of rail, that's all. or likely it'll be coming both ways. there's no telling now what's behind it. both sides have got big men fighting. you've seen it in the papers, haven't you?" she nodded. "of course, what the papers say isn't all true, but it's lively doings all right." the next morning's mail brought the drawings and instructions; and with them came a letter from brown to bannon. "i suppose there's not much good in telling you to hurry," it ran; "but if there is another minute a day you can crowd in, i guess you know what to do with it. page told me to-day that this elevator will make or break them. mr. macbride says that you can have all january for a vacation if you get it through. we owe you two weeks off, anyhow, that you didn't take last summer. we're running down that c. & s. c. business, though i don't believe, myself, that they'll give you any more trouble." bannon read it to hilda, saying as he laid it down:-- "that's something like. i don't know where'll i go, though. winter ain't exactly the time for a vacation, unless you go shooting, and i'm no hand for that." "couldn't you put it off till summer?" she asked, smiling a little. "not much. you don't know those people. by the time summer'd come around, they'd have forgotten i ever worked here. i'd strike for a month and brown would grin and say: 'that's all right, bannon, you deserve it if anybody does. it'll take a week or so to get your pass arranged, and you might just run out to san francisco and see if things are going the way they ought to,' and then the first thing i knew i'd be working three shifts somewhere over in china, and brown would be writing me i was putting in too much time at my meals. no, if macbride & company offer you a holiday, the best thing you can do is to grab it, and run, and saw off the telegraph poles behind you. and you couldn't be sure of yourself then." he turned the letter over in his hand. "i might go up on the st. lawrence," he went on. "that's the only place for spending the winter that ever struck me." "isn't it pretty cold?" "it ain't so bad. i was up there last winter. we put up at a house at coteau, you know. when i got there the foundation wasn't even begun, and we had a bad time getting laborers. i put in the first day sitting on the ice sawing off spiles." hilda laughed. "i shouldn't think you'd care much about going back." "were you ever there?" he asked. "no, i've never been anywhere but home and here, in chicago." "where is your home?" "it was up in michigan. that's where max learned the lumber business. but he and i have been here for nearly two years." "well," said bannon, "some folks may think it's cold up there, but there ain't anywhere else to touch it. it's high ground, you know--nothing like this"--he swept his arm about to indicate the flats outside--"and the scenery beats anything this side of the rockies. it ain't that there's mountains there, you understand, but it's all big and open, and they've got forests there that would make your michigan pine woods look like weeds on a sandhill. and the river's great. you haven't seen anything really fine till you've seen the rapids in winter. the people there have a good time too. they know how to enjoy life--it isn't all grime and sweat and making money." "well," said hilda, looking down at her pencil and drawing aimless designs as she talked, "i suppose it is a good place to go. i've seen the pictures, of course, in the time-tables; and one of the railroad offices on clark street used to have some big photographs of the st. lawrence in the window. i looked at them sometimes, but i never thought of really seeing anything like that. i've had some pretty good times on the lake and over at st. joe. max used to take me over to berrien springs last summer, when he could get off. my aunt lives there." bannon was buttoning his coat, and looking at her. he felt the different tone that had got into their talk. it had been impersonal a few minutes before. "oh, st. joe isn't bad," he was saying; "it's quiet and restful and all that, but it's not the same sort of thing at all. you go over there and ride up the river on the may graham, and it makes you feel lazy and comfortable, but it doesn't stir you up inside like the st. lawrence does." she looked up. her eyes were sparkling as they had sparkled that afternoon on the elevator when she first looked out into the sunset. "yes," she replied. "i think i know what you mean. but i never really felt that way; i've only thought about it." bannon turned half away, as if to go. "you'll have to go down there, that's all," he said abruptly. he looked back at her over his shoulder, and added, "that's all there is about it." her eyes were half startled, half mischievous, for his voice had been still less impersonal than before. then she turned back to her work, her face sober, but an amused twinkle lingering in her eyes. "i should like to go," she said, her pencil poised at the top of a long column. "max would like it, too." after supper that evening max returned early from a visit to the injured man, and told hilda of a new trouble. "do you know that little delegate that's been hanging around?" he asked. "grady," she said, and nodded. "yes, he's been working the man. i never saw such a change in my life. he just sat up there in bed and swore at me, and said i needn't think i could buy him off with this stuff"--he looked down and hilda saw that the bowl in his hand was not empty--"and raised a row generally." "why?" she asked. "give it up. from what he said, i'm sure grady's behind it." "did he give his name?" "no, but he did a lot of talking about justice to the down-trodden and the power of the unions, and that kind of stuff. i couldn't understand all he said--he's got a funny lingo, you know; i guess it's polack--but i got enough to know what he meant, and more, too." "can he do anything?" "i don't think so. if we get after him, it'll just set him worse'n pig's bristles. a man like that'll lose his head over nothing. he may be all right in the morning." but hilda, after max had given her the whole conversation as nearly as he could remember it, thought differently. she did not speak her mind out to max, because she was not yet certain what was the best course to take. the man could easily make trouble, she saw that. but if max were to lay the matter before bannon, he would be likely to glide over some of the details that she had got only by close questioning. and a blunder in handling it might be fatal to the elevator, so far as getting it done in december was concerned. perhaps she took it too seriously; for she was beginning, in spite of herself, to give a great deal of thought to the work and to bannon. at any rate, she lay awake later than usual that night, going over the problem, and she brought it up, the next morning, the first time that bannon came into the office after max had gone out. "mr. bannon," she said, when he had finished dictating a letter to the office, "i want to tell you about that man that was hurt." bannon tried not to smile at the nervous, almost breathless way in which she opened the conversation. he saw that, whatever it was, it seemed to her very important, and he settled comfortably on the table, leaning back against the wall with his legs stretched out before him. she had turned on her stool. "you mean the hoist man?" he asked. she nodded. "max goes over to see him sometimes. we've been trying to help make him comfortable----" "oh," said bannon; "it's you that's been sending those things around to him." she looked at him with surprise. "why, how did you know?" "i heard about it." hilda hesitated. she did not know exactly how to begin. it occurred to her that perhaps bannon was smiling at her eager manner. "max was there last night and he said the man had changed all around. he's been friendly, you know, and grateful"--she had forgotten herself again, in thinking of her talk with max--"and he's said all the time that he wasn't going to make trouble----" she paused. "yes, i know something about that," said bannon. "the lawyers always get after a man that's hurt, you know." "but last night he had changed all around. he said he was going to have you arrested. he thinks max has been trying to buy him off with the things we've sent him." bannon whistled. "so our mr. grady's got his hands on him!" "that's what max and i thought, but he didn't give any names. he wouldn't take the jelly." "i'm glad you told me," said bannon, swinging his legs around and sitting up. "it's just as well to know about these things. grady's made him think he can make a good haul by going after me, poor fool--he isn't the man that'll get it." "can he really stop the work?" hilda asked anxiously. "not likely. he'll probably try to make out a case of criminal carelessness against me, and get me jerked up. he ought to have more sense, though. i know how many sticks were on that hoist when it broke. i'll drop around there to-night after dinner and have a talk with him. i'd like to find grady there--but that's too good to expect." hilda had stepped down from the stool, and was looking out through the half-cleaned window at a long train of freight cars that was clanking in on the belt line. "that's what i wanted to see you about most," she said slowly. "max says he's been warned that you'll come around and try to buy him off, and it won't go, because he can make more by standing out." "well," said bannon, easily, amused at her unconscious drop into max's language, "there's usually a way of getting after these fellows. we'll do anything within reason, but we won't be robbed. i'll throw mr. grady into the river first, and hang him up on the hoist to dry." "but if he really means to stand out," she said, "wouldn't it hurt us for you to go around there?" "why?" he was openly smiling now. then, of a sudden, he looked at her with a shrewd, close gaze, and repeated, "why?" "maybe i don't understand it." she said nervously. "max doesn't think i see things very clearly. but i thought perhaps you would be willing for me to see him this evening. i could go with max, and----" she faltered, when she saw how closely he was watching her, but he nodded, and said, "go on." "why, i don't know that i could do much, but--no"--she tossed her head back and looked at him--"i won't say that. if you'll let me go, i'll fix it. i know i can." bannon was thinking partly of her--of her slight, graceful figure that leaned against the window frame, and of her eyes, usually quiet, but now snapping with determination--and partly of certain other jobs that had been imperiled by the efforts of injured workingmen to get heavy damages. one of the things his experience in railroad and engineering work had taught him was that men will take every opportunity to bleed a corporation. no matter how slight the accident, or how temporary in its effects, the stupidest workman has it in his power to make trouble. it was frankly not a matter of sentiment to bannon. he would do all that he could, would gladly make the man's sickness actually profit him, so far as money would go; but he did not see justice in the great sums which the average jury will grant. as he sat there, he recognized what hilda had seen at a flash, that this was a case for delicate handling. she was looking at him, tremendously in earnest, yet all the while wondering at her own boldness. he slowly nodded. "you're right," he said. "you're the one to do the talking. i won't ask you what you're going to say. i guess you understand it as well as anybody." "i don't know yet, myself," she answered. "it isn't that, it isn't that there's something particular to say, but he's a poor man, and they've been telling him that the company is cheating him and stealing from him--i wouldn't like it myself, if i were in his place and didn't know any more than he does. and maybe i can show him that we'll be a good deal fairer to him before we get through than mr. grady will." "yes," said bannon, "i think you can. and if you can keep this out of the courts i'll write brown that there's a young lady down here that's come nearer to earning a big salary than i ever did to deserving a silk hat." "oh," she said, the earnest expression skipping abruptly out of her eyes; "did your hat come?" "not a sign of it. i'd clean forgotten. i'll give brown one more warning--a long 'collect' telegram, about forty words--and then if he doesn't toe up, i'll get one and send him the bill. "there was a man that looked some like grady worked for me on the galveston house. he was a carpenter, and thought he stood for the whole federation of labor. he got gay one day. i warned him once, and then i threw him off the distributing floor." hilda thought he was joking until she looked up and saw his face. "didn't it--didn't it kill him?" she asked. "i don't remember exactly. i think there were some shavings there." he stood looking at her for a moment. "do you know," he said, "if grady comes up on the job again, i believe i'll tell him that story? i wonder if he'd know what i meant." the spouting house, or "river house," was a long, narrow structure, one hundred feet by thirty-six, built on piles at the edge of the wharf. it would form, with the connecting belt gallery that was to reach out over the tracks, a t-shaped addition to the elevator. the river house was no higher than was necessary for the spouts that would drop the grain through the hatchways of the big lake steamers, twenty thousand bushels an hour--it reached between sixty and seventy feet above the water. the marine tower that was to be built, twenty-four feet square, up through the centre of the house, would be more than twice as high. a careful examination convinced bannon that the pile foundations would prove strong enough to support this heavier structure, and that the only changes necessary would be in the frame of the spouting house. on the same day that the plans arrived, work on the tower commenced. peterson had about got to the point where startling developments no longer alarmed him. he had seen the telegram the day before, but his first information that a marine tower was actually under way came when bannon called off a group of laborers late in the afternoon to rig the "trolley" for carrying timber across the track. "what are you going to do, charlie?" he called. "got to slide them timbers back again?" "some of 'em," bannon replied. "don't you think we could carry 'em over?" said peterson. "if we was quiet about it, they needn't be any trouble?" bannon shook his head. "we're not taking any more chances on this railroad. we haven't time." once more the heavy timbers went swinging through the air, high over the tracks, but this time back to the wharf. before long the section boss of the c. & s. c. appeared, and though he soon went away, one of his men remained, lounging about the tracks, keeping a close eye on the sagging ropes and the timbers. bannon, when he met peterson a few minutes later, pointed out the man. "what'd i tell you, pete? they're watching us like cats. if you want to know what the c. & s. c. think about us, you just drop one timber and you'll find out." but nothing dropped, and when peterson, who had been on hand all the latter part of the afternoon, took hold, at seven o'clock, the first timbers of the tower had been set in place, somewhere down inside the rough shed of a spouting house, and more would go in during the night, and during other days and nights, until the narrow framework should go reaching high into the air. another thing was recognized by the men at work on that night shift, even by the laborers who carried timbers, and grunted and swore in strange tongues; this was that the night shift men had suddenly begun to feel a most restless energy crowding them on, and they worked nearly as well as bannon's day shifts. for peterson's spirits had risen with a leap, once the misunderstanding that had been weighing on him had been removed, and now he was working as he had never worked before. the directions he gave showed that his head was clearer; and there was confidence in his manner. hilda was so serious all day after her talk with bannon that once, in the afternoon, when he came into the office for a glance at the new pile of blue prints, he smiled, and asked if she were laying out a campaign. it was the first work of the kind that she had ever undertaken, and she was a little worried over the need for tact and delicacy. after she had closed her desk at supper time, she saw bannon come into the circle of the electric light in front of the office, and, asking max to wait, she went to meet him. "well," he said, "are you loaded up to fight the 'power of the union'?" she smiled, and then said, with a trace of nervousness:-- "i don't believe i'm quite so sure about it as i was this morning." "it won't bother you much. when you've made him see that we're square and grady isn't, you've done the whole business. we won't pay fancy damages, that's all." "yes," she said, "i think i know. what i wanted to see you about was--was--max and i are going over right after supper, and----" she stopped abruptly; and bannon, looking down at her, saw a look of embarrassment come into her face; and then she blushed, and lowering her eyes, fumbled with her glove. bannon was a little puzzled. his eyes rested on her for a moment, and then, without understanding why, he suddenly knew that she had meant to ask him to see her after the visit, and that the new personal something in their acquaintance had flashed a warning. he spoke quickly, as if he were the first to think of it. "if you don't mind, i'll come around to-night and hear the report of the committee of adjusters. that's you, you know. something might come up that i ought to know right away." "yes," she replied rapidly, without looking up, "perhaps that would be the best thing to do." he walked along with her toward the office, where max was waiting, but she did not say anything, and he turned in with: "i won't say good-night, then. good luck to you." it was soon after eight that bannon went to the boarding-house where hilda and max lived, and sat down to wait in the parlor. when a quarter of an hour had gone, and they had not returned, he buttoned up his coat and went out, walking slowly along the uneven sidewalk toward the river. the night was clear, and he could see, across the flats and over the tracks, where tiny signal lanterns were waving and circling, and freight trains were bumping and rumbling, the glow of the arc lamps on the elevator, and its square outline against the sky. now and then, when the noise of the switching trains let down, he could hear the hoisting engines. once he stopped and looked eastward at the clouds of illuminated smoke above the factories and at the red blast of the rolling mill. he went nearly to the river and had to turn back and walk slowly. finally he heard max's laugh, and then he saw them coming down a side street. "well," he said, "you don't sound like bad news." "i don't believe we are very bad," replied hilda. "should say not," put in max. "it's finer'n silk." hilda said, "max," in a low voice, but he went on:-- "the best thing, mr. bannon, was when i told him it was hilda that had been sending things around. he thought it was you, you see, and grady'd told him it was all a part of the game to bamboozle him out of the money that was rightfully his. it's funny to hear him sling that grady talk around. i don't think he more'n half knows what it means. i'd promised not to tell, you know, but i just saw there wasn't no use trying to make him understand things without talking pretty plain. there ain't a thing he wouldn't do for hilda now----" "max," said hilda again, "please don't." when they reached the house, max at once started in. hilda hesitated, and then said:-- "i'll come in a minute, max." "oh," he replied, "all right" but he waited a moment longer, evidently puzzled. "well," said bannon, "was it so hard?" "no--not hard exactly. i didn't know he was so poor. somehow you don't think about it that way when you see them working. i don't know that i ever thought about it at all before." "you think he won't give us any trouble?" "i'm sure he won't. i--i had to promise i'd go again pretty soon." "maybe you'll let me go along." "why--why, yes, of course." she had been hesitating, looking down and picking at the splinters on the gate post. neither was bannon quick to speak. he did not want to question her about the visit, for he saw that it was hard for her to talk about it. finally she straightened up and looked at him. "i want to tell you," she said, "i haven't understood exactly until to-night--what they said about the accident and the way you've talked about it--well, some people think you don't think very much about the men, and that if anybody's hurt, or anything happens, you don't care as long as the work goes on." she was looking straight at him. "i thought so, too. and to-night i found out some things you've been doing for him--how you've been giving him tobacco, and the things he likes best that i'd never have thought of, and i knew it was you that did it, and not the company--and i--i beg your pardon." bannon did not know what to reply. they stood for a moment without speaking, and then she smiled, and said "good night," and ran up the steps without looking around. chapter xiii it was the night of the tenth of december. three of the four stories of the cupola were building, and the upright posts were reaching toward the fourth. it still appeared to be a confused network of timbers, with only the beginnings of walls, but as the cupola walls are nothing but a shell of light boards to withstand the wind, the work was further along than might have been supposed. down on the working story the machinery was nearly all in, and up here in the cupola the scales and garners were going into place as rapidly as the completing of the supporting framework permitted. the cupola floors were not all laid. if you had stood on the distributing floor, over the tops of the bins, you might have looked not only down through a score of openings between plank areas and piles of timbers, into black pits, sixteen feet square by seventy deep, but upward through a grill of girders and joists to the clear sky. everywhere men swarmed over the work, and the buzz of the electric lights and the sounds of hundreds of hammers blended into a confused hum. if you had walked to the east end of the building, here and there balancing along a plank or dodging through gangs of laborers and around moving timbers, you would have seen stretching from off a point not halfway through to the ground, the annex bins, rising so steadily that it was a matter only of a few weeks before they would be ready to receive grain. now another walk, this time across the building to the north side, would show you the river house, out there on the wharf, and the marine tower rising up through the middle with a single arc lamp on the topmost girder throwing a mottled, checkered shadow on the wharf and the water below. at a little after eight o'clock, peterson, who had been looking at the stairway, now nearly completed, came out on the distributing floor. he was in good spirits, for everything was going well, and bannon had frankly credited him, of late, with the improvement in the work of the night shifts. he stood looking up through the upper floors of the cupola, and he did not see max until the timekeeper stood beside him. "hello, max," he said. "we'll have the roof on here in another ten days." max followed peterson's glance upward. "i guess that's right. it begins to look as if things was coming 'round all right. i just come up from the office. mr. bannon's there. he'll be up before long, he says. i was a-wondering if maybe i hadn't ought to go back and tell him about grady. he's around, you know." "who? grady?" "yes. him and another fellow was standing down by one of the cribbin' piles. i was around there on the way up." "what was they doing?" "nothing. just looking on." peterson turned to shout at some laborers, then he pushed back his hat and scratched his head. "i don't know but what you'd ought to 'a' told charlie right off. that man grady don't mean us no good." "i know it, but i wasn't just sure." "well, i'll tell you----" before peterson could finish, max broke in:-- "that's him." "where?" "that fellow over there, walking along slow. he's the one that was with grady." "i'd like to know what he thinks he's doing here." peterson started forward, adding, "i guess i know what to say to him." "hold on, pete," said max, catching his arm. "maybe we'd better speak to mr. bannon. i'll go down and tell him, and you keep an eye on this fellow." peterson reluctantly assented, and max walked slowly away, now and then pausing to look around at the men. but when he had nearly reached the stairway, where he could slip behind the scaffolding about the only scale hopper that had reached a man's height above the floor, he moved more rapidly. he met bannon on the stairway, and told him what he had seen. bannon leaned against the wall of the stairway bin, and looked thoughtful. "so he's come, has he?" was his only comment. "you might speak to pete, max, and bring him here. i'll wait." max and peterson found him looking over the work of the carpenters. "i may not be around much to-night," he said, with a wink, "but i'd like to see both of you to-morrow afternoon some time. can you get around about four o'clock, pete?" "sure," the night boss replied. "we've got some thinking to do about the work, if we're going to put it through. i'll look for you at four o'clock then, in the office." he started down the stairs. "i'm going home now." "why," said peterson, "you only just come." bannon paused and looked back over his shoulder. the light came from directly overhead, and the upper part of his face was in the shadow of his hat brim, but max, looking closely at him, thought that he winked again. "i wanted to tell you," the foreman went on; "grady's come around, you know--and another fellow----" "yes, max told me. i guess they won't hurt you. good night." as he went on down he passed a group of laborers who were bringing stairway material to the carpenters. "i don't know but what you was talking pretty loud," said max to peterson, in a low voice. "here's some of 'em now." "they didn't hear nothing," peterson replied, and the two went back to the distributing floor. they stood in a shadow, by the scale hopper, waiting for the reappearance of grady's companion. he had evidently gone on to the upper floors, where he could not be distinguished from the many other moving figures; but in a few minutes he came back, walking deliberately toward the stairs. he looked at peterson and max, but passed by without a second glance, and descended. peterson stood looking after him. "now, i'd like to know what charlie meant by going home," he said. max had been thinking hard. finally he said:-- "say, pete, we're blind." "why?" "did you think he was going home?" peterson looked at him, but did not reply. "because he ain't." "well, you heard what he said." "what does that go for? he was winking when he said it. he wasn't going to stand there and tell the laborers all about it, like we was trying to do. i'll bet he ain't very far off." "i ain't got a word to say," said peterson. "if he wants to leave grady to me, i guess i can take care of him." max had come to the elevator for a short visit--he liked to watch the work at night--but now he settled down to stay, keeping about the hopper where he could see grady if his head should appear at the top of the stairs. something told him that bannon saw deeper into grady's man[oe]uvres than either peterson or himself, and while he could not understand, yet he was beginning to think that grady would appear before long, and that bannon knew it. sure enough, only a few minutes had gone when max turned back from a glance at the marine tower and saw the little delegate standing on the top step, looking about the distributing floor and up through the girders overhead, with quick, keen eyes. then max understood what it all meant: grady had chosen a time when bannon was least likely to be on the job; and had sent the other man ahead to reconnoitre. it meant mischief--max could see that; and he felt a boy's nervousness at the prospect of excitement. he stepped farther back into the shadow. grady was looking about for peterson; when he saw his burly figure outlined against a light at the farther end of the building, he walked directly toward him, not pausing this time to talk to the laborers or to look at them. max, moving off a little to one side, followed, and reached peterson's side just as grady, his hat pushed back on his head and his feet apart, was beginning to talk. "i had a little conversation with you the other day, mr. peterson. i called to see you in the interests of the men, the men that are working for you--working like galley slaves they are, every man of them. it's shameful to a man that's seen how they've been treated by the nigger drivers that stands over them day and night." he was speaking in a loud voice, with the fluency of a man who is carefully prepared. there was none of the bitterness or the ugliness in his manner that had slipped out in his last talk with bannon, for he knew that a score of laborers were within hearing, and that his words would travel, as if by wire, from mouth to mouth about the building and the grounds below. "i stand here, mr. peterson, the man chosen by these slaves of yours, to look after their rights. i do not ask you to treat them with kindness, i do not ask that you treat them as gentlemen. what do i ask? i demand what's accorded to them by the constitution of the united states and the declaration of independence, that says even a nigger has more rights than you've given to these men, the men that are putting money into your pocket, and mr. bannon's pocket, and the corporation's pocket, by the sweat of their brows. look at them; will you look at them?" he waved his arm toward the nearest group, who had stopped working and were listening; and then, placing a cigar in his mouth and tilting it upward, he struck a match and sheltered it in his hands, looking over it for a moment at peterson. the night boss saw by this time that grady meant business, that his speech was preliminary to something more emphatic, and he knew that he ought to stop it before the laborers should be demoralized. "you can't do that here, mister," said max, over peterson's shoulder, indicating the cigar. grady still held the match, and looked impudently across the tip of his cigar. peterson took it up at once. "you'll have to drop that," he said. "there's no smoking on this job." the match had gone out, and grady lighted another. "so that's one of your rules, too?" he said, in the same loud voice. "it's a wonder you let a man eat." peterson was growing angry. his voice rose as he talked. "i ain't got time to talk to you," he said. "the insurance company says there can't be no smoking here. if you want to know why, you'd better ask them." grady blew out the match and returned the cigar to his pocket, with an air of satisfaction that peterson could not make out. "that's all right, mr. peterson. i didn't come here to make trouble. i come here as a representative of these men"--he waved again toward the laborers--"and i say right here, that if you'd treated them right in the first place, i wouldn't be here at all. i've wanted you to have a fair show. i've put up with your mean tricks and threats and insults ever since you begun--and why? because i wouldn't delay you and hurt the work. it's the industries of to-day, the elevators and railroads, and the work of strong men like these that's the bulwark of america's greatness. but what do i get in return, mister peterson? i come up here as a gentleman and talk to you. i treat you as a gentleman. i overlook what you've showed yourself to be. and how do you return it? by talking like the blackguard you are--you knock an innocent cigar----" "your time's up!" said pete, drawing a step nearer. "come to business, or clear out. that's all i've got to say to you." "all right, _mister_ peterson--_all_ right. i'll put up with your insults. i can afford to forget myself when i look about me at the heavier burdens these men have to bear, day and night. look at that--look at it, and then try to talk to me." he pointed back toward the stairs where a gang of eight laborers were carrying a heavy timber across the shadowy floor. "well, what about it?" said pete, with half-controlled rage. "what about it! but never mind. i'm a busy man myself. i've got no more time to waste on the likes of you. take a good look at that, and then listen to me. that's the last stick of timber that goes across this floor until you put a runway from the hoist to the end of the building. and every stick that leaves the runway has got to go on a dolly. mark my words now--i'm talking plain. my men don't lift another pound of timber on this house--everything goes on rollers. i've tried to be a patient man, but you've run against the limit. you've broke the last back you'll have a chance at." he put his hand to his mouth as if to shout at the gang, but dropped it and faced around. "no, i won't stop them. i'll be fair to the last." he pulled out his watch. "i'll give you one hour from now. at ten o'clock, if your runway and the dollies ain't working, the men go out. and the next time i see you, i won't be so easy." he turned away, waved to the laborers, with an, "all right, boys; go ahead," and walked grandly toward the stairway. max whistled. "i'd like to know where charlie is," said peterson. "he ain't far. i'll find him;" and max hurried away. bannon was sitting in the office chair with his feet on the draughting-table, figuring on the back of a blotter. the light from the wall lamp was indistinct, and bannon had to bend his head forward to see the figures. he did not look up when the door opened and max came to the railing gate. "grady's been up on the distributing floor," said max, breathlessly, for he had been running. "what did he want?" "he's going to call the men off at ten o'clock if we don't put in a runway and dollies on the distributing floor." bannon looked at his watch. "is that all he wants?" max, in his excitement, did not catch the sarcasm in the question. "that's all he said, but it's enough. we can't do it" bannon closed his watch with a snap. "no," he said, "and we won't throw away any good time trying. you'd better round up the committee that's supposed to run this lodge and send them here. that young murphy's one of them--he can put you straight. bring pete back with you, and the new man, james." max lingered, with a look of awe and admiration. "are you going to stand out, mr. bannon?" he asked. bannon dropped his feet to the floor, and turned toward the table. "yes," he said. "we're going to stand out." since bannon's talk with president carver a little drama had been going on in the local lodge, a drama that neither bannon, max, nor peterson knew about. james had been selected by carver for this work because of proved ability and shrewdness. he had no sooner attached himself to the lodge, and made himself known as an active member, than his personality, without any noticeable effort on his part, began to make itself felt. up to this time grady had had full swing, for there had been no one among the laborers with force enough to oppose him. the first collision took place at an early meeting after grady's last talk with bannon. the delegate, in the course of the meeting, bitterly attacked bannon, accusing him, at the climax of his oration, of an attempt to buy off the honest representative of the working classes for five thousand dollars. this had a tremendous effect on the excitable minds before him. he finished his speech with an impassioned tirade against the corrupt influences of the money power, and was mopping his flushed face, listening with elation to the hum of anger that resulted, confident that he had made his point, when james arose. the new man was as familiar with the tone of the meetings of laborers as grady himself. at the beginning he had no wish further than to get at the truth. grady had not stated his case well. it had convinced the laborers, but to james it had weak points. he asked grady a few pointed questions, that, had the delegate felt the truth behind him, should not have been hard to answer. but grady was still under the spell of his own oratory, and in attempting to get his feet back on the ground, he bungled. james did not carry the discussion beyond the point where grady, in the bewilderment of recognizing this new element in the lodge, lost his temper, but when he sat down, the sentiment of the meeting had changed. few of those men could have explained their feelings; it was simply that the new man was stronger than they were, perhaps as strong as grady, and they were influenced accordingly. there was no decision for a strike at that meeting. grady, cunning at the business, immediately dropped open discussion, and, smarting under the sense of lost prestige, set about regaining his position by well-planned talk with individual laborers. this went on, largely without james' knowledge, until grady felt sure that a majority of the men were back in his control. this time he was determined to carry through the strike without the preliminary vote of the men. it was a bold stroke, but boldness was needed to defeat charlie bannon; and nobody knew better than grady that a dashing show of authority would be hard for james or any one else to resist. and so he had come on the job this evening, at a time when he supposed bannon safe in bed, and delivered his ultimatum. not that he had any hope of carrying the strike through without some sort of a collision with the boss, but he well knew that an encounter after the strike had gathered momentum would be easier than one before. bannon might be able to outwit an individual, even grady himself, but he would find it hard to make headway against an angry mob. and now grady was pacing stiffly about the belt line yards, while the minute hand of his watch crept around toward ten o'clock. even if bannon should be called within the hour, a few fiery words to those sweating gangs on the distributing floor should carry the day. but grady did not think that this would be necessary. he was still in the mistake of supposing that peterson and the boss were at outs, and he had arrived, by a sort of reasoning that seemed the keenest strategy, at the conclusion that peterson would take the opportunity to settle the matter himself. in fact, grady had evolved a neat little campaign, and he was proud of himself. bannon did not have to wait long. soon there was a sound of feet outside the door, and after a little hesitation, six laborers entered, five of them awkwardly and timidly, wondering what was to come. peterson followed, with max, and closed the door. the members of the committee stood in a straggling row at the railing, looking at each other and at the floor and ceiling--anywhere but at the boss, who was sitting on the table, sternly taking them in. james stepped to one side. "is this all the committee?" bannon presently said. the men hesitated, and murphy, who was in the centre, answered, "yes, sir." "you are the governing members of your lodge?" there was an air of cool authority about bannon that disturbed the men. they had been led to believe that his power reached only the work on the elevator, and that an attempt on his part to interfere in any way with their organization would be an act of high-handed tyranny, "to be resisted to the death" (grady's words). but these men standing before their boss, in his own office, were not the same men that thrilled with righteous wrath under grady's eloquence in the meetings over barry's saloon. so they looked at the floor and ceiling again, until murphy at last answered:-- "yes, sir." bannon waited again, knowing that every added moment of silence gave him the firmer control. "i have nothing to say about the government of your organization," he said, speaking slowly and coldly. "i have brought you here to ask you this question, have you voted to strike?" the silence was deep. peterson, leaning against the closed door, held his breath; max, sitting on the railing with his elbow thrown over the desk, leaned slightly forward. the eyes of the laborers wandered restlessly about the room. they were disturbed, taken off their guard; they needed grady. but the thought of grady was followed by the consciousness of the silent figure of the new man, james, standing behind them. murphy's first impulse was to lie. perhaps, if james had not been there, he would have lied. as it was, he glanced up two or three times, and his lips as many times framed themselves about words that did not come. finally he said, mumbling the words:-- "no, we ain't voted for no strike." "there has been no such decision made by your organization?" "no, i guess not." bannon turned to peterson. "mr. peterson, will you please find mr. grady and bring him here." max and peterson hurried out together. bannon drew up the chair, and turned his back on the committee, going on with his figuring. not a word was said; the men hardly moved; and the minutes went slowly by. then there was a stir outside, and the sound of low voices. the door flew open, admitting grady, who stalked to the railing, choking with anger. max, who immediately followed, was grinning, his eyes resting on a round spot of dust on grady's shoulder, and on his torn collar and disarranged tie. peterson came in last, and carefully closed the door--his eyes were blazing, and one sleeve was rolled up over his bare forearm. neither of them spoke. if anything in the nature of an assault had seemed necessary in dragging the delegate to the office, there had been no witnesses. and he had entered the room of his own accord. grady was at a disadvantage, and he knew it. breathing hard, his face red, his little eyes darting about the room, he took it all in--the members of the committee; the boss, figuring at the table, with an air of exasperating coolness about his lean back; and last of all, james, standing in the shadow. it was the sight of the new man that checked the storm of words that was pressing on grady's tongue. but he finally gathered himself and stepped forward, pushing aside one of the committee. then bannon turned. he faced about in his chair and began to talk straight at the committee, ignoring the delegate. grady began to talk at the same time, but though his voice was the louder, no one seemed to hear him. the men were looking at bannon. grady hesitated, started again, and then, bound by his own rage and his sense of defeat, let his words die away, and stood casting about for an opening. "--this man grady threatened a good while ago that i would have a strike on my hands. he finally came to me and offered to protect me if i would pay him five thousand dollars." "that's a lie!" shouted the delegate. "he come to me----" bannon had hardly paused. he drew a typewritten copy of grady's letter from his pocket, and read it aloud, then handed it over to murphy. "that's the way he came at me. i want you to read it." the man took it awkwardly, glanced at it, and passed it on. "to-night he's ordered a strike. he calls himself your representative, but he has acted on his own responsibility. now, i am going to talk plain to you. i came here to build this elevator, and i'm going to do it. i propose to treat you men fair and square. if you think you ain't treated right, you send an honest man to this office, and i'll talk with him. but i'm through with grady. i won't have him here at all. if you send him around again, i'll throw him off the job." the men were a little startled. they looked at one another, and the man on murphy's left whispered something. bannon sat still, watching them. then grady came to himself. he wheeled around to face the committee, and threw out one arm in a wide gesture. "i demand to know what this means! i demand to know if there is a law in this land! is an honest man, the representative of the hand of labor, to be attacked by hired ruffians? is he to be slandered by the tyrant who drives you at the point of the pistol? and you not men enough to defend your rights--the rights held by every american--the rights granted by the constitution! but it ain't for myself i would talk. it ain't my own injuries that i suffer for. your liberty hangs in the balance. this man has dared to interfere in the integrity of your lodge. have you no words----" bannon arose, caught grady's arm, and whirled him around. "grady," he said, "shut up." the delegate tried to jerk away, but he could not shake off that grip. he looked toward the committeemen, but they were silent. he looked everywhere but up into the eyes that were blazing down at him. and finally bannon felt the muscles within his grip relax. "i'll tell you what i want you to do," said bannon to the committeemen. "i want you to elect a new delegate. don't talk about interference--i don't care how you elect him, or who he is, if he comes to me squarely." grady was wriggling again. "this means a strike!" he shouted. "this means the biggest strike the west has ever seen! you won't get men for love or money----" bannon gave the arm a wrench, and broke in:-- "i'm sick of this. i laid this matter before president carver. i have his word that if you hang on to this man after he's been proved a blackmailer, your lodge can be dropped from the federation. if you try to strike, you won't hurt anybody but yourselves. that's all. you can go." "wait----" grady began, but they filed out without looking at him. james, as he followed them, nodded, and said, "good night, mr. bannon." then for the last time bannon led grady away. peterson started forward, but the boss shook his head, and went out, marching the delegate between the lumber piles to the point where the path crossed the belt line tracks. "now, mr. grady," he said, "this is where our ground stops. the other sides are the road there, and the river, and the last piles of cribbing at the other end. i'm telling you so you will know where you don't belong. now, get out!" chapter xiv the effect of the victory was felt everywhere. not only were max and pete and hilda jubilant over it, but the under-foremen, the timekeepers, even the laborers attacked their work with a fresher energy. it was like the first whiff of salt air to an army marching to the sea. since the day when the cribbing came down from ledyard, the work had gone forward with almost incredible rapidity; there had been no faltering during the weeks when grady's threatened catastrophe was imminent, but now that the big shadow of the little delegate was dispelled, it was easier to see that the huge warehouse was almost finished. there was still much to do, and the handful of days that remained seemed absurdly inadequate; but it needed only a glance at what charlie bannon's tireless, driving energy had already accomplished to make the rest look easy. "we're sure of it now. she'll be full to the roof before the year is out." as max went over the job with his time-book next morning, he said it to every man he met, and they all believed him. peterson, the same man and not the same man either, who had once vowed that there wouldn't be any night work on calumet k, who had bent a pair of most unwilling shoulders to the work bannon had put upon them, who had once spent long, sulky afternoons in the barren little room of his new boarding-house; peterson held himself down in bed exactly three hours the morning after that famous victory. before eleven o'clock he was sledging down a tottering timber at the summit of the marine tower, a hundred and forty feet sheer above the wharf. just before noon he came into the office and found hilda there alone. he had stopped outside the door to put on his coat, but had not buttoned it; his shirt, wet as though he had been in the lake, clung to him and revealed the outline of every muscle in his great trunk. he flung his hat on the draughting-table, and his yellow hair seemed crisper and curlier than ever before. "well, it looks as though we was all right," he said. hilda nodded emphatically. "you think we'll get through in time, don't you, mr. peterson?" "think!" he exclaimed. "i don't have to stop to think. here comes max; just ask him." max slammed the door behind him, brought down the timekeeper's book on hilda's desk with a slap that made her jump, and vaulted to a seat on the railing. "well, i guess it's a case of hurrah for us, ain't it, pete?" "your sister asked me if i thought we'd get done on time. i was just saying it's a sure thing." "i don't know," said max, laughing. "i guess an earthquake could stop us. but why ain't you abed, pete?" "what do i want to be abed for? i ain't going to sleep any more this year--unless we get through a day or two ahead of time. i don't like to miss any of it. charlie bannon may have hustled before, but i guess this breaks his record. where is he now, max?" "down in the cellar putting in the running gear for the 'cross-the-house conveyors. he has his nerve with him. he's putting in three drives entirely different from the way they are in the plans. he told me just now that there wasn't a man in the office who could design a drive that wouldn't tie itself up in square knots in the first ten minutes. i wonder what old macbride'll say when he sees that he's changed the plans." "if macbride has good sense, he'll pass anything that charlie puts up," said pete. he was going to say more, but just then bannon strode into the office and over to the draughting table. he tossed pete's hat to one side and began studying a detail of the machinery plans. "max." he spoke without looking up. "i wish you'd find a water boy and send him up to the hotel to get a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of coffee." "well, that's a nice way to celebrate, i must say," pete commented. "celebrate what?" "why, last night; throwing grady down. you ought to take a day off on the strength of that." "what's grady got to do with it? he ain't in the specifications." "no," said pete, slowly; "but where would we have been if he'd got the men off?" "where would we have been if the house had burned up?" bannon retorted, turning away from the table. "that's got nothing to do with it. i haven't felt less like taking a day off since i came on the job. we may get through on time and we may not. if we get tangled up in the plans like this, very often, i don't know how we'll come out. but the surest way to get left is to begin now telling ourselves that this is easy and it's a cinch. that kind of talk makes me tired." pete flushed, started an explanatory sentence, and another, and then, very uncomfortable, went out. bannon did not look up; he went on studying the blue print, measuring here and there with his three-sided ruler and jotting down incomprehensible operations in arithmetic on a scrap of paper. max was figuring tables in his time-book, hilda poring over the cash account. for half an hour no one spoke. max crammed his cap down over his ears and went out, and there were ten minutes more of silence. then bannon began talking. he still busied his fingers with the blue print, and hilda, after discovering that he was talking to himself rather than to her, went on with her work. but nevertheless she heard, in a fragmentary way, what he was saying. "take a day off--schoolboy trick--enough to make a man tired. might as well do it, though. we ain't going to get through. the office ought to do a little work once in a while just to see what it's like. they think a man can do anything. i'd like to know why i ain't entitled to a night's sleep as well as macbride. but he don't think so. after he'd worked me twenty-four hours a day up to duluth, and i lost thirty-two pounds up there, he sends me down to a mess like this. with a lot of drawings that look as though they were made by a college boy. where does he expect 'em to pile their car doors, i'd like to know." that was the vein of it, though the monologue ran on much longer. but at last he swung impatiently around and addressed hilda. "i'm ready to throw up my hands. i think i'll go back to minneapolis and tell macbride i've had enough. he can come down here and finish the house himself." "do you think he would get it done in time?" hilda's eyes were laughing at him, but she kept them on her work. "oh, yes," he said wearily. "he'd get the grain into her somehow. you couldn't stump macbride with anything. that's why he makes it so warm for us." "do you think," she asked very demurely, indeed, "that if mr. macbride had been here he could have built it any faster than--than we have, so far?" "i don't believe it," said bannon, unwarily. her smile told him that he had been trapped. "i see," he added. "you mean that there ain't any reason why we can't do it." he arose and tramped uneasily about the little shanty. "oh, of course, we'll get it done--just because we have to. there ain't anything else we can do. but just the same i'm sick of the business. i want to quit." she said nothing, and after a moment he wheeled and, facing her, demanded abruptly: "what's the matter with me, anyway?" she looked at him frankly, a smile, almost mischievous, in her face. the hard, harassed look between his eyes and about his drawn mouth melted away, and he repeated the question: "what's the matter with me? you're the doctor. i'll take whatever medicine you say." "you didn't take mr. peterson's suggestion very well--about taking a holiday, i mean. i don't know whether i dare prescribe for you or not. i don't think you need a day off. i think that, next to a good, long vacation, the best thing for you is excitement." he laughed. "no, i mean it. you're tired out, of course, but if you have enough to occupy your mind, you don't know it. the trouble to-day is that everything is going too smoothly. you weren't a bit afraid yesterday that the elevator wouldn't be done on time. that was because you thought there was going to be a strike. and if just now the elevator should catch on fire or anything, you'd feel all right about it again." he still half suspected that she was making game of him, and he looked at her steadily while he turned her words over in his mind. "well," he said, with a short laugh, "if the only medicine i need is excitement, i'll be the healthiest man you ever saw in a little while. i guess i'll find pete. i must have made him feel pretty sore." "pete," he said, coming upon him in the marine tower a little later, "i've got over my stomach-ache. is it all right?" "sure," said pete; "i didn't know you was feeling bad. i was thinking about that belt gallery, charlie. ain't it time we was putting it up? i'm getting sort of nervous about it." "there ain't three days' work in it, the way we're going," said bannon, thoughtfully, his eyes on the c. & s. c. right-of-way that lay between him and the main house, "but i guess you're right. we'll get at it now. there's no telling what sort of a surprise party those railroad fellows may have for us. the plans call for three trestles between the tracks. we'll get those up to-day." to pete, building the gallery was a more serious business. he had not bannon's years of experience at bridge repairing; it had happened that he had never been called upon to put up a belt gallery before, and this idea of building a wooden box one hundred and fifty feet long and holding it up, thirty feet in air, on three trestles, was formidable. bannon's nonchalant air of setting about it seemed almost an affectation. each trestle was to consist of a rank of four posts, planted in a line at right angles to the direction of the gallery; they were to be held together at the top by a corbel. no one gave rush orders any more on calumet k, for the reason that no one ever thought of doing anything else. if bannon sent for a man, he came on the run. so in an incredibly short time the fences were down and a swarm of men with spades, post augers, picks, and shovels had invaded the c. & s. c. right-of-way. up and down the track a hundred yards each way from the line of the gallery bannon had stationed men to give warning of the approach of trains. "now," said bannon, "we'll get this part of the job done before any one has time to kick. and they won't be very likely to try to pull 'em up by the roots once we get 'em planted." but the section boss had received instructions that caused him to be wide-awake, day or night, to what was going on in the neighborhood of calumet k. half an hour after the work was begun, the picket line up the track signalled that something was coming. there was no sound of bell or whistle, but presently bannon saw a hand car spinning down the track as fast as six big, sweating men could pump the levers. the section boss had little to say; simply that they were to get out of there and put up that fence again, and the quicker the better. bannon tried to tell him that the railroad had consented to their putting in the gallery, that they were well within their rights, that he, the section boss, had better be careful not to exceed his instructions. but the section boss had spoken his whole mind already. he was not of the sort that talk just for the pleasure of hearing their own voices, and he had categorical instructions that made parley unnecessary. he would not even tell from whom he had the orders. so the posts were lugged out of the way and the fence was put up and the men scattered out to their former work again, grinning a little over bannon's discomfiture. bannon's next move was to write to minneapolis for information and instructions, but macbride, who seemed to have all the information there was, happened to be in duluth, and brown's instructions were consequently foggy. so, after waiting a few days for something more definite, bannon disappeared one afternoon and was gone more than an hour. when he strode into the office again, keen and springy as though his work had just begun, hilda looked up and smiled a little. pete was tilted back in the chair staring glumly out of the window. he did not turn until bannon slapped him jovially on the shoulders and told him to cheer up. "those railroad chaps are laying for us, sure enough," he said. "i've been talking to macbride himself--over at the telephone exchange; he ain't in town--and he said that porter--he's the vice-president of the c. & s. c.--porter told him, when he was in chicago, that they wouldn't object at all to our building the gallery over their tracks. but that's all we've got to go by. not a word on paper. oh, they mean to give us a picnic, and no mistake!" with that, bannon called up the general offices of the c. & s. c. and asked for mr. porter. there was some little delay in getting the connection, and then three or four minutes of fencing while a young man at the other end of the line tried to satisfy himself that bannon had the right to ask for mr. porter, let alone to talk with him, and bannon, steadily ignoring his questions, continued blandly requesting him to call mr. porter to the telephone. hilda was listening with interest, for bannon's manner was different from anything she had ever seen in him before. it lacked nothing of his customary assurance, but its breeziness gave place to the most studied restraint; he might have been a railroad president himself. he hung up the receiver, however, without accomplishing anything, for the young man finally told him that mr. porter had gone out for the afternoon. so next morning bannon tried again. he learned that porter was in, and all seemed to be going well until he mentioned macbride & company, after which mr. porter became very elusive. three or four attempts to pin him down, or at least to learn his whereabouts, proved unsuccessful, and at last bannon, with wrath in his heart, started down town. it was nearly night before he came back, and as before, he found pete sitting gloomily in the office waiting his return. "well," exclaimed the night boss, looking at him eagerly; "i thought you was never coming back. we've most had a fit here, wondering how you'd come out. i don't have to ask you, though. i can see by your looks that we're all right." bannon laughed, and glanced over at hilda, who was watching him closely. "is that your guess, too, miss vogel?" "i don't think so," she said. "i think you've had a pretty hard time." "they're both good guesses," he said, pulling a paper out of his pocket, and handing it to hilda. "read that." it was a formal permit for building the gallery, signed by porter himself, and bearing the o. k. of the general manager. "nice, isn't it?" bannon commented. "now read the postscript, miss vogel." it was in porter's handwriting, and hilda read it slowly. "macbride & company are not, however, allowed to erect trestles or temporary scaffolding in the c. & s. c. right-of-way, nor to remove any property of the company, such as fences, nor to do anything which may, in the opinion of the local authorities, hinder the movement of trains." pete's face went blank. "a lot of good this darned permit does us then. that just means we can't build it." bannon nodded. "that's what it's supposed to mean," he said. "that's just the point." "you see, it's like this," he went on. "that man porter would make the finest material for ring-oiling, dust proof, non-inflammable bearings that i ever saw. he's just about the hardest, smoothest, shiniest, coolest little piece of metal that ever came my way. well, he wants to delay us on this job. i took that in the moment i saw him. well, i told him how we went ahead, just banking on his verbal consent, and how his railroad had jumped on us; and i said i was sure it was just a misunderstanding, but i wanted it cleared up because we was in a hurry. he grinned a little over that, and i went on talking. said we'd bother 'em as little as possible; of course we had to put up the trestles in their property, because we couldn't hold the thing up with a balloon. "he asked me, innocent as you please, if a steel bridge couldn't be made in a single span, and i said, yes, but it would take too long. we only had a few days. 'well,' he says, 'mr. bannon, i'll give you a permit.' and that's what he gave me. i bet he's grinning yet. i wonder if he'll grin so much about three days from now." "do you mean that you can build it anyway?" hilda demanded breathlessly. he nodded, and, turning to pete, plunged into a swift, technical explanation of how the trick was to be done. "won't you please tell me, too?" hilda asked appealingly. "sure," he said. he sat down beside her at the desk and began drawing on a piece of paper. pete came and looked over his shoulder. bannon began his explanation. [illustration: "here's the spouting house"] "here's the spouting house, and here's the elevator. now, suppose they were only fifteen feet apart. then if we had two ten-foot sticks and put 'em up at an angle and fastened the floor to a bolt that came down between 'em, the whole weight of the thing would be passed along to the foundation that the ends of the timbers rest on. but you see, it's got to be one hundred and fifty feet long, and to build it that way would take two one hundred-foot timbers, and we haven't got 'em that long. [illustration: he was drawing lines across the timber] "but we've got plenty of sticks that are twenty feet long, and plenty of bolts, and this is the way we arrange 'em. we put up our first stick (_x_) at an angle just as before. then we let a bolt (_o_) down through the upper end of it and through the floor of the gallery. now the next timber (_y_) we put up at just the same angle as the first, with the foot of it bearing down on the lower end of the bolt. "that second stick pushes two ways. a straight down push and a sideways push. the bolt resists the down push and transmits it to the first stick, and that pushes against the sill that i marked _a_. now, the sideways push is against the butt of the first timber of the floor, and that's passed on, same way, to the sill. "well, that's the whole trick. you begin at both ends at once and just keep right on going. when the thing's done it looks this way. you see where the two sections meet in the middle, it's just the same as the little fifteen-foot gallery that we made a picture of up here." [illustration: "well, that's the whole trick"] "i understand that all right," said pete, "but i don't see yet how you're going to do it without some kind of scaffolding." "easy. i ain't going to use a balloon, but i've got something that's better. it'll be out here this afternoon. come and help me get things ready." there was not much to do, for the timber was already cut to the right sizes, but bannon was not content till everything was piled so that when work did begin on the gallery it could go without a hitch. he was already several days behind, and when one is figuring it as fine as bannon was doing in those last days, even one day is a serious matter. he could do nothing more at the belt gallery until his substitute for a scaffold should arrive; it did not come that afternoon or evening, and next morning when he came on the job it still had not been heard from. there was enough to occupy every moment of his time and every shred of his thought without bothering about the gallery, and he did not worry about it as he would have worried if he had had nothing to do but wait for it. but when, well along in the afternoon, a water boy found him up on the weighing floor and told him there was something for him at the office, he made astonishing time getting down. "here's your package," said max, as bannon burst into the little shanty. it was a little, round, pasteboard box. if bannon had had the office to himself, he would, in his disappointment, have cursed the thing till it took fire. as it was, he stood speechless a moment and then turned to go out again. "aren't you going to open it, now you're here?" asked max. bannon, after hesitating, acted on the suggestion, and when he saw what it was, he laughed. no, brown had not forgotten the hat! max gazed at it in unfeigned awe; it was shiny as a mirror, black as a hearse, tall, in his eyes--for this was his first near view of one--as the seat of a dining-room chair. "put it on," he said to bannon. "let's see how it looks on you." "not much. wouldn't i look silly in a thing like that, though? i'd rather wear an ordinary length of stovepipe. that'd be durable, anyway. i wonder what brown sent it for. i thought he knew a joke when he saw one." just then one of the under-foremen came in. "oh, mr. bannon," he said, "i've been looking for you. there's a tug in the river with a big, steel cable aboard that they said was for us. i told 'em i thought it was a mistake----" it was all one movement, bannon's jamming that hat--the silk hat--down on his head, and diving through the door. he shouted orders as he ran, and a number of men, pete among them, got to the wharf as soon as he did. "now, boys, this is all the false work we can have. we're going to hang it up across the tracks and hang our gallery up on it till it's strong enough to hold itself. we've got just forty-eight hours to do the whole trick. catch hold now--lively." [illustration: it was a simple scheme] it was a simple scheme of bannon's. the floor of the gallery was to be built in two sections, one in the main house, one in the spouting house. as fast as the timbers were bolted together the halves of the floor were shoved out over the tracks, each free end being supported by a rope which ran up over a pulley. the pulley was held by an iron ring fast to the cable, but perfectly free to slide along it, and thus accompany the end of the floor as it was moved outward. bannon explained it to pete in a few quick words while the men were hustling the big cable off the tug. "of course," he was concluding, "the thing'll wabble a good deal, specially if it's as windy as this, and it won't be easy to work on, but it won't fall if we make everything fast." pete had listened pretty closely at first, but now bannon noticed that his attention seemed to be wandering to a point a few inches above bannon's head. he was about to ask what was the matter when he found out. it was windier on that particular wharf than anywhere else in the calumet flats, and the hat he had on was not built for that sort of weather. it was perfectly rigid, and not at all accommodated to the shape of bannon's head. so, very naturally, it blew off, rolled around among their feet for a moment, and then dropped into the river between the wharf and the tug. bannon was up on the spouting house, helping make fast the cable end when a workman brought the hat back to him. somebody on the tug had fished it out with a trolling line. but the hat was well past resuscitation. it had been thoroughly drowned, and it seemed to know it. "take that to the office," said bannon. "have vogel wrap it up just as it is and ship it to mr. brown. i'll dictate a letter to go with it by and by." for all bannon's foresight, there threatened to be a hitch in the work on the gallery. the day shift was on again, and twenty-four of bannon's forty-eight hours were spent, when he happened to say to a man:-- "never mind that now, but be sure you fix it to-morrow." "to-morrow?" the man repeated. "we ain't going to work to-morrow, are we?" bannon noticed that every man within hearing stopped work, waiting for the answer. "sure," he said. "why not?" there was some dissatisfied grumbling among them which he was quite at a loss to understand until he caught the word "christmas." "christmas!" he exclaimed, in perfectly honest astonishment. "is to-morrow christmas?" he ran his hand through his stubby hair. "boys," he said, "i'm sorry to have to ask it of you. but can't we put it off a week? look here. we need this day. now, if you'll say christmas is a week from to-morrow, i'll give every man on the job a christmas dinner that you'll never forget; all you can eat and as much again, and you bring your friends, if we work to-morrow and we have her full of wheat a week from to-day. does that go?" it went, with a ripping cheer to boot; a cheer that was repeated here and there all over the place as bannon's offer was passed along. so for another twenty-four hours they strained and tugged and tusselled up in the big swing, for it was nothing else, above the railroad tracks. there was a northeast gale raging down off the lake, with squalls of rain and sleet mixed up in it, and it took the crazy, swaying box in its teeth and shook it and tossed it up in the air in its eagerness to strip it off the cable. but somewhere there was an unconquerable tenacity that held fast, and in the teeth of the wind the long box grew rigid, as the trusses were pounded into place by men so spent with fatigue that one might say it was sheer good will that drove the hammers. at four o'clock christmas afternoon the last bolt was drawn taut. the gallery was done. bannon had been on the work since midnight--sixteen consecutive hours. he had eaten nothing except two sandwiches that he had stowed in his pockets. his only pause had been about nine o'clock that morning when he had put his head in the office door to wish hilda a merry christmas. when the evening shift came on--that was just after four--one of the under-foremen tried to get him to talking, but bannon was too tired to talk. "get your tracks and rollers in," he said. "take down the cable." "don't you want to stay and see if she'll hold when the cable comes down?" called the foreman after him as he started away. "she'll hold," said bannon. chapter xv before december was half gone--and while the mild autumn weather serenely held, in spite of weather predictions and of storm signs about the sun and days of blue haze and motionless trees--the newspaper-reading public knew all the outside facts about the fight in wheat, and they knew it to be the biggest fight since the days of "old hutch" and the two-dollar-a-bushel record. indeed, there were men who predicted that the two-dollar mark would be reached before christmas, for the clique of speculators who held the floor were buying, buying, buying--millions upon millions of dollars were slipping through their ready hands, and still there was no hesitation, no weakening. until the small fry had dropped out the deal had been confused; it was too big, there were too many interests involved, to make possible a clear understanding, but now it was settling down into a grim fight between the biggest men on the board. the clique were buying wheat--page & company were selling it to them: if it should come out, on the thirty-first of december, that page & company had sold more than they could deliver, the clique would be winners; but if it should have been delivered, to the last bushel, the corner would be broken, and the clique would drop from sight as so many reckless men had dropped before. the readers of every great newspaper in the country were watching page & company. the general opinion was that they could not do it, that such an enormous quantity of grain could not be delivered and registered in time, even if it were to be had. but the public overlooked, indeed it had no means of knowing, one important fact. the members of the clique were new men in the public eye. they represented apparently unlimited capital, but they were young, eager, overstrung; flushed with the prospect of success, they were talking for publication. they believed they knew of every bushel in the country that was to be had, and they allowed themselves to say that they had already bought more than this. if this were true, page was beaten. but it was not true. the young men of the clique had forgotten that page had trained agents in every part of the world; that he had alliances with great railroad and steamer lines, that he had a weather bureau and a system of crop reports that outdid those of the united states government, that he could command more money than two such cliques, and, most important of all, that he did _not_ talk for publication. the young speculators were matching their wits against a great machine. page had the wheat, he was making the effort of his career to deliver it, and he had no idea of losing. already millions of bushels had been rushed into chicago. it was here that the fight took on its spectacular features, for the grain must be weighed and inspected before it could be accepted by the board of trade, and this could be done only in "regular" warehouses. the struggle had been to get control of these warehouses. it was here that the clique had done their shrewdest work, and they had supposed that page was finally outwitted, until they discovered that he had coolly set about building a million-bushel annex to his new house, calumet k. and so it was that the newspapers learned that on the chance of completing calumet k before the thirty-first of december hung the whole question of winning and losing; that if bannon should fail, page would be short two million bushels. and then came reporters and newspaper illustrators, who hung about the office and badgered hilda, or perched on timber piles and sketched until bannon or peterson or max could get at them and drive them out. young men with snap-shot cameras way-laid bannon on his way to luncheon, and published, with his picture, elaborate stories of his skill in averting a strike--stories that were not at all true. far out in minnesota and montana and south dakota farmers were driving their wheat-laden wagons to the hundreds of local receiving houses that dotted the railroad lines. box cars were waiting for the red grain, to roll it away to minneapolis and duluth--day and night the long trains were puffing eastward. everywhere the order was, "rush!" railroad presidents and managers knew that page was in a hurry, and they knew what page's hurries meant, not only to the thousands of men who depended on him for their daily bread, but to the many great industries of the northwest, whose credit and integrity were inextricably interwoven with his. division superintendents knew that page was in a hurry, and they snapped out orders and discharged half-competent men and sent quick words along the hot wires that were translated by despatchers and operators and yard masters into profane, driving commands. conductors knew it, brakemen and switchmen knew it; they made flying switches in defiance of companies' orders, they ran where they used to walk, they slung their lunch pails on their arms and ate when and where they could, gazing over their cold tea at some portrait of page, or of a member of the clique, or of bannon, in the morning's paper. elevator men at minneapolis knew that page was in a hurry, and they worked day and night at shovel and scale. steamboat masters up at duluth knew it, and mates and deck hands and stevedores and dockwallopers--more than one steamer scraped her paint in the haste to get under the long spouts that waited to pour out grain by the hundred thousand bushels. trains came down from minneapolis, boats came down from duluth, warehouse after warehouse at chicago was filled; and over-strained nerves neared the breaking point as the short december days flew by. some said the clique would win, some said page would win; in the wheat pit men were fighting like tigers; every one who knew the facts was watching charlie bannon. the storm came on the eighteenth of the month. it was predicted two days ahead, and ship masters were warned at all the lake ports. it was a northwest blizzard, driven down from the canadian rockies at sixty miles an hour, leaving two feet of snow behind it over a belt hundreds of miles wide. but page's steamers were not stopping for blizzards; they headed out of duluth regardless of what was to come. and there were a bad few days, with tales of wreck on lake and railroad, days of wind and snow and bitter cold, and of risks run that supplied round-house and tug-office yarn spinners with stories that were not yet worn out. down on the job the snow brought the work to a pause, but bannon, within a half-hour, was out of bed and on the ground, and there was no question of changing shifts until, after twenty-four hours, the storm had passed, and elevator, annex and marine tower were cleared of snow. men worked until they could not stagger, then snatched a few hours' sleep where they could. word was passed that those who wished might observe the regular hours, but not a dozen men took the opportunity. for now they were in the public eye, and they felt as soldiers feel, when, after long months of drill and discipline, they are led to the charge. then came two days of biting weather--when ears were nipped and fingers stiffened, and carpenters who earned three dollars a day envied the laborers, whose work kept their blood moving--and after this a thaw, with sleet and rain. james, the new delegate, came to bannon and pointed out that men who are continually drenched to the skin are not the best workmen. the boss met the delegate fairly; he ordered an oilskin coat for every man on the job, and in another day they swarmed over the building, looking, at a distance, like glistening yellow beetles. but if chicago was thawing, duluth was not. the harbor at the western end of lake superior was ice-bound, and it finally reached a point that the tugs could not break open the channel. this was on the twenty-third and twenty-fourth. the wires were hot, but page's agents succeeded in covering the facts until christmas day. it was just at dusk, after leaving the men to take down the cable, that bannon went to the office. a newsboy had been on the grounds with a special edition of a cheap afternoon paper. hilda had taken one, and when bannon entered the office he found her reading, leaning forward on the desk, her chin on her hands, the paper spread out over the ledger. "hello," he said, throwing off his dripping oilskin, and coming into the enclosure; "i'm pretty near ready to sit down and think about the christmas tree that we ain't going to have." she looked up, and he saw that she was a little excited; her eyes always told him. during this last week she had been carrying the whole responsibility of the work on her shoulders. "have you seen this?" she asked. "haven't read a paper this week." he leaned over the desk beside her and read the article. in duluth harbor, and at st. mary's straits, a channel through the ice had been blasted out with dynamite, and the last laden steamer was now ploughing down lake michigan. already one steamer was lying at the wharf by the marine tower, waiting for the machinery to start, and others lay behind her, farther down the river. long strings of box cars filled the belt line sidings, ready to roll into the elevator at the word. bannon seated himself on the railing, and caught his toes between the supports. "i'll tell you one thing," he said, "those fellows have got to get up pretty early in the morning if they're going to beat old page." she looked at him, and then slowly folded the paper and turned toward the window. it was nearly dark outside. the rain, driving down from the northeast, tapped steadily on the glass. the arc lamp, on the pole near the tool house, was a blurred circle of light. she was thinking that they would have to get up pretty early to beat charlie bannon. they were silent for a time--silences were not so hard as they had been, a few weeks before--both looking out at the storm, and both thinking that this was christmas night. on the afternoon before he had asked her to take a holiday, and she had shaken her head. "i couldn't--i'd be here before noon," was what she had said; and she had laughed a little at her own confession, and hurried away with max. she turned and said, "is it done--the belt gallery?" he nodded. "all done." "well----" she smiled; and he nodded again. "the c. & s. c. man--the fellow that was around the other day and measured to see if it was high enough--he's out there looking up with his mouth open. he hasn't got much to say." "you didn't have to touch the tracks at all?" "not once. ran her out and bolted her together, and there she was. i'm about ready for my month off. we'll have the wheat coming in to-morrow, and then it's just walking down hill." "to-morrow?" she asked. "can you do it?" "got to. five or six days aren't any too much. if it was an old house and the machinery was working well, i'd undertake to do it in two or three, but if we get through without ripping up the gallery, or pounding the leg through the bottom of a steamer, it'll be the kind of luck i don't have." he paused and looked at the window, where the rain was streaking the glass. "i've been thinking about my vacation. i've about decided to go to the st. lawrence. maybe there are places i'd like better, but when a fellow hasn't had a month off in five years, he doesn't feel like experiments." it was the personal tone again, coming into their talk in spite of the excitement of the day and the many things that might have been said. hilda looked down at the ledger, and fingered the pages. bannon smiled. "if i were you," he said, "i'd shut that up and fire it under the table. this light isn't good enough to work by, anyway." she slowly closed the book, saying:-- "i never worked before on christmas." "it's a mistake. i don't believe in it, but somehow it's when my hardest work always comes. one christmas, when i was on the grand trunk, there was a big wreck at a junction about sixty miles down the road." she saw the memory coming into his eyes, and she leaned back against the desk, playing with her pen, and now and then looking up. "i was chief wrecker, and i had an old scotch engineer that you couldn't move with a jack. we'd rubbed up together three or four times before i'd had him a month, and i was getting tired of it. we'd got about halfway to the junction that night, and i felt the brakes go on hard, and before i could get through the train and over the tender, we'd stopped dead. the scotchman was down by the drivers fussing around with a lantern. i hollered out:-- "'what's the matter there?' "'she's a bit 'ot,' said he. "you'd have thought he was running a huckleberry train from the time he took. i ordered him into the cab, and he just waved his hand and said:-- "'wait a bit, wait a bit. she'll be cool directly.'" bannon chuckled at the recollection. "what did you do?" hilda asked. "jumped for the lever, and hollered for him to get aboard." "did he come?" "no, he couldn't think that fast. he just stood still, looking at me, while i threw her open, and you could see his lantern for a mile back--he never moved. he had a good six-mile walk back to the last station." there was a long silence. bannon got up and walked slowly up and down the enclosure with his hands deep in his pockets. "i wish this would let up," he said, after a time, pausing in his walk, and looking again at the window. "it's a wonder we're getting things done at all." hilda's eye, roaming over the folded newspaper, fell on the weather forecast. "fair to-morrow," she said, "and colder." "that doesn't stand for much. they said the same thing yesterday. it's a worse gamble than wheat." bannon took to walking again; and hilda stepped down and stood by the window, spelling out the word "calumet" with her finger on the misty glass. at each turn, bannon paused and looked at her. finally he stood still, not realizing that he was staring until she looked around, flushed, and dropped her eyes. then he felt awkward, and he began turning over the blue prints on the table. "i'll tell you what i'll have to do," he said. "i rather think now i'll start on the third for montreal. i'm telling you a secret, you know. i'm not going to let brown or macbride know where i'll be. and if i can pick up some good pictures of the river, i'll send them to you. i'll get one of the montmorency falls, if i can. they're great in winter." "why--why, thank you," she said. "i'd like to have them." "i ain't much at writing letters," he went on, "but i'll send you the pictures, and you write and tell me how things are going." she laughed softly, and followed the zigzag course of the raindrop with her finger. "i wouldn't have very much to say," she said, speaking with a little hesitation, and without looking around. "max and i never do much." "oh, you can tell how your work goes, and what you do nights." "we don't do much of anything. max studies some at night--a man he used to work for gave him a book of civil engineering." "what do you do?" "i read some, and then i like to learn things about--oh, about business, and how things are done." bannon could not take his eyes from her--he was looking at her hair, and at the curved outline of one cheek, all that he could see of her face. they both stood still, listening to the patter of the rain, and to the steady drip from the other end of the office, where there was a leak in the roof. once she cleared her throat, as if to speak, but no words came. there was a stamping outside, and she slipped back to the ledger, as the door flew open. bannon turned to the blue prints. max entered, pausing to knock his cap against the door, and wring it out. "you ought to have stayed out, mr. bannon," he said. "it's the greatest thing you ever saw--doesn't sag an inch. and say--i wish you could hear the boys talk--they'd lie down and let you walk on 'em, if you wanted to." max's eyes were bright, and his face red with exercise and excitement. he came to the gate and stood wiping his feet and looking from one to the other for several moments before he felt the awkwardness that had come over him. his long rubber coat was thrown back, and little streams of water ran down his back and formed a pool on the floor behind him. "you'd better come out," he said. "it's the prettiest thing i ever saw--a clean straight span from the main house to the tower." bannon stood watching him quizzically; then he turned to hilda. she, too, had been looking at max, but she turned at the same moment, and their eyes met. "do you want to go?" he said. she nodded eagerly. "i'd like to ever so much." then bannon thought of the rain, but she saw his thought as he glanced toward the window, and spoke quickly. "i don't mind--really. max will let me take his coat." "sure," said max, and he grinned. she slipped into it, and it enveloped her, hanging in folds and falling on the floor. "i'll have to hold it up," she said. "do we have much climbing?" "no," said max, "it ain't high. and the stairs are done, you know." hilda lifted the coat a little way with both hands, and put out one small toe. bannon looked at it, and shook his head. "you'll get your feet wet," he said. she looked up and met bannon's eyes again, with an expression that puzzled max. "i don't care. it's almost time to go home, anyway." so they went out, and closed the door; and max, who had been told to "stay behind and keep house," looked after them, and then at the door, and an odd expression of slow understanding came into his face. it was not in what they had said, but there was plainly a new feeling between them. for the first time in his life, max felt that another knew hilda better than he did. the way bannon had looked at her, and she at him; the mutual understanding that left everything unsaid; the something--max did not know what it was, but he saw it and felt it, and it disturbed him. he sat on the table, and swung his feet, while one expression chased another over his face. when he finally got himself together, he went to the door, and opening it, looked out at the black, dim shape of the elevator that stood big and square, only a little way before him, shutting out whatever he might else have seen of rushing sky or dim-lighted river, or of the railroads and the steamboats and the factories and rolling mills beyond. it was as if this elevator were his fate, looming before him and shutting out the forward view. in whatever thoughts he had had of the future, in whatever plans, and they were few, which he had revolved in his head, there had always been a place for hilda. he did not see just what he was to do, just what he was to become, without her. he stood there for a long time, leaning against the door-jamb with his hands in his pockets, and the sharper gusts of rain whirled around the end of the little building and beat on him. and then--well, it was charlie bannon; and max knew that he was glad it was no one else. the narrow windows in the belt gallery had no glass, and the rain came driving through them into the shadows, each drop catching the white shine of the electric lights outside. the floor was trampled with mud and littered with scraps of lumber, tool boxes, empty nail kegs, and shavings. the long, gloomy gallery was empty when bannon and hilda stepped into it, excepting a group of men at the farther end, installing the rollers for the belt conveyor--they could be seen indistinctly against a light in the river house. the wind came roaring around the building, and the gallery trembled and shook. hilda caught her breath and stopped short. "it's all right," said bannon. "she's bound to move some." "i know--" she laughed--"i wasn't expecting it--it startled me a little." "watch where you step." he took her arm and guided her slowly between the heaps of rubbish. at one of the windows she paused, and stood full in the rain, looking out at the c. & s. c. tracks, with their twinkling red and green lights, all blurred and seeming far off in the storm. "isn't this pretty wet?" he said, standing beside her. "i don't care." she shook the folds of the rubber coat, and glanced down at it. "i like it." they looked out for a long time. two millwrights came through the gallery, and glanced at them, but they did not turn. she stepped forward and let the rain beat on her face--he stood behind, looking at her. a light showed far down the track, and they heard a faint whistle. "a train," he said; and she nodded. the headlight grew, and the car lights appeared behind it, and then the black outline of the engine. there was a rush and a roar, and it passed under them. "doesn't it make you want to jump down?" she said softly, when the roar had dwindled away. he nodded with a half-smile. "say," he said, a little later, "i don't know about your writing--i don't believe we'd better--" he got the words out more rapidly--"i'll tell you what you do--you come along with me and we won't have to write." "come--where?" "up to the st. lawrence. we can start on the third just the same." she did not answer, and he stopped. then, after a moment, she slowly turned, and looked at him. "why--" she said--"i don't think i----" "i've just been thinking about it. i guess i can't do anything else--i mean i don't want to go anywhere alone. i guess that's pretty plain, isn't it--what i mean?" she leaned back against the wall and looked at him; it was as if she could not take her eyes from his face. "perhaps i oughtn't to expect you to say anything now," he went on. "i just thought if you felt anything like i did, you'd know pretty well, by this time, whether it was yes or no." she was still looking at him. he had said it all, and now he waited, his fists knotted tightly, and a peculiar expression on his face, almost as if he were smiling, but it came from a part of his nature that had never before got to the surface. finally she said:-- "i think we'd better go back." he did not seem to understand, and she turned away and started off alone. in a moment he was at her side. he guided her back as they had come, and neither spoke until they had reached the stairway. then he said, in a low tone that the carpenters could not hear:-- "you don't mean that--that you can't do it?" she shook her head and hurried to the office. chapter xvi bannon stood looking after her until she disappeared in the shadow of an arc lamp, and after that he continued a long time staring into the blot of darkness where the office was. at last the window became faintly luminous, as some one lighted the wall lamp; then, as if it were a signal he had been waiting for, bannon turned away. an hour before, when he had seen the last bolt of the belt gallery drawn taut, he had become aware that he was quite exhausted. the fact was so obvious that he had not tried to evade it, but had admitted to himself, in so many words, that he was at the end of his rope. but when he turned from gazing at the dimly lighted window, it was not toward his boarding-house, where he knew he ought to be, but back into the elevator, that his feet led him. for once, his presence accomplished nothing. he went about without thinking where; he passed men without seeing who they were or what they were doing. when he walked through the belt gallery, he saw the foreman of the big gang of men at work there was handling them clumsily, so that they interfered with each other, but it did not occur to him to give the orders that would set things right. then, as if his wire-drawn muscles had not done work enough, he climbed laboriously to the very top of the marine tower. he was leaning against a window-casing; not looking out, for he saw nothing, but with his face turned to the fleet of barges lying in the river; when some one spoke to him. "i guess you're thinking about that christmas dinner, ain't you, mr. bannon?" "what's that?" he demanded, wheeling about. then rallying his scattered faculties, he recognized one of the carpenters. "oh, yes," he said, laughing tardily. "yes, the postponed christmas dinner. you think i'm in for it, do you? you know it's no go unless this house is full of wheat clear to the roof." "i know it," said the man. "but i guess we're going to stick you for it. don't you think we are?" "i guess that's right." "i come up here," said the carpenter, well pleased at the chance for a talk with the boss, "to have a look at this--marine leg, do you call it? i haven't been to work on it, and i never saw one before. i wanted to find out how it works." "just like any other leg over in the main house. head pulley up here; another one down in the boot; endless belt running over 'em with steel cups rivetted on it to scoop up the grain. only difference is that instead of being stationary and set up in a tank, this one's hung up. we let the whole business right down into the boat. pull it up and down with that steam winch." the man shook his head. "what if it got away from you?" "that's happened," said bannon. "i've seen a leg most as big as this smash through two decks. thought it was going right on through the bottom of the boat. but that wasn't a leg that macbride had hung up. this one won't fall." bannon answered one or two more questions rather at random, then suddenly came back to earth. "what are you doing here, anyway?" he demanded. "seems to me this is a pretty easy way to earn thirty cents an hour." "i--i was just going to see if there wasn't something i could do," the man answered, a good deal embarrassed. then before bannon could do more than echo, "something to do?" added: "i don't get my time check till midnight. i ain't on this shift. i just come around to see how things was going. we're going to see you through, mr. bannon." bannon never had a finer tribute than that, not even what young page said when the race was over; and it could not have come at a moment when he needed it more. he did not think much in set terms about what it meant, but when the man had gone and he had turned back to the window, he took a long breath of the night air and he saw what lay beneath his eyes. he saw the line of ships in the river; down nearer the lake another of page's elevators was drinking up the red wheat out of the hold of a snub-nosed barge; across the river, in the dark, they were backing another string of wheat-laden cars over the belt line switches. as he looked out and listened, his imagination took fire again, as it had taken fire that day in the waiting-room at blake city, when he had learned that the little, one-track g. & m. was trying to hinder the torrent of the northern wheat. well, the wheat had come down. it had beaten a blizzard, it had churned and wedged and crushed its way through floating ice and in the trough of mauling seas; belated passenger trains had waited on lonely sidings while it thundered by, and big rotary ploughs had bitten a way for it across the drifted prairies. now it was here, and charlie bannon was keeping it waiting. he stood there, looking, only a moment; then before the carpenter's footsteps were well out of hearing, he followed him down the stairway to the belt gallery. before he had passed half its length you could have seen the difference. in the next two hours every man on the elevator saw him, learned a quicker way to splice a rope or align a shaft, and heard, before the boss went away, some word of commendation that set his hands to working the faster, and made the work seem easy. the work had gone on without interruption for weeks, and never slowly, but there were times when it went with a lilt and a laugh; when laborers heaved at a hoisting tackle with a yo-ho, like privateersmen who have just sighted a sail; when, with all they could do, results came too slowly, and the hours flew too fast. and so it was that christmas night; charlie bannon was back on the job. about ten o'clock he encountered pete, bearing off to the shanty a quart bottle of cold coffee and a dozen big, thick sandwiches. "come on, charlie," he called. "max is coming, too; but i guess we've got enough to spare you a little." so the three of them sat down to supper around the draughting-table, and between bites bannon talked, a little about everything, but principally, and with much corroborative detail--for the story seemed to strain even pete's easy credulity--of how, up at yawger, he had been run on the independent ticket for superintendent of the sunday school, and had been barely defeated by two votes. when the sandwiches were put away, and all but three drinks of the coffee, bannon held the bottle high in the air. "here's to the house!" he said. "we'll have wheat in her to-morrow night!" they drank the toast standing; then, as if ashamed of such a sentimental demonstration, they filed sheepishly out of the office. they walked fifty paces in silence. then pete checked suddenly and turned to bannon. "hold on, charlie, where are you going?" "going to look over those 'cross-the-house conveyor drives down cellar." "no, you ain't either. you're going to bed." bannon only laughed and started on toward the elevator. "how long is it since you had any sleep?" pete demanded. "i don't know. guess i must have slept part of the time while we was putting up that gallery. i don't remember much about it." "don't be in such a hurry," said pete, and as he said it he reached out his left hand and caught him by the shoulder. it was more by way of gesture than otherwise, but bannon had to step back a pace to keep his feet. "i mean business," pete went on, though laughing a little. "when we begin to turn over the machinery you won't want to go away, so this is your last chance to get any sleep. i can't make things jump like you can, but i can keep 'em going to-night somehow." "hadn't you better wrap me up in cotton flannel and feed me warm milk with a spoon? let go of me and quit your fooling. you delay the game." "i ain't fooling. i'm boss here at night, and i fire you till morning. that goes if i have to carry you all the way to your boarding house and tie you down to the bed." pete meant it. as if, again, for illustration, he picked bannon up in his arms. the boss was ready for the move this time, and he resisted with all his strength, but he would have had as much chance against the hug of a grizzly bear; he was crumpled up. pete started off with him across the flat. "all right," said bannon. "i'll go." at seven o'clock next morning pete began expecting his return. at eight he began inquiring of various foremen if they had seen anything of charlie bannon. by nine he was avowedly worried lest something had gone wrong with him, and a little after ten max set out for the boarding house. encountering the landlady in the hall, he made the mistake of asking her if she had seen anything of mr. bannon that morning. she had some elementary notions of strategy, derived, doubtless, from experience, and before beginning her reply, she blocked the narrow stairway with her broad person. then, beginning with a discussion of mr. bannon's excellent moral character and his most imprudent habits, and illustrating by anecdotes of various other boarders she had had at one time and another, she led up to the statement that she had seen nothing of him since the night before, and that she had twice knocked at his door without getting any reply. max, who had laughed a little at pete's alarm, was now pretty well frightened himself, but at that instant they heard the thud of bare feet on the floor just above them. "that's him now," said the landlady, thoughtlessly turning sideways, and max bolted past her and up the stairs. he knocked at the door and called out to know if he could come in. the growl he heard in reply meant invitation as much as it meant anything, so he went in. bannon, already in his shirt and trousers, stood with his back to the door, his face in the washbowl. as he scoured he sputtered. max could make little out of it, for bannon's face was under water half the time, but he caught such phrases as "pete's darned foolishness," "college boy trick," "lie abed all the morning," and "better get an alarm clock"--which thing and the need for it bannon greatly despised--and he reached the conclusion that the matter was nothing more serious than that bannon had overslept. but the boss took it seriously enough. indeed, he seemed deeply humiliated, and he marched back to the elevator beside max without saying a word until just as they were crossing the belt line tracks, when the explanation of the phenomenon came to him. "i know where i get it from," he exclaimed, as if in some measure relieved by the discovery. "i must take after my uncle. he was the greatest fellow to sleep you ever saw." so far as pace was concerned that day was like the others; while the men were human it could be no faster; with bannon on the job it could not flag; but there was this difference, that to-day the stupidest sweepers knew that they had almost reached the end, and there was a rally like that which a runner makes at the beginning of the last hundred yards. late in the afternoon they had a broad hint of how near the end was. the sweepers dropped their brooms and began carrying fire buckets full of water. they placed one or more near every bearing all over the elevator. the men who were quickest to understand explained to the slower ones what the precaution meant, and every man had his eye on the nearest pulley to see when it would begin to turn. but bannon was not going to begin till he was ready. he had inspected the whole job four times since noon, but just after six he went all over it again, more carefully than before. at the end he stepped out of the door at the bottom of the stairway bin, and pulled it shut after him. it was not yet painted, and its blank surface suggested something. he drew out his blue pencil and wrote on the upper panel:-- o.k. c. h. bannon. then he walked over to the power house. it was a one-story brick building, with whose construction bannon had had no concern, as page & company had placed the contract for it elsewhere. every night for the past week lights had been streaming from its windows, and day and night men had waited, ready at any time for the word to go ahead. a dozen of them were lounging about the brick-paved space in front of the battery of boilers when bannon opened the door, and they sprang to their feet as they read his errand in his face. "steam up," he said. "we'll be ready as soon as you are." there was the accumulated tension of a week of inactivity behind these men, and the effect of bannon's words was galvanic. already low fires were burning under the boilers, and now the coal was piled on, the draughts roared, the smoke, thick enough to cut, came billowing out of the tall chimney. every man in the room, even the wretchedest of the dripping stokers, had his eyes on the steam gauges, but for all that the water boiled, and the indicator needles crept slowly round the dials, and at last the engineer walked over and pulled the whistle cord. hitherto they had marked the divisions of time on the job by the shrill note of the little whistle on the hoisting engine boiler, and there was not a man but started at the screaming crescendo of the big siren on top of the power house. men in the streets, in the straggling boarding houses over across the flats, on the wharves along the river, men who had been forbidden to come to the elevator till they were needed lest they should be in the way, had been waiting days for that signal, and they came streaming into the elevator almost before the blast had died away. page's superintendent was standing beside bannon and pete by the foot of the main drive. "well," he said, "we're ready. are you?" bannon nodded and turned to a laborer who stood near. "go tell the engineer to go ahead." the man, proud as though he had just been promoted, went out on the run. "now," said bannon, "here's where we go slow. all the machinery in the house has got to be thrown in, one thing at a time, line shafts first and then elevators and the rest of it. pete, you see it done up top. i'll look out for it down here. see that there's a man to look at each bearing at least once in three minutes, and let me know if it gets warm." it took a long time to do it, but it had to be done, for bannon was inflexible, but at last everything in elevator, annex, and spouting house that could turn was turning, and it was reported to bannon. "now," he said, "she's got to run light for fifteen minutes. no----" he went on in answer to the superintendent's protest; "you're lucky i didn't say two hours. it's the biggest chance i ever took as it is." so while they stared at the second hands of their watches the minutes crept away--pete wound his watch up tight in the vain hope of making it go a little faster--and at last bannon turned with a nod to the superintendent. "all right," he said. "you're the boss now." and then in a moment the straining hawsers were hauling cars up into the house. the seals were broken, the doors rolled back, and the wheat came pouring out. the shovellers clambered into the cars and the steam power shovels helped the torrent along. it fell through the gratings, into steel tanks, and then the tireless metal cups carried it up, up, up, 'way to the top of the building. and then it came tumbling down again; down into garners, and down again into the great weighing hoppers, and recognized and registered and marketable at last, part of the load that was to bury the clique that had braved it out of sight of all but their creditors, it went streaming down the spouts into the bins. the first of the barges in the river was moved down beside the spouting house, her main hatch just opposite the tower. and now pete, in charge there, gave the word, and the marine leg, gravely, deliberately descended. there is a magnificent audacity about that sort of performance. the leg was ninety feet long, steel-booted, framed of great timbers, heavy enough to have wrecked the barge like a birch bark canoe if it had got away. it went down bodily into the hold and the steel boot was buried in wheat. then pete threw another lever, and in a moment another endless series of cups was carrying the wheat aloft. it went over the cross-head and down a spout, then stretched out in a golden ribbon along the glistening white belt that ran the length of the gallery. then, like the wheat from the cars, it was caught up again in the cups, and shot down through spouts, and carried along on belts to the remotest bins in the annex. for the first few hours of it the men's nerves were hair springs, but as time went on and the stream kept pouring in without pause, the tension relaxed though the watch never slackened. men patted the bearings affectionately, and still the same report came to bannon, "all cool." late that night, as the superintendent was figuring his weighing reports, he said to bannon; "at this rate, we'll have several hours to spare." "we haven't had our accident yet," said bannon, shortly. it happened within an hour, at the marine leg, but it was not serious. they heard a splintering sound, down in the dark, somewhere, and pete, shouting to them to throw out the clutch, climbed out and down on the sleet-clad girders that framed the leg. an agile monkey might have been glad to return alive from such a climb, but pete came back presently with a curious specimen of marine hardware that had in some way got into the wheat, and thence into the boot and one of the cups. part way up it had got jammed and had ripped up the sheathing of the leg. they started the leg again, but soon learned that it was leaking badly. "you'll have to haul up for repairs, i guess," the captain called up to them. "haven't time," said pete, under his breath, and with a hammer and nails, and a big piece of sacking, he went down the leg again, playing his neck against a half-hour's delay as serenely as most men would walk downstairs to dinner. "start her up, boys," he called, when the job was done, and, with the leg jolting under his hands as he climbed, he came back into the tower. that was their only misfortune, and all it cost them was a matter of minutes, so by noon of the thirtieth, an hour or two after macbride and young page arrived from minneapolis, it became clear that they would be through in time. at eight o'clock next morning, as bannon and macbride were standing in the superintendent's office, he came in and held out his hand. "she's full, mr. bannon. i congratulate you." "full, eh?" said macbride. then he dropped his hand on bannon's shoulder. "well," he said, "do you want to go to sleep, or will you come and talk business with me for a little while?" "sleep!" bannon echoed. "i've been oversleeping lately." chapter xvii the elevator was the place for the dinner, if only the mild weather that had followed the christmas storm should continue--on that bannon, pete, and max were agreed. new year's day would be a holiday, and there was room on the distributing floor for every man who had worked an hour on the job since the first spile had been driven home in the calumet clay. to be sure most of the laborers had been laid off before the installing of the machinery, but bannon knew that they would all be on hand, and he meant to have seats for them. but on the night of the thirtieth the wind swung around to the northeast, and it came whistling through the cracks in the cupola walls with a sting in it that set the weighers to shivering. and as the insurance companies would have inquired curiously into any arrangement for heating that gloomy space on the tops of the bins, the plan had to be given up. as soon as the last of the grain was in, on the thirty-first, max took a north-bound car and scoured south chicago for a hall that was big enough. before the afternoon was gone he had found it, and had arranged with a restaurant keeper to supply the dinner. early the next morning the three set to work, making long tables and benches by resting planks on boxes, and covering the tables with pink and blue and white scalloped shelf-paper. it was nearly ten o'clock when max, after draping a twenty-four-foot flag in a dozen different ways, let it slide down the ladder to the floor and sat down on the upper round, looking out over the gridiron of tables with a disgusted expression. peterson, aided by a man from the restaurant, was bringing in load after load of thick white plates, stacking them waist high near the door. max was on the point of calling to him, but he recollected that pete's eye, though quick with timbers, would not help much in questions of art. just then bannon came through the doorway with another flag rolled under his arm. "they're here already, a couple of dozen of 'em," he said, as he dropped the flag at the foot of the ladder. "i've left james on the stairs to keep 'em out until we're ready. better have an eye on the fire escape, too--they're feeling pretty lively." "say," max said abruptly, "i can't make this thing look anyhow. i guess it's up to you." bannon stepped back and looked up at the wall. "why don't you just hang them from the ceiling and then catch them up from pretty near the bottom--so they'll drape down on both sides of the windows?" "i know," said max, "but there's ways of making 'em look just right--if hilda was here, she'd know----" he paused and looked down at the red, white, and blue heap on the floor. during the last week they had not spoken of hilda, and bannon did not know whether she had told max. he glanced at him, but got no sign, for max was gazing moodily downward. "do you think," bannon said, "do you think she'd care to come around?" he tried to speak easily, as he might have spoken of her at any time before christmas day, but he could not check a second glance at max. at that moment max looked up, and as their eyes met, with an awkward pause, bannon knew that he understood; and for a moment the impatience that he had been fighting for a week threatened to get away with him. he had seen nothing of hilda, except for the daily "good morning," and a word now and then. the office had been besieged by reporters waiting for a chance at him; under-foremen had been rushing in and out; page's representatives and the railroad and steamboat men had made it their headquarters. it may be that he would not have spoken in any case, for he had said all that he could say, and he knew that she would give him an answer when she could. max's eyes had dropped again. "you mean for her to help fix things up?" he asked. bannon nodded; and then, as max did not look up, he said, "yes." "why--why, yes, i guess she'd just as soon." he hesitated, then began coming down the ladder, adding, "i'll go for her." bannon looked over his shoulder--pete was clattering about among the dishes. "max," he said, "hold on a minute." max turned and came slowly back. bannon had seated himself on the end of a table, and now he waited, looking down at the two rows of plates, and slowly turning a caster that stood at his elbow. what he finally said was not what max was awaiting. "what are you going to do now, max--when you're through on this job?" "why--i don't know----" "have you got anything ahead?" "nothing sure. i was working for a firm of contractors up on the north side, and i've been thinking maybe they'd take me back." "you've had some experience in building before now, haven't you?" bannon was speaking deliberately, as if he were saying what he had thought out before. "yes, a good deal. it's what i've mostly done since i quit the lumber business." "when mr. macbride was here," said bannon, "he told me that we've got a contract for a new house at indianapolis. it's going to be concrete, from the spiles up--there ain't anything like it in the country. i'm going down next week to take charge of the job, and if you'd like to go along as my assistant, i'll take you." max did not know what to say. at first he grinned and blushed, thinking only that bannon had been pleased with his work; then he grew serious. "well," said bannon, "what do you say?" max still hesitated. at last he replied:-- "can i have till to-morrow to think about it? i--you see, hilda and i, we most always talk things over, and i don't exactly like to do anything without----" "sure," said bannon; "think it over if you like. there's no hurry up to the end of the week." he paused as if he meant to go on, but changed his mind and stood up. max, too, was waiting, as if there were more to be said. "you two must think we've got all day to fix things." it was pete calling from the other end of the room. "there ain't no loafing allowed here." bannon smiled, and max turned away. but after he had got a third of the way down the aisle, he came back. "say, mr. bannon," he said, "i want to tell you that i--hilda, she said--she's told me something about things--and i want to----" it had been a lame conversation; now it broke down, and they stood through a long silence without speaking. finally max pulled himself together, and said in a low, nervous voice: "say, it's all right. i guess you know what i'm thinking about. and i ain't got a word to say." then he hurried out. when max and hilda came in, the restaurant man was setting up the paper napkin tents on the raised table at the end of the hall, and pete stood by the door, looking upon his work with satisfaction. he did not see them until they were fairly in the room. "hello," he said; "i didn't know you was coming, miss vogel." he swept his arm around. "ain't it fine? make you hungry to look at all them plates?" hilda followed his gesture with a smile. her jacket was still buttoned tightly, and her eyes were bright and her cheeks red from the brisk outer air. bannon and james were coming toward them, and she greeted them with a nod. "there's going to be plenty of room," she said. "that's right," pete replied. "there won't be no elbows getting in the way at this dinner. come up where you can see better." he led the way to the platform, and they all followed. "this is the speakers' table," pete went on, "where the boss and all will be"--he winked toward bannon--"and the guest of honor. you show her how we sit, max; you fixed that part of it." max walked around the table, pointing out his own, pete's, james', and bannon's seats, and those of the committee. the middle seat, next to bannon's he passed over. "hold on," said pete, "you forgot something." max grinned and drew back the middle chair. "this is for the guest of honor," he said, and looked at hilda. pete was looking at her, too, and james--all but bannon. the color, that had been leaving her face, began to come back. "do you mean me?" she asked "i guess that's pretty near," said pete. she shook her head. "oh, no--thank you very much--i can't stay." pete and max looked at each other. "the boys'll be sorry," said pete. "it's kind of got out that maybe you'd be here, and--i don't believe they'd let you off." hilda was smiling, but her face was flushed. she shook her head. "oh, no," she replied; "i only came to help." pete turned on max, with a clumsy laugh that did not cover his disappointment. "how about this, max? you ain't been tending to business. ain't that so, james? wasn't he going to see that she come and sat up with us where the boys could see her?" he turned to hilda. "you see, most of the boys know you've had a good deal to do with things on the job, and they've kind of took a shine to you----" pete suddenly awoke to the fact that he had never talked so boldly to a girl before. he hesitated, looked around at max and james for support and at bannon, and then, finding no help, he grinned, and the warm color surged over his face. the only one who saw it all was hilda, and in spite of her embarrassment the sight of big, strong, bashful pete was too much for her. a twinkle came into her eyes, and a faint smile hovered about her mouth. pete saw it, misunderstood it, and, feeling relieved, went on, not knowing that by bringing that twinkle to hilda's eyes, he had saved the situation. "it's only that they've talked about it some, and yesterday a couple of 'em spoke to me, and i said i'd ask max, and----" "thank you, mr. peterson," hilda replied. "max should have told me." she turned toward max, her face sober now except for the eyes, which would not come under control. max had been dividing his glances between her and bannon, feeling the situation heavily, and wondering if he ought not to come to her relief, but unable to dig up the right word. pete spoke up again:-- "say, honest now, ain't you coming?" "i can't really. i'm sorry. i know you'll have a good time." bannon had been standing aside, unwilling to speak for fear of making it harder for her. but now she turned to him and said, with a lightness that puzzled him:-- "aren't we going to do some decorating, mr. bannon? i'm afraid it will be dinner time before mr. peterson knows it." pete flushed again at this, but she gave him a quick smile. "yes," said bannon, "there's only a little over half an hour." he paused, and looked about the group, holding his watch in his hand and fingering the stem. the lines about his mouth were settling. hilda glanced again at him, and from the determined look in his eyes, she knew that his week of waiting was over; that he meant to speak to her before she left the hall. it was all in the moment's silence that followed his remark; then he went on, as easily as if he were talking to a gang on the marine tower--but the time was long enough for hilda to feel her brief courage slipping away. she could not look at him now. "take a look at that door, james," he was saying. "i guess you'll have to tend to business if you want any dinner." they all turned and saw the grinning heads of some of the carpenters peering into the room. there was the shuffling of many feet behind them on the stairs, and the sound of cat calls and whistling. a shove was passed on from somewhere back in the hallway, and one of the carpenters came sprawling through the door. the others yelled good-naturedly. "i'll fix 'em," said james, with a laugh, starting toward them. "give him a lift, pete," said bannon. "he'll need it. you two'd better keep the stairs clear for a while, or they'll stampede us." so pete followed, and for a few moments the uproar from the stairs drowned all attempts at conversation. only max was left with them now. he stood back by the wall, still looking helplessly from one to the other. the restaurant men were bustling about the floor; and hilda was glad they were there, for she knew that bannon meant to send max away, too. she was too nervous to stand still; and she walked around the table, resetting the knives and forks and spoons. the paper napkins on this table were the only ones in the room. she wondered at this, and when the noise of the men had died away into a few jeering cries from the street, and max had gone to get the flags (for she had said that they should be hung at this end of the room), and the waiters were bustling about, it gave her a chance to break the silence. "aren't the other"--she had to stop to clear her throat--"aren't the other men going to have napkins?" "they wouldn't know what they were for." his easy tone gave her a momentary sense of relief. "they'd tie them on their hats, or make balls to throw around." he paused, but added: "it wouldn't look bad, though, would it?--to stand them up this way on all the tables." she made no reply. "what do you say?" he was looking at her. "shall we do it?" she nodded, and then dropped her eyes, angry with herself that she could not overcome her nervousness. there was another silence, and she broke it. "it would look a good deal better," she said, "if you have time to do it. max and i will put up the flags." she had meant to say something that would give her a better control of the situation, but it sounded very flat and disagreeable--and she had not meant it to sound disagreeable. indeed, as soon as the words were out, and she felt his eyes on her, and she knew that she was blushing, she was not sure that she had meant it at all. perhaps that was why, when bannon asked, in a low voice, "would you rather max would help you?" she turned away and answered in a cool tone that did not come from any one of her rushing, struggling thoughts, "if you don't mind." she did not see the change that came over his face, the weary look that meant that the strain of a week had suddenly broken, but she did not need to see it, for she knew it was there. she heard him step down from the platform, and then she watched him as he walked down the aisle to meet max, who was bringing up the flags. she wondered impatiently why bannon did not call to him. then he raised his head, but before a word had left his lips she was speaking, in a clear tone that max could plainly hear. she was surprised at herself. she had not meant to say a word, but out it came; and she was conscious of a tightening of her nerves and a defiant gladness that at last her real thoughts had found an outlet. "max," she said, "won't you go out and get enough napkins to put at all the places? you'll have to hurry." bannon was slow in turning; when he did there was a peculiar expression on his face. "hold on, there," called a waiter. "there ain't time to fold them." "yes, there is," said bannon, shortly. "the boys can wait." "but dinner's most ready now." "then i guess dinner's got to wait, too." the waiter looked disgusted, and max hurried out. bannon gathered up the flags and came to the platform. hilda could not face him. for an instant she had a wild impulse to follow max. she finally turned her back on bannon and leaned her elbows on a chair, looking over the wall for a good place to hang the flags. she was going to begin talking about it as soon as he should reach the platform. the words were all ready, but now he was opposite her, looking across the table with the red and white bundle in his arms, and she had not said it. her eyes were fixed on a napkin, studying out the curious japanese design. she could hear his breathing and her own. she let her eyes rise as high as the flags, then slowly, higher and higher, until they met his, fluttered, and dropped. but the glance was enough. she could not have resisted the look in his eyes. "did you mean it?" he asked, almost breathlessly. "did you mean the whole thing?" she could not reply. she glanced around to see if the waiters could hear. "can't you tell me?" he was saying. "it's been a week." she gazed at the napkin until it grew misty and indistinct. then she slowly nodded. a waiter was almost within hearing. bannon stood looking at her, heedless of everything but that she was there before him, that her eyes were trying to peep up at him through the locks of red gold hair that had strayed over her forehead. "please"--she whispered--"please put them up." and so they set to work. he got the ladder and she told him what to do. her directions were not always clear, but that mattered little, for he could not have followed them. somehow the flags went up, and if the effect was little better than max's attempt had been, no one spoke of it. pete and max came in together soon with the napkins, and a little time slipped by before bannon could draw max aside and grip his hand. then they went at the napkins, and as they sat around the table, hilda and bannon, pete and the waiters, folding them with rapid fingers, bannon found opportunity to talk to her in a low voice, during the times when pete was whistling, or was chaffing with the waiters. he told her, a few words at a time, of the new work mr. macbride had assigned to him, and in his enthusiasm he gave her a little idea of what it would mean to him, this opportunity to build an elevator the like of which had never been seen in the country before, and which would be watched by engineers from new york to san francisco. he told her, too, something about the work, how it had been discovered that piles could be made of concrete and driven into the ground with a pile driver, and that neither beams nor girders--none of the timbers, in fact--were needed in this new construction. he was nearly through with it, and still he did not notice the uncertain expression in her eyes. it was not until she asked in a faltering undertone, "when are you going to begin?" that it came to him. and then he looked at her so long that pete began to notice, and she had to touch his foot with hers under the table to get him to turn away. he had forgotten all about the vacation and the st. lawrence trip. hilda saw, in her side glances, the gloomy expression that had settled upon his face; and she recovered her spirits first. "it's all right," she whispered; "i don't care." max came up then, from a talk with james out on the stairway, and for a few moments there was no chance to reply. but after bannon had caught max's signals to step out of hearing of the others, and before he had risen, there was a moment when pete's attention was drawn by one of the waiters, and he said:-- "can you go with me--monday?" she looked frightened, and the blood rose in her cheeks so that she had to bend low over her pile of napkins. "will you?" he was pushing back his chair. she did not look up, but her head nodded once with a little jerk. "and you'll stay for the dinner, won't you--now?" she nodded once more, and bannon went to join max. max made two false starts before he could get his words out in the proper order. "say," he finally said; "i thought maybe you wouldn't care if i told james. he thinks you're all right, you know. and he says, if you don't care, he'd like to say a little something about it when he makes his speech. not much, you know--nothing you wouldn't like--he says it would tickle the boys right down to their corns." bannon looked around toward hilda, and slowly shook his head. "max," he replied, "if anybody says a word about it at this dinner i'll break his head." that should have been enough, but when james' turn came to speak, after nearly two hours of eating and singing and laughing and riotous good cheer, he began in a way that brought bannon's eyes quickly upon him. "boys," he said, "we've worked hard together on this job, and one way and another we've come to understand what sort of a man our boss is. ain't that right?" a roar went up from hundreds of throats, and hilda, sitting next to bannon, blushed. "we've thought we understood him pretty well, but i've just found out that we didn't know so much as we thought we did. he's been a pretty square friend to all of us, and i'm going to tell you something that'll give you a chance to show you're square friends of his, too." he paused, and then was about to go on, leaning forward with both hands on the table, and looking straight down on the long rows of bearded faces, when he heard a slight noise behind him. a sudden laugh broke out, and before he could turn his head, a strong hand fell on each shoulder and he went back into his chair with a bump. then he looked up, and saw bannon standing over him. the boss was trying to speak, but he had to wait a full minute before he could make himself heard. he glanced around and saw the look of appeal in hilda's eyes. "look here, boys," he said, when the room had grown quiet; "we aren't handing out any soft soap at this dinner. i won't let this man up till he promises to quit talking about me." there was another burst of laughter, and james shouted something that nobody understood. bannon looked down at him, and said quietly, and with a twinkle in his eye, but very firmly:-- "if you try that again, i'll throw you out of the window." james protested, and was allowed to get up. bannon slipped into his seat by hilda. "it's all right," he said in a low tone. "they won't know it now until we get out of here." his hand groped for hers under the table. james was irrepressible. he was shouting quickly now, in order to get the words out before bannon could reach him again. "how about this, boys? shall we stand it?" "no!" was the reply in chorus. "all right, then. three cheers for mr. bannon. now--hip, hip----" there was no stopping that response. transcriber's notes: text following a carat character (^) was superscript in the original (example: m^r). the following typographical errors were amended: in page "his nights were for some while like other men's now banlk ..." 'banlk' was changed to 'blank'. in page "if was plain, thus far, that i should have to get into india ..." 'if' was corrected to 'it'. the works of robert louis stevenson swanston edition volume xvi _of this swanston edition in twenty-five volumes of the works of robert louis stevenson two thousand and sixty copies have been printed, of which only two thousand copies are for sale._ _this is no._ ........... [illustration: r. l. s. in apemama island: a devil-priest making incantations] the works of robert louis stevenson volume sixteen london: published by chatto and windus: in association with cassell and company limited: william heinemann: and longmans green and company mdccccxii all rights reserved contents records of a family of engineers page introduction: the surname of stevenson i. domestic annals ii. the service of the northern lights iii. the building of the bell rock additional memories and portraits i. random memories: i. the coast of fife ii. random memories: ii. the education of an engineer iii. a chapter on dreams iv. beggars v. the lantern-bearers later essays i. fontainebleau: village communities of painters ii. a note on realism iii. on some technical elements of style in literature iv. the morality of the profession of letters v. books which have influenced me vi. the day after to-morrow vii. letter to a young gentleman who proposes to embrace the career of art viii. pulvis et umbra ix. a christmas sermon x. father damien: an open letter to the reverend dr. hyde of honolulu xi. my first book--"treasure island" xii. the genesis of "the master of ballantrae" xiii. random memories: _rosa quo locorum_ xiv. reflections and remarks on human life xv. the ideal house lay morals prayers written for family use at vailima records of a family of engineers records of a family of engineers introduction the surname of stevenson from the thirteenth century onwards, the name, under the various disguises of stevinstoun, stevensoun, stevensonne, stenesone, and stewinsoune, spread across scotland from the mouth of the firth of forth to the mouth of the firth of clyde. four times at least it occurs as a place-name. there is a parish of stevenston in cunningham; a second place of the name in the barony of bothwell in lanark; a third on lyne, above drochil castle; the fourth on the tyne, near traprain law. stevenson of stevenson (co. lanark) swore fealty to edward i. in , and the last of that family died after the restoration. stevensons of hirdmanshiels, in midlothian, rode in the bishops' raid of aberlady, served as jurors, stood bail for neighbours--hunter of polwood, for instance--and became extinct about the same period, or possibly earlier. a stevenson of luthrie and another of pitroddie make their bows, give their names, and vanish. and by the year it does not appear that any acre of scots land was vested in any stevenson.[ ] here is, so far, a melancholy picture of backward progress, and a family posting towards extinction. but the law (however administered, and i am bound to aver that, in scotland "it couldna weel be waur") acts as a kind of dredge, and with dispassionate impartiality brings up into the light of day, and shows us for a moment, in the jury-box or on the gallows, the creeping things of the past. by these broken glimpses we are able to trace the existence of many other and more inglorious stevensons, picking a private way through the brawl that makes scots history. they were members of parliament for peebles, stirling, pittenweem, kilrenny, and inverurie. we find them burgesses of edinburgh; indwellers in biggar, perth, and dalkeith. thomas was the forester of newbattle park, gavin was a baker, john a maltman, francis a chirurgeon, and "schir william" a priest. in the feuds of humes and heatleys, cunninghams, montgomeries, mures, ogilvies, and turnbulls, we find them inconspicuously involved, and apparently getting rather better than they gave. schir william (reverend gentleman) was cruellie slaughtered on the links of kincraig in ; james ("in the mill-town of roberton"), murdered in ; archibald ("in gallowfarren"), killed with shots of pistols and hagbuts in . three violent deaths in about seventy years, against which we can only put the case of thomas, servant to hume of cowden knowes, who was arraigned with his two young masters for the death of the bastard of mellerstanes in . john ("in dalkeith") stood sentry without holyrood while the banded lords were despatching rizzio within. william, at the ringing of perth bell, ran before cowrie house "with ane sword, and, entering to the yearde, saw george craiggingilt with ane twa-handit sword and utheris nychtbouris; at quilk time james boig cryit ower ane wynds, 'awa hame! ye will all be hangit'"--a piece of advice which william took, and immediately "depairtit." john got a maid with child to him in biggar, and seemingly deserted her; she was hanged on the castle hill for infanticide, june ; and martin, elder in dalkeith, eternally disgraced the name by signing witness in a witch trial, . these are two of our black sheep.[ ] under the restoration, one stevenson was a bailie in edinburgh, and another the lessee of the canonmills. there were at the same period two physicians of the name in edinburgh, one of whom, dr. archibald, appears to have been a famous man in his day and generation. the court had continual need of him; it was he who reported, for instance, on the state of rumbold; and he was for some time in the enjoyment of a pension of a thousand pounds scots (about eighty pounds sterling) at a time when five hundred pounds is described as "an opulent future." i do not know if i should be glad or sorry that he failed to keep favour; but on th january (rather a cheerless new year's present) his pension was expunged.[ ] there need be no doubt, at least, of my exultation at the fact that he was knighted and recorded arms. not quite so genteel, but still in public life, hugh was under-clerk to the privy council, and liked being so extremely. i gather this from his conduct in september , when, with all the lords and their servants, he took the woful and soul-destroying test, swearing it "word by word upon his knees." and, behold! it was in vain, for hugh was turned out of his small post in .[ ] sir archibald and hugh were both plainly inclined to be trimmers; but there was one witness of the name of stevenson who held high the banner of the covenant--john, "land-labourer,[ ] in the parish of daily, in carrick," that "eminently pious man." he seems to have been a poor sickly soul, and shows himself disabled with scrofula, and prostrate and groaning aloud with fever; but the enthusiasm of the martyr burned high within him. "i was made to take joyfully the spoiling of my goods, and with pleasure for his name's sake wandered in deserts and in mountains, in dens and caves of the earth. i lay four months in the coldest season of the year in a haystack in my father's garden, and a whole february in the open fields not far from camragen, and this i did without the least prejudice from the night air; one night, when lying in the fields near to the carrick-miln, i was all covered with snow in the morning. many nights have i lain with pleasure in the churchyard of old daily, and made a grave my pillow; frequently have i resorted to the old walls about the glen, near to camragen, and there sweetly rested." the visible hand of god protected and directed him. dragoons were turned aside from the bramble-bush where he lay hidden. miracles were performed for his behoof. "i got a horse and a woman to carry the child, and came to the same mountain, where i wandered by the mist before; it is commonly known by the name of kellsrhins: when we came to go up the mountain, there came on a great rain, which we thought was the occasion of the child's weeping, and she wept so bitterly, that all we could do could not divert her from it, so that she was ready to burst. when we got to the top of the mountain, where the lord had been formerly kind to my soul in prayer, i looked round me for a stone, and espying one, i went and brought it. when the woman with me saw me set down the stone, she smiled, and asked what i was going to do with it. i told her i was going to set it up as my ebenezer, because hitherto, and in that place, the lord had formerly helped, and i hoped would yet help. the rain still continuing, the child weeping bitterly, i went to prayer, and no sooner did i cry to god, but the child gave over weeping, and when we got up from prayer, the rain was pouring down on every side, but in the way where we were to go there fell not one drop; the place not rained on was as big as an ordinary avenue." and so great a saint was the natural butt of satan's persecutions. "i retired to the fields for secret prayer about midnight. when i went to pray i was much straitened, and could not get one request, but 'lord pity,' 'lord help'; this i came over frequently; at length the terror of satan fell on me in a high degree, and all i could say even then was--'lord help.' i continued in the duty for some time, notwithstanding of this terror. at length i got up to my feet, and the terror still increased; then the enemy took me by the arm-pits, and seemed to lift me up by my arms. i saw a loch just before me, and i concluded he designed to throw me there by force; and had he got leave to do so, it might have brought a great reproach upon religion."[ ] but it was otherwise ordered, and the cause of piety escaped that danger.[ ] on the whole, the stevensons may be described as decent, reputable folk, following honest trades--millers, maltsters, and doctors, playing the character parts in the waverley novels with propriety, if without distinction; and to an orphan looking about him in the world for a potential ancestry, offering a plain and quite unadorned refuge, equally free from shame and glory. john, the land-labourer, is the one living and memorable figure, and he, alas! cannot possibly be more near than a collateral. it was on august , , that he heard mr. john welsh on the craigdowhill, and "took the heavens, earth, and sun in the firmament that was shining on us, as also the ambassador who made the offer, and _the clerk who raised the psalms_, to witness that i did give myself away to the lord in a personal and perpetual covenant never to be forgotten"; and already, in , the birth of my direct ascendant was registered in glasgow. so that i have been pursuing ancestors too far down; and john the land-labourer is debarred me, and i must relinquish from the trophies of my house his _rare soul-strengthening and comforting cordial_. it is the same case with the edinburgh bailie and the miller of the canonmills, worthy man! and with that public character, hugh the under-clerk, and more than all, with sir archibald, the physician, who recorded arms. and i am reduced to a family of inconspicuous maltsters in what was then the clean and handsome little city on the clyde. the name has a certain air of being norse. but the story of scottish nomenclature is confounded by a continual process of translation and half-translation from the gaelic which in olden days may have been sometimes reversed. roy becomes reid; gow, smith. a great highland clan uses the name of robertson; a sept in appin that of livingstone; maclean in glencoe answers to johnstone at lockerby. and we find such hybrids as macalexander for macallister. there is but one rule to be deduced: that however uncompromisingly saxon a name may appear, you can never be sure it does not designate a celt. my great-grandfather wrote the name _stevenson_ but pronounced it _steenson_, after the fashion of the immortal minstrel in "redgauntlet"; and this elision of a medial consonant appears a gaelic process; and, curiously enough, i have come across no less than two gaelic forms: _john macstophane cordinerius in crossraguel_, , and _william m'steen_ in dunskeith (co. ross), . stevenson, steenson, macstophane, m'steen: which is the original? which the translation? or were these separate creations of the patronymic, some english, some gaelic? the curiously compact territory in which we find them seated--ayr, lanark, peebles, stirling, perth, fife, and the lothians--would seem to forbid the supposition.[ ] "stevenson--or according to tradition of one of the proscribed of the clan macgregor, who was born among the willows or in a hill-side sheep-pen--'son of my love,' a heraldic bar sinister, but history reveals a reason for the birth among the willows far other than the sinister aspect of the name": these are the dark words of mr. cosmo innes; but history or tradition, being interrogated, tells a somewhat tangled tale. the heir of macgregor of glenorchy, murdered about by the argyll campbells, appears to have been the original "son of my love"; and his more loyal clansmen took the name to fight under. it may be supposed the story of their resistance became popular, and the name in some sort identified with the idea of opposition to the campbells. twice afterwards, on some renewed aggression, in and , we find the macgregors again banding themselves into a sept of "sons of my love"; and when the great disaster fell on them in , the whole original legend re-appears, and we have the heir of alaster of glenstrae born "among the willows" of a fugitive mother, and the more loyal clansmen again rallying under the name of stevenson. a story would not be told so often unless it had some base in fact; nor (if there were no bond at all between the red macgregors and the stevensons) would that extraneous and somewhat uncouth name be so much repeated in the legends of the children of the mist. but i am enabled, by my very lively and obliging correspondent, mr. george a. macgregor stevenson of new york, to give an actual instance. his grandfather, great-grandfather, great-great-grandfather, and great-great-great-grandfather, all used the names of macgregor and stevenson as occasion served; being perhaps macgregor by night and stevenson by day. the great-great-great-grandfather was a mighty man of his hands, marched with the clan in the 'forty-five, and returned with _spolia opima_ in the shape of a sword, which he had wrested from an officer in the retreat, and which is in the possession of my correspondent to this day. his great-grandson (the grandfather of my correspondent), being converted to methodism by some wayside preacher, discarded in a moment his name, his old nature, and his political principles, and with the zeal of a proselyte sealed his adherence to the protestant succession by baptising his next son george. this george became the publisher and editor of the _wesleyan times_. his children were brought up in ignorance of their highland pedigree; and my correspondent was puzzled to overhear his father speak of him as a true macgregor, and amazed to find, in rummaging about that peaceful and pious house, the sword of the hanoverian officer. after he was grown up and was better informed of his descent, "i frequently asked my father," he writes, "why he did not use the name of macgregor; his replies were significant, and give a picture of the man: 'it isn't a good _methodist_ name. you can use it, but it will do you no _good_.' yet the old gentleman, by way of pleasantry, used to announce himself to friends as 'colonel macgregor.'" here, then, are certain macgregors habitually using the name of stevenson, and at last, under the influence of methodism, adopting it entirely. doubtless a proscribed clan could not be particular; they took a name as a man takes an umbrella against a shower; as rob roy took campbell, and his son took drummond. but this case is different; stevenson was not taken and left--it was consistently adhered to. it does not in the least follow that all stevensons are of the clan alpin; but it does follow that some may be. and i cannot conceal from myself the possibility that james stevenson in glasgow, my first authentic ancestor, may have had a highland _alias_ upon his conscience and a claymore in his back parlour. to one more tradition i may allude, that we are somehow descended from a french barber-surgeon who came to st. andrews in the service of one of the cardinal beatons. no details were added. but the very name of france was so detested in my family for three generations, that i am tempted to suppose there may be something in it.[ ] footnotes: [ ] an error: stevensons owned at this date the barony of dolphingston in haddingtonshire, montgrennan in ayrshire, and several other lesser places. [ ] pitcairn's "criminal trials," at large.--[r. l. s.] [ ] fountainhall's "decisions," vol. i. pp. , , , , .--[r. l. s.] [ ] _ibid._ pp. , .--[r. l. s.] [ ] working farmer: fr. _laboureur_. [ ] this john stevenson was not the only "witness" of the name; other stevensons were actually killed during the persecutions, in the glen of trool, on pentland, etc.; and it is very possible that the author's own ancestor was one of the mounted party embodied by muir of caldwell, only a day too late for pentland. [ ] wodrow society's "select biographies," vol. ii.--[r. l. s.] [ ] though the districts here named are those in which the name of stevenson is most common, it is in point of fact far more wide-spread than the text indicates, and occurs from dumfries and berwickshire to aberdeen and orkney. [ ] mr. j.h. stevenson is satisfied that these speculations as to a possible norse, highland, or french origin are vain. all we know about the engineer family is that it was sprung from a stock of westland whigs settled in the latter part of the seventeenth century in the parish of neilston, as mentioned at the beginning of the next chapter. it may be noted that the ayrshire parish of stevenson, the lands of which are said to have received the name in the twelfth century, lies within thirteen miles south-west of this place. the lands of stevenson in lanarkshire first mentioned in the next century, in the ragman roll, lie within twenty miles east. chapter i domestic annals it is believed that in , james stevenson in nether carsewell, parish of neilston, county of renfrew, and presumably a tenant farmer, married one jean keir; and in , without doubt, there was born to these two a son robert, possibly a maltster in glasgow. in , robert married, for a second time, elizabeth cumming, and there was born to them, in , another robert, certainly a maltster in glasgow. in , robert the second married margaret fulton (margret, she called herself), by whom he had ten children, among whom were hugh, born february , and alan, born june . with these two brothers my story begins. their deaths were simultaneous; their lives unusually brief and full. tradition whispered me in childhood they were the owners of an islet near st. kitts; and it is certain they had risen to be at the head of considerable interests in the west indies, which hugh managed abroad and alan at home, at an age when others are still curveting a clerk's stool. my kinsman, mr. stevenson of stirling, has heard his father mention that there had been "something romantic" about alan's marriage: and, alas! he has forgotten what. it was early at least. his wife was jean, daughter of david lillie, a builder in glasgow, and several times "deacon of the wrights": the date of the marriage has not reached me: but on th june , when robert, the only child of the union, was born, the husband and father had scarce passed, or had not yet attained, his twentieth year. here was a youth making haste to give hostages to fortune. but this early scene of prosperity in love and business was on the point of closing. there hung in the house of this young family, and successively in those of my grandfather and father, an oil painting of a ship of many tons burthen. doubtless the brothers had an interest in the vessel; i was told she had belonged to them outright; and the picture was preserved through years of hardship, and remains to this day in the possession of the family, the only memorial of my great-grandsire alan. it was on this ship that he sailed on his last adventure, summoned to the west indies by hugh. an agent had proved unfaithful on a serious scale; and it used to be told me in my childhood how the brothers pursued him from one island to another in an open boat, were exposed to the pernicious dews of the tropics, and simultaneously struck down. the dates and places of their deaths (now before me) would seem to indicate a more scattered and prolonged pursuit: hugh, on the th april , in tobago, within sight of trinidad; alan, so late as may th, and so far away as "santt kittes," in the leeward islands--both, says the family bible, "of a fiver" (!). the death of hugh was probably announced by alan in a letter, to which we may refer the details of the open boat and the dew. thus, at least, in something like the course of post, both were called away, the one twenty-five, the other twenty-two; their brief generation became extinct, their short-lived house fell with them; and "in these lawless parts and lawless times"--the words are my grandfather's--their property was stolen or became involved. many years later, i understand some small recovery to have been made; but at the moment almost the whole means of the family seem to have perished with the young merchants. on the th april, eleven days after hugh stevenson, twenty-nine before alan, died david lillie, the deacon of the wrights; so that mother and son were orphaned in one month. thus, from a few scraps of paper bearing little beyond dates, we construct the outlines of the tragedy that shadowed the cradle of robert stevenson. jean lillie was a young woman of strong sense, well fitted to contend with poverty, and of a pious disposition, which it is like that these misfortunes heated. like so many other widowed scotswomen, she vowed her son should wag his head in a pulpit; but her means were inadequate to her ambition. a charity school, and some time under a mr. m'intyre, "a famous linguist," were all she could afford in the way of education to the would-be minister. he learned no greek; in one place he mentions that the orations of cicero were his highest book in latin; in another that he had "delighted" in virgil and horace; but his delight could never have been scholarly. this appears to have been the whole of his training previous to an event which changed his own destiny and moulded that of his descendants--the second marriage of his mother. there was a merchant-burgess of edinburgh of the name of thomas smith. the smith pedigree has been traced a little more particularly than the stevensons', with a similar dearth of illustrious names. one character seems to have appeared, indeed, for a moment at the wings of history: a skipper of dundee who smuggled over some jacobite big-wig at the time of the 'fifteen, and was afterwards drowned in dundee harbour while going on board his ship. with this exception, the generations of the smiths present no conceivable interest even to a descendant; and thomas, of edinburgh, was the first to issue from respectable obscurity. his father, a skipper out of broughty ferry, was drowned at sea while thomas was still young. he seems to have owned a ship or two--whalers, i suppose, or coasters--and to have been a member of the dundee trinity house, whatever that implies. on his death the widow remained in broughty, and the son came to push his future in edinburgh. there is a story told of him in the family which i repeat here because i shall have to tell later on a similar, but more perfectly authenticated, experience of his stepson, robert stevenson. word reached thomas that his mother was unwell, and he prepared to leave for broughty on the morrow. it was between two and three in the morning, and the early northern daylight was already clear, when he awoke and beheld the curtains at the bed-foot drawn aside and his mother appear in the interval, smile upon him for a moment, and then vanish. the sequel is stereotype: he took the time by his watch, and arrived at broughty to learn it was the very moment of her death. the incident is at least curious in having happened to such a person--as the tale is being told of him. in all else, he appears as a man, ardent, passionate, practical, designed for affairs and prospering in them far beyond the average. he founded a solid business in lamps and oils, and was the sole proprietor of a concern called the greenside company's works--"a multifarious concern it was," writes my cousin, professor swan, "of tinsmiths, coppersmiths, brassfounders, blacksmiths, and japanners." he was also, it seems, a shipowner and underwriter. he built himself "a land"--nos. and baxter's place, then no such unfashionable neighbourhood--and died, leaving his only son in easy circumstances, and giving to his three surviving daughters portions of five thousand pounds and upwards. there is no standard of success in life; but in one of its meanings, this is to succeed. in what we know of his opinions, he makes a figure highly characteristic of the time. a high tory and patriot, a captain--so i find it in my notes--of edinburgh spearmen, and on duty in the castle during the muir and palmer troubles, he bequeathed to his descendants a bloodless sword and a somewhat violent tradition, both long preserved. the judge who sat on muir and palmer, the famous braxfield, let fall from the bench the _obiter dictum_--"i never liked the french all my days, but now i hate them." if thomas smith, the edinburgh spearman, were in court, he must have been tempted to applaud. the people of that land were his abhorrence; he loathed buonaparte like antichrist. towards the end he fell into a kind of dotage; his family must entertain him with games of tin soldiers, which he took a childish pleasure to array and overset; but those who played with him must be upon their guard, for if his side, which was always that of the english against the french, should chance to be defeated, there would be trouble in baxter's place. for these opinions he may almost be said to have suffered. baptised and brought up in the church of scotland, he had, upon some conscientious scruple, joined the communion of the baptists. like other nonconformists, these were inclined to the liberal side in politics, and, at least in the beginning, regarded buonaparte as a deliverer. from the time of his joining the spearmen, thomas smith became in consequence a bugbear to his brethren in the faith. "they that take the sword shall perish with the sword," they told him; they gave him "no rest"; "his position became intolerable"; it was plain he must choose between his political and his religious tenets; and in the last years of his life, about , he returned to the church of his fathers. august was the date of his chief advancement, when, having designed a system of oil lights to take the place of the primitive coal fires before in use, he was dubbed engineer to the newly-formed board of northern lighthouses. not only were his fortunes bettered by the appointment, but he was introduced to a new and wider field for the exercise of his abilities, and a new way of life highly agreeable to his active constitution. he seems to have rejoiced in the long journeys, and to have combined them with the practice of field sports. "a tall, stout man coming ashore with his gun over his arm"--so he was described to my father--the only description that has come down to me--by a light-keeper old in the service. nor did this change come alone. on the th july of the same year, thomas smith had been left for the second time a widower. as he was still but thirty-three years old, prospering in his affairs, newly advanced in the world, and encumbered at the time with a family of children, five in number, it was natural that he should entertain the notion of another wife. expeditious in business, he was no less so in his choice; and it was not later than june --for my grandfather is described as still in his fifteenth year--that he married the widow of alan stevenson. the perilous experiment of bringing together two families for once succeeded. mr. smith's two eldest daughters, jean and janet, fervent in piety, unwearied in kind deeds, were well qualified both to appreciate and to attract the stepmother; and her son, on the other hand, seems to have found immediate favour in the eyes of mr. smith. it is, perhaps, easy to exaggerate the ready-made resemblances; the tired woman must have done much to fashion girls who were under ten; the man, lusty and opinionated, must have stamped a strong impression on the boy of fifteen. but the cleavage of the family was too marked, the identity of character and interest produced between the two men on the one hand, and the three women on the other, was too complete to have been the result of influence alone. particular bonds of union must have pre-existed on each side. and there is no doubt that the man and the boy met with common ambitions, and a common bent, to the practice of that which had not so long before acquired the name of civil engineering. for the profession which is now so thronged, famous, and influential, was then a thing of yesterday. my grandfather had an anecdote of smeaton, probably learned from john clerk of eldin, their common friend. smeaton was asked by the duke of argyll to visit the west highland coast for a professional purpose. he refused, appalled, it seems, by the rough travelling. "you can recommend some other fit person?" asked the duke. "no," said smeaton, "i'm sorry i can't." "what!" cried the duke, "a profession with only one man in it! pray, who taught you?" "why," said smeaton, "i believe i may say i was self-taught, an't please your grace." smeaton, at the date of thomas smith's third marriage, was yet living; and as the one had grown to the new profession from his place at the instrument-maker's, the other was beginning to enter it by the way of his trade. the engineer of to-day is confronted with a library of acquired results; tables and formulæ to the value of folios full have been calculated and recorded; and the student finds everywhere in front of him the footprints of the pioneers. in the eighteenth century the field was largely unexplored; the engineer must read with his own eyes the face of nature; he arose a volunteer, from the workshop or the mill, to undertake works which were at once inventions and adventures. it was not a science then--it was a living art; and it visibly grew under the eyes and between the hands of its practitioners. the charm of such an occupation was strongly felt by stepfather and stepson. it chanced that thomas smith was a reformer; the superiority of his proposed lamp and reflectors over open fires of coal secured his appointment; and no sooner had he set his hand to the task than the interest of that employment mastered him. the vacant stage on which he was to act, and where all had yet to be created--the greatness of the difficulties, the smallness of the means intrusted him--would rouse a man of his disposition like a call to battle. the lad introduced by marriage under his roof was of a character to sympathise; the public usefulness of the service would appeal to his judgment, the perpetual need for fresh expedients stimulate his ingenuity. and there was another attraction which, in the younger man at least, appealed to, and perhaps first aroused a profound and enduring sentiment of romance: i mean the attraction of the life. the seas into which his labours carried the new engineer were still scarce charted, the coasts still dark; his way on shore was often far beyond the convenience of any road; the isles in which he must sojourn were still partly savage. he must toss much in boats; he must often adventure on horseback by the dubious bridle-track through unfrequented wildernesses; he must sometimes plant his lighthouse in the very camp of wreckers; and he was continually enforced to the vicissitudes of outdoor life. the joy of my grandfather in this career was strong as the love of woman. it lasted him through youth and manhood, it burned strong in age, and at the approach of death his last yearning was to renew these loved experiences. what he felt himself he continued to attribute to all around him. and to this supposed sentiment in others i find him continually, almost pathetically, appealing: often in vain. snared by these interests, the boy seems to have become almost at once the eager confidant and adviser of his new connection; the church, if he had ever entertained the prospect very warmly, faded from his view; and at the age of nineteen i find him already in a post of some authority, superintending the construction of the lighthouse on the isle of little cumbrae, in the firth of clyde. the change of aim seems to have caused or been accompanied by a change of character. it sounds absurd to couple the name of my grandfather with the word indolence; but the lad who had been destined from the cradle to the church, and who had attained the age of fifteen without acquiring more than a moderate knowledge of latin, was at least no unusual student. and from the day of his charge at little cumbrae he steps before us what he remained until the end, a man of the most zealous industry, greedy of occupation, greedy of knowledge, a stern husband of time, a reader, a writer, unflagging in his task of self-improvement. thenceforward his summers were spent directing works and ruling workmen, now in uninhabited, now in half-savage islands; his winters were set apart, first at the andersonian institution, then at the university of edinburgh to improve himself in mathematics, chemistry, natural history, agriculture, moral philosophy, and logic; a bearded student--although no doubt scrupulously shaved. i find one reference to his years in class which will have a meaning for all who have studied in scottish universities. he mentions a recommendation made by the professor of logic. "the high-school men," he writes, "and _bearded men like myself_, were all attention." if my grandfather were throughout life a thought too studious of the art of getting on, much must be forgiven to the bearded and belated student who looked across, with a sense of difference, at "the high-school men." here was a gulf to be crossed; but already he could feel that he had made a beginning, and that must have been a proud hour when he devoted his earliest earnings to the repayment of the charitable foundation in which he had received the rudiments of knowledge. in yet another way he followed the example of his father-in-law, and from to , when the affairs of the bell rock made it necessary for him to resign, he served in different corps of volunteers. in the last of these he rose to a position of distinction, no less than captain of the grenadier company, and his colonel, in accepting his resignation, entreated he would do them "the favour of continuing as an honorary member of a corps which has been so much indebted for your zeal and exertions." to very pious women the men of the house are apt to appear worldly. the wife, as she puts on her new bonnet before church, is apt to sigh over that assiduity which enabled her husband to pay the milliner's bill. and in the household of the smiths and stevensons the women were not only extremely pious, but the men were in reality a trifle worldly. religious they both were; conscious, like all scots, of the fragility and unreality of that scene in which we play our uncomprehended parts; like all scots, realising daily and hourly the sense of another will than ours and a perpetual direction in the affairs of life. but the current of their endeavours flowed in a more obvious channel. they had got on so far; to get on further was their next ambition--to gather wealth, to rise in society, to leave their descendants higher than themselves, to be (in some sense) among the founders of families. scott was in the same town nourishing similar dreams. but in the eyes of the women these dreams would be foolish and idolatrous. i have before me some volumes of old letters addressed to mrs. smith and the two girls, her favourites, which depict in a strong light their characters and the society in which they moved. "my very dear and much esteemed friend," writes one correspondent, "this day being the anniversary of our acquaintance, i feel inclined to address you; but where shall i find words to express the fealings of a graitful _heart_, first to the lord who graiciously inclined you on this day last year to notice an afflicted strainger providentially cast in your way far from any earthly friend?... methinks i shall hear him say unto you, 'inasmuch as ye shewed kindness to my afflicted handmaiden, ye did it unto me.'" this is to jean; but the same afflicted lady wrote indifferently to jean, to janet, and to mrs. smith, whom she calls "my edinburgh mother." it is plain the three were as one person, moving to acts of kindness, like the graces, inarmed. too much stress must not be laid on the style of this correspondence; clarinda survived, not far away, and may have met the ladies on the calton hill; and many of the writers appear, underneath the conventions of the period, to be genuinely moved. but what unpleasantly strikes a reader is that these devout unfortunates found a revenue in their devotion. it is everywhere the same tale: on the side of the soft-hearted ladies, substantial acts of help; on the side of the correspondents, affection, italics, texts, ecstasies, and imperfect spelling. when a midwife is recommended, not at all for proficiency in her important art, but because she has "a sister whom i [the correspondent] esteem and respect, and [who] is a spiritual daughter of my hon^d father in the gosple," the mask seems to be torn off, and the wages of godliness appear too openly. capacity is a secondary matter in a midwife, temper in a servant, affection in a daughter, and the repetition of a shibboleth fulfils the law. common decency is at times forgot in the same page with the most sanctified advice and aspiration. thus i am introduced to a correspondent who appears to have been at the time the housekeeper at invermay, and who writes to condole with my grandmother in a season of distress. for nearly half a sheet she keeps to the point with an excellent discretion in language; then suddenly breaks out: "it was fully my intention to have left this at martinmass, but the lord fixes the bounds of our habitation. i have had more need of patience in my situation here than in any other, partly from the very violent, unsteady, deceitful temper of the mistress of the family, and also from the state of the house. it was in a train of repair when i came here two years ago, and is still in confusion. there is above six thousand pounds' worth of furniture come from london to be put up when the rooms are completely finished; and then, woe be to the person who is housekeeper at invermay!" and by the tail of the document, which is torn, i see she goes on to ask the bereaved family to seek her a new place. it is extraordinary that people should have been so deceived in so careless an impostor; that a few sprinkled "god willings" should have blinded them to the essence of this venomous letter; and that they should have been at the pains to bind it in with others (many of them highly touching) in their memorial of harrowing days. but the good ladies were without guile and without suspicion; they were victims marked for the axe, and the religious impostors snuffed up the wind as they drew near. i have referred above to my grandmother; it was no slip of the pen: for by an extraordinary arrangement, in which it is hard not to suspect the managing hand of a mother, jean smith became the wife of robert stevenson. mrs. smith had failed in her design to make her son a minister, and she saw him daily more immersed in business and worldly ambition. one thing remained that she might do: she might secure for him a godly wife, that great means of sanctification; and she had two under her hand, trained by herself, her dear friends and daughters both in law and love--jean and janet. jean's complexion was extremely pale, janet's was florid; my grandmother's nose was straight, my great-aunt's aquiline; but by the sound of the voice, not even a son was able to distinguish one from other. the marriage of a man of twenty-seven and a girl of twenty who have lived for twelve years as brother and sister, is difficult to conceive. it took place, however, and thus in the family was still further cemented by the union of a representative of the male or worldly element with one of the female and devout. this essential difference remained unbridged, yet never diminished the strength of their relation. my grandfather pursued his design of advancing in the world with some measure of success; rose to distinction in his calling, grew to be the familiar of members of parliament, judges of the court of session, and "landed gentlemen"; learned a ready address, had a flow of interesting conversation, and when he was referred to as "a highly respectable _bourgeois_," resented the description. my grandmother remained to the end devout and unambitious, occupied with her bible, her children, and her house; easily shocked, and associating largely with a clique of godly parasites. i do not know if she called in the midwife already referred to; but the principle on which that lady was recommended, she accepted fully. the cook was a godly woman, the butcher a christian man, and the table suffered. the scene has been often described to me of my grandfather sawing with darkened countenance at some indissoluble joint--"preserve me, my dear, what kind of a reedy, stringy beast is this?"--of the joint removed, the pudding substituted and uncovered; and of my grandmother's anxious glance and hasty, deprecatory comment, "just mismanaged!" yet with the invincible obstinacy of soft natures, she would adhere to the godly woman and the christian man, or find others of the same kidney to replace them. one of her confidants had once a narrow escape; an unwieldy old woman, she had fallen from an outside stair in a close of the old town; and my grandmother rejoiced to communicate the providential circumstance that a baker had been passing underneath with his bread upon his head. "i would like to know what kind of providence the baker thought it!" cried my grandfather. but the sally must have been unique. in all else that i have heard or read of him, so far from criticising, he was doing his utmost to honour and even to emulate his wife's pronounced opinions. in the only letter which has come to my hand of thomas smith's, i find him informing his wife that he was "in time for afternoon church "; similar assurances or cognate excuses abound in the correspondence of robert stevenson; and it is comical and pretty to see the two generations paying the same court to a female piety more highly strung: thomas smith to the mother of robert stevenson--robert stevenson to the daughter of thomas smith. and if for once my grandfather suffered himself to be hurried, by his sense of humour and justice, into that remark about the case of providence and the baker, i should be sorry for any of his children who should have stumbled into the same attitude of criticism. in the apocalyptic style of the housekeeper of invermay, woe be to that person! but there was no fear; husband and sons all entertained for the pious, tender soul the same chivalrous and moved affection. i have spoken with one who remembered her, and who had been the intimate and equal of her sons, and i found this witness had been struck, as i had been, with a sense of disproportion between the warmth of the adoration felt and the nature of the woman, whether as described or observed. she diligently read and marked her bible; she was a tender nurse; she had a sense of humour under strong control; she talked and found some amusement at her (or rather at her husband's) dinner-parties. it is conceivable that even my grandmother was amenable to the seductions of dress; at least i find her husband inquiring anxiously about "the gowns from glasgow," and very careful to describe the toilet of the princess charlotte, whom he had seen in church "in a pelisse and bonnet of the same colour of cloth as the boys' dress jackets, trimmed with blue satin ribbons; the hat or bonnet, mr. spittal said, was a parisian slouch, and had a plume of three white feathers." but all this leaves a blank impression, and it is rather by reading backward in these old musty letters, which have moved me now to laughter and now to impatience, that i glean occasional glimpses of how she seemed to her contemporaries, and trace (at work in her queer world of godly and grateful parasites) a mobile and responsive nature. fashion moulds us, and particularly women, deeper than we sometimes think; but a little while ago, and, in some circles, women stood or fell by the degree of their appreciation of old pictures; in the early years of the century (and surely with more reason) a character like that of my grandmother warmed, charmed, and subdued, like a strain of music, the hearts of the men of her own household. and there is little doubt that mrs. smith, as she looked on at the domestic life of her son and her step-daughter, and numbered the heads in their increasing nursery, must have breathed fervent thanks to her creator. yet this was to be a family unusually tried; it was not for nothing that one of the godly women saluted miss janet smith as "a veteran in affliction"; and they were all before middle life experienced in that form of service. by the st of january , besides a pair of still-born twins, five children had been born and still survived to the young couple. by the th two were gone; by the th a third had followed, and the two others were still in danger. in the letters of a former nurserymaid--i give her name, jean mitchell, _honoris causa_--we are enabled to feel, even at this distance of time, some of the bitterness of that month of bereavement. "i have this day received," she writes to miss janet, "the melancholy news of my dear babys' deaths. my heart is like to break for my dear mrs. stevenson. o may she be supported on this trying occasion! i hope her other three babys will be spared to her. o, miss smith, did i think when i parted from my sweet babys that i never was to see them more?" "i received," she begins her next, "the mournful news of my dear jessie's death. i also received the hair of my three sweet babys, which i will preserve as dear to their memorys and as a token of mr. and mrs. stevenson's friendship and esteem. at my leisure hours, when the children are in bed, they occupy all my thoughts, i dream of them. about two weeks ago, i dreamed that my sweet little jessie came running to me in her usual way, and i took her in my arms. o my dear babys, were mortal eyes permitted to see them in heaven, we would not repine nor grieve for their loss." by the th of february, the reverend john campbell, a man of obvious sense and human value, but hateful to the present biographer, because he wrote so many letters and conveyed so little information, summed up this first period of affliction in a letter to miss smith: "your dear sister but a little while ago had a full nursery, and the dear blooming creatures sitting around her table filled her breast with hope that one day they should fill active stations in society and become an ornament in the church below. but ah!" near a hundred years ago these little creatures ceased to be, and for not much less a period the tears have been dried. and to this day, looking in these stitched sheaves of letters, we hear the sound of many soft-hearted women sobbing for the lost. never was such a massacre of the innocents; teething and chincough and scarlet fever and small-pox ran the round; and little lillies, and smiths, and stevensons fell like moths about a candle; and nearly all the sympathetic correspondents deplore and recall the little losses of their own. "it is impossible to describe the heavnly looks of the dear babe the three last days of his life," writes mrs. laurie to mrs. smith. "never--never, my dear aunt, could i wish to eface the rememberance of this dear child. never, never, my dear aunt!" and so soon the memory of the dead and the dust of the survivors are buried in one grave. there was another death in ; it passes almost unremarked; a single funeral seemed but a small event to these "veterans in affliction"; and by the nursery was full again. seven little hopefuls enlivened the house; some were growing up; to the elder girl my grandfather already wrote notes in current hand at the tail of his letters to his wife: and to the elder boys he had begun to print, with laborious care, sheets of childish gossip and pedantic applications. here, for instance, under date of may th, , is part of a mythological account of london, with a moral for the three gentlemen, "messieurs alan, robert, and james stevenson," to whom the document is addressed: "there are many prisons here like bridewell, for, like other large towns, there are many bad men here as well as many good men. the natives of london are in general not so tall and strong as the people of edinburgh, because they have not so much pure air, and instead of taking porridge they eat cakes made with sugar and plums. here you have thousands of carts to draw timber, thousands of coaches to take you to all parts of the town, and thousands of boats to sail on the river thames. but you must have money to pay, otherwise you can get nothing. now the way to get money is, become clever men and men of education, by being good scholars." from the same absence, he writes to his wife on a sunday: "it is now about eight o'clock with me, and i imagine you to be busy with the young folks, hearing the questions [_anglicé_, catechism], and indulging the boys with a chapter from the large bible, with their interrogations and your answers in the soundest doctrine. i hope james is getting his verse as usual, and that mary is not forgetting her little _hymn_. while jeannie will be reading wotherspoon, or some other suitable and instructive book, i presume our friend, aunt mary, will have just arrived with the news of a _throng kirk_ [a crowded church] and a great sermon. you may mention, with my compliments to my mother, that i was at st. paul's to-day, and attended a very excellent service with mr. james lawrie. the text was 'examine and see that ye be in the faith.'" a twinkle of humour lights up this evocation of the distant scene--the humour of happy men and happy homes. yet it is penned upon the threshold of fresh sorrow. james and mary--he of the verse and she of the hymn--did not much more than survive to welcome their returning father. on the th, one of the godly women writes to janet: "my dearest beloved madam, when i last parted from you, you was so affected with your affliction [you? or i?] could think of nothing else. but on saturday, when i went to inquire after your health, how was i startled to hear that dear james was gone! ah, what is this? my dear benefactors, doing so much good to many, to the lord, suddenly to be deprived of their most valued comforts? i was thrown into great perplexity, could do nothing but murmur, why these things were done to such a family. i could not rest, but at midnight, whether spoken [or not] it was presented to my mind--'those whom ye deplore are walking with me in white.' i conclude from this the lord saying to sweet mrs. stevenson: 'i gave them to be brought up for me: well done, good and faithful! they are fully prepared, and now i must present them to my father and your father, to my god and your god.'" it would be hard to lay on flattery with a more sure and daring hand. i quote it as a model of a letter of condolence; be sure it would console. very different, perhaps quite as welcome, is this from a lighthouse inspector to my grandfather: "in reading your letter the trickling tear ran down my cheeks in silent sorrow for your departed dear ones, my sweet little friends. well do i remember, and you will call to mind, their little innocent and interesting stories. often have they come round me and taken me by the hand, but alas! i am no more destined to behold them." the child who is taken becomes canonised, and the looks of the homeliest babe seem in the retrospect "heavenly the three last days of his life." but it appears that james and mary had indeed been children more than usually engaging; a record was preserved a long while in the family of their remarks and "little innocent and interesting stories," and the blow and the blank were the more sensible. early the next month robert stevenson must proceed upon his voyage of inspection, part by land, part by sea. he left his wife plunged in low spirits; the thought of his loss, and still more of her concern, was continually present in his mind, and he draws in his letters home an interesting picture of his family relations:-- "_windygates inn, monday (postmark july th)._ "my dearest jeannie,--while the people of the inn are getting me a little bit of something to eat, i sit down to tell you that i had a most excellent passage across the water, and got to wemyss at mid-day. i hope the children will be very good, and that robert will take a course with you to learn his latin lessons daily; he may, however, read english in company. let them have strawberries on saturdays." "_westhaven, th july._ "i have been occupied to-day at the harbour of newport, opposite dundee, and am this far on my way to arbroath. you may tell the boys that i slept last night in mr. steadman's tent. i found my bed rather hard, but the lodgings were otherwise extremely comfortable. the encampment is on the fife side of the tay, immediately opposite to dundee. from the door of the tent you command the most beautiful view of the firth, both up and down, to a great extent. at night all was serene and still, the sky presented the most beautiful appearance of bright stars, and the morning was ushered in with the song of many little birds." "_aberdeen, july th._ "i hope, my dear, that you are going out of doors regularly and taking much exercise. i would have you to _make the markets daily_--and by all means to take a seat in the coach once or twice in the week and see what is going on in town. [the family were at the sea-side.] it will be good not to be too great a stranger to the house. it will be rather painful at first, but as it is to be done, i would have you not to be too strange to the house in town. "tell the boys that i fell in with a soldier--his name is henderson--who was twelve years with lord wellington and other commanders. he returned very lately with only eightpence-halfpenny in his pocket, and found his father and mother both in life, though they had never heard from him, nor he from them. he carried my great-coat and umbrella a few miles." "_fraserburgh, july th._ "fraserburgh is the same dull place which [auntie] mary and jeannie found it. as i am travelling along the coast which they are acquainted with, you had better cause robert bring down the map from edinburgh: and it will be a good exercise in geography for the young folks to trace my course. i hope they have entered upon the writing. the library will afford abundance of excellent books, which i wish you would employ a little. i hope you are doing me the favour to go much out with the boys, which will do you much good and prevent them from getting so very much over-heated." [_to the boys--printed._] "when i had last the pleasure of writing to you, your dear little brother james and your sweet little sister mary were still with us. but it has pleased god to remove them to another and a better world, and we must submit to the will of providence. i must, however, request of you to think sometimes upon them, and to be very careful not to do anything that will displease or vex your mother. it is therefore proper that you do not roamp [scottish indeed] too much about, and that you learn your lessons. "i went to fraserburgh and visited kinnaird head lighthouse, which i found in good order. all this time i travelled upon good roads, and paid many a toll-man by the way; but from fraserburgh to banff there is no toll-bars, and the road is so bad that i had to walk up and down many a hill, and for want of bridges the horses had to drag the chaise up to the middle of the wheels in water. at banff i saw a large ship of tons lying on the sands upon her beam-ends, and a wreck for want of a good harbour. captain wilson--to whom i beg my compliments---will show you a ship of tons. at the towns of macduff, banff, and portsoy, many of the houses are built of marble, and the rocks on this part of the coast or sea-side are marble. but, my dear boys, unless marble be polished and dressed, it is a very coarse-looking stone, and has no more beauty than common rock. as a proof of this, ask the favour of your mother to take you to thomson's marble works in south leith, and you will see marble in all its stages, and perhaps you may there find portsoy marble! the use i wish to make of this is to tell you that, without education, a man is just like a block of rough, unpolished marble. notice, in proof of this, how much mr. neill and mr. m'gregor [the tutor] know, and observe how little a man knows who is not a good scholar. on my way to fochabers i passed through many thousand acres of fir timber, and saw many deer running in these woods." [_to mrs. stevenson._] "_inverness, july st._ "i propose going to church in the afternoon, and as i have breakfasted late, i shall afterwards take a walk, and dine about six o'clock. i do not know who is the clergyman here, but i shall think of you all. i travelled in the mail-coach [from banff] almost alone. while it was daylight i kept the top, and the passing along a country i had never before seen was a considerable amusement. but, my dear, you are all much in my thoughts, and many are the objects which recall the recollection of our tender and engaging children we have so recently lost. we must not, however, repine. i could not for a moment wish any change of circumstances in their case; and in every comparative view of their state, i see the lord's goodness in removing them from an evil world to an abode of bliss; and i must earnestly hope that you may be enabled to take such a view of this affliction as to live in the happy prospect of our all meeting again to part no more--and that under such considerations you are getting up your spirits. i wish you would walk about, and by all means go to town, and do not sit much at home." "_inverness, july rd._ "i am duly favoured with your much-valued letter, and i am happy to find that you are so much with my mother, because that sort of variety has a tendency to occupy the mind, and to keep it from brooding too much upon one subject. sensibility and tenderness are certainly two of the most interesting and pleasing qualities of the mind. these qualities are also none of the least of the many endearingments of the female character. but if that kind of sympathy and pleasing melancholy, which is familiar to us under distress, be much indulged, it becomes habitual, and takes such a hold of the mind as to absorb all the other affections, and unfit us for the duties and proper enjoyments of life. resignation sinks into a kind of peevish discontent. i am far, however, from thinking there is the least danger of this in your case, my dear; for you have been on all occasions enabled to look upon the fortunes of this life as under the direction of a higher power, and have always preserved that propriety and consistency of conduct in all circumstances which endears your example to your family in particular, and to your friends. i am therefore, my dear, for you to go out much, and to go to the house up-stairs [he means to go up-stairs in the house, to visit the place of the dead children], and to put yourself in the way of the visits of your friends. i wish you would call on the miss grays, and it would be a good thing upon a saturday to dine with my mother, and take meggy and all the family with you, and let them have their strawberries in town. the tickets of one of the _old-fashioned coaches_ would take you all up, and if the evening were good, they could all walk down, excepting meggy and little david." "_inverness, july th, p.m._ "captain wemyss, of wemyss, has come to inverness to go the voyage with me, and as we are sleeping in a double-bedded room, i must no longer transgress. you must remember me the best way you can to the children." "_on board of the lighthouse yacht, july th._ "i got to cromarty yesterday about mid-day, and went to church. it happened to be the sacrament there, and i heard a mr. smith at that place conclude the service with a very suitable exhortation. there seemed a great concourse of people, but they had rather an unfortunate day for them at the tent, as it rained a good deal. after drinking tea at the inn, captain wemyss accompanied me on board, and we sailed about eight last night. the wind at present being rather a beating one, i think i shall have an opportunity of standing into the bay of wick, and leaving this letter to let you know my progress and that i am well." "_lighthouse yacht, stornoway, august th_ "to-day we had prayers on deck as usual when at sea. i read the th chapter, i think, of job. captain wemyss has been in the habit of doing this on board his own ship, agreeably to the articles of war. our passage round the cape [cape wrath] was rather a cross one, and as the wind was northerly, we had a pretty heavy sea, but upon the whole have made a good passage, leaving many vessels behind us in orkney. i am quite well, my dear; and captain wemyss, who has much spirit, and who is much given to observation, and a perfect enthusiast in his profession, enlivens the voyage greatly. let me entreat you to move about much, and take a walk with the boys to leith. i think they have still many places to see there, and i wish you would indulge them in this respect. mr. scales is the best person i know for showing them the sailcloth-weaving, etc., and he would have great pleasure in undertaking this. my dear, i trust soon to be with you, and that through the goodness of god we shall meet all well. "there are two vessels lying here with emigrants for america, each with eighty people on board, at all ages, from a few days to upwards of sixty! their prospects must be very forlorn to go with a slender purse for distant and unknown countries." "_lighthouse yacht, off greenock, aug. th._ "it was after _church-time_ before we got here, but we had prayers upon deck on the way up the clyde. this has, upon the whole, been a very good voyage, and captain wemyss, who enjoys it much, has been an excellent companion; we met with pleasure, and shall part with regret." strange that, after his long experience, my grandfather should have learned so little of the attitude and even the dialect of the spiritually-minded; that after forty-four years in a most religious circle, he could drop without sense of incongruity from a period of accepted phrases to "trust his wife was _getting up her spirits_," or think to reassure her as to the character of captain wemyss by mentioning that he had read prayers on the deck of his frigate "_agreeably to the articles of war"_! yet there is no doubt--and it is one of the most agreeable features of the kindly series--that he was doing his best to please, and there is little doubt that he succeeded. almost all my grandfather's private letters have been destroyed. this correspondence has not only been preserved entire, but stitched up in the same covers with the works of the godly women, the reverend john campbell, and the painful mrs. ogle. i did not think to mention the good dame, but she comes in usefully as an example. amongst the treasures of the ladies of my family, her letters have been honoured with a volume to themselves. i read about a half of them myself; then handed over the task to one of stauncher resolution, with orders to communicate any fact that should be found to illuminate these pages. not one was found; it was her only art to communicate by post second-rate sermons at second-hand; and such, i take it, was the correspondence in which my grandmother delighted. if i am right, that of robert stevenson, with his quaint smack of the contemporary "sandford and merton," his interest in the whole page of experience, his perpetual quest, and fine scent of all that seems romantic to a boy, his needless pomp of language, his excellent good sense, his unfeigned, unstained, unwearied human kindliness, would seem to her, in a comparison, dry and trivial and worldly. and if these letters were by an exception cherished and preserved, it would be for one or both of two reasons--because they dealt with and were bitter-sweet reminders of a time of sorrow; or because she was pleased, perhaps touched, by the writer's guileless efforts to seem spiritually-minded. after this date there were two more births and two more deaths, so that the number of the family remained unchanged; in all five children survived to reach maturity and to outlive their parents. chapter ii the service of the northern lights i it were hard to imagine a contrast more sharply defined than that between the lives of the men and women of this family: the one so chambered, so centred in the affections and the sensibilities; the other so active, healthy, and expeditious. from may to november, thomas smith and robert stevenson were on the mail, in the saddle, or at sea; and my grandfather, in particular, seems to have been possessed with a demon of activity in travel. in , by direction of the northern lighthouse board, he had visited the coast of england from st. bees, in cumberland, and round by the scilly islands to some place undecipherable by me; in all a distance of miles. in i find him starting "on a tour round the south coast of england, from the humber to the severn." peace was not long declared ere he found means to visit holland, where he was in time to see, in the navy-yard at helvoetsluys, "about twenty of bonaparte's _english flotilla_ lying in a state of decay, the object of curiosity to englishmen." by he seems to have been acquainted with the coast of france from dieppe to bordeaux; and a main part of his duty as engineer to the board of northern lights was one round of dangerous and laborious travel. in , when thomas smith first received the appointment, the extended and formidable coast of scotland was lighted at a single point--the isle of may, in the jaws of the firth of forth, where, on a tower already a hundred and fifty years old, an open coal-fire blazed in an iron chauffer. the whole archipelago, thus nightly plunged in darkness, was shunned by sea-going vessels, and the favourite courses were north about shetland and west about st. kilda. when the board met, four new lights formed the extent of their intentions--kinnaird head, in aberdeenshire, at the eastern elbow of the coast; north ronaldsay, in orkney, to keep the north and guide ships passing to the south'ard of shetland; island glass, on harris, to mark the inner shore of the hebrides and illuminate the navigation of the minch; and the mull of kintyre. these works were to be attempted against obstacles, material and financial, that might have staggered the most bold. smith had no ship at his command till ; the roads in those outlandish quarters where his business lay were scarce passable when they existed, and the tower on the mull of kintyre stood eleven months unlighted while the apparatus toiled and foundered by the way among rocks and mosses. not only had towers to be built and apparatus transplanted, the supply of oil must be maintained, and the men fed, in the same inaccessible and distant scenes; a whole service, with its routine and hierarchy, had to be called out of nothing; and a new trade (that of lightkeeper) to be taught, recruited, and organised. the funds of the board were at the first laughably inadequate. they embarked on their career on a loan of twelve hundred pounds, and their income in , after relief by a fresh act of parliament, amounted to less than three hundred. it must be supposed that the thoughts of thomas smith, in these early years, were sometimes coloured with despair; and since he built and lighted one tower after another, and created and bequeathed to his successors the elements of an excellent administration, it may be conceded that he was not after all an unfortunate choice for a first engineer. war added fresh complications. in smith came "very near to be taken" by a french squadron. in robert stevenson was cruising about the neighbourhood of cape wrath in the immediate fear of commodore rogers. the men, and especially the sailors, of the lighthouse service must be protected by a medal and ticket from the brutal activity of the press-gang. and the zeal of volunteer patriots was at times embarrassing. "i set off on foot," writes my grandfather, "for marazion, a town at the head of mount's bay, where i was in hopes of getting a boat to freight. i had just got that length, and was making the necessary inquiry, when a young man, accompanied by several idle-looking fellows, came up to me, and in a hasty tone said, 'sir, in the king's name i seize your person and papers.' to which i replied that i should be glad to see his authority, and know the reason of an address so abrupt. he told me the want of time prevented his taking regular steps, but that it would be necessary for me to return to penzance, as i was suspected of being a french spy. i proposed to submit my papers to the nearest justice of peace, who was immediately applied to, and came to the inn where i was. he seemed to be greatly agitated, and quite at a loss how to proceed. the complaint preferred against me was 'that i had examined the longships lighthouse with the most minute attention, and was no less particular in my inquiries at the keepers of the lighthouse regarding the sunk rocks lying off the land's end, with the sets of the currents and tides along the coast: that i seemed particularly to regret the situation of the rocks called the seven stones, and the loss of a beacon which the trinity board had caused to be fixed on the wolf rock; that i had taken notes of the bearings of several sunk rocks, and a drawing of the lighthouse, and of cape cornwall. further, that i had refused the honour of lord edgecombe's invitation to dinner, offering as an apology that i had some particular business on hand.'" my grandfather produced in answer his credentials and letter of credit; but the justice, after perusing them, "very gravely observed that they were 'musty bits of paper,'" and proposed to maintain the arrest. some more enlightened magistrates at penzance relieved him of suspicion and left him at liberty to pursue his journey,--"which i did with so much eagerness," he adds, "that i gave the two coal lights on the lizard only a very transient look." lighthouse operations in scotland differed essentially in character from those in england. the english coast is in comparison a habitable, homely place, well supplied with towns; the scottish presents hundreds of miles of savage islands and desolate moors. the parliamentary committee of , profoundly ignorant of this distinction, insisted with my grandfather that the work at the various stations should be let out on contract "in the neighbourhood," where sheep and deer, and gulls and cormorants, and a few ragged gillies, perhaps crouching in a bee-hive house, made up the only neighbours. in such situations repairs and improvements could only be overtaken by collecting (as my grandfather expressed it) a few "lads," placing them under charge of a foreman, and despatching them about the coast as occasion served. the particular danger of these seas increased the difficulty. the course of the lighthouse tender lies amid iron-bound coasts, among tide-races, the whirlpools of the pentland firth, flocks of islands, flocks of reefs, many of them uncharted. the aid of steam was not yet. at first in random coasting sloop, and afterwards in the cutter belonging to the service, the engineer must ply and run amongst these multiplied dangers, and sometimes late into the stormy autumn. for pages together my grandfather's diary preserves a record of these rude experiences; of hard winds and rough seas; and of "the try-sail and storm-jib, those old friends which i never like to see." they do not tempt to quotation, but it was the man's element, in which he lived, and delighted to live, and some specimen must be presented. on friday, september th, , the _regent_ lying in lerwick bay, we have this entry: "the gale increases, with continued rain." on the morrow, saturday, th, the weather appeared to moderate, and they put to sea, only to be driven by evening into levenswick. there they lay, "rolling much," with both anchors ahead and the square yard on deck, till the morning of saturday, th. saturday and sunday they were plying to the southward with a "strong breeze and a heavy sea," and on sunday evening anchored in otterswick. "monday, th, it blows so fresh that we have no communication with the shore. we see mr. rome on the beach, but we cannot communicate with him. it blows 'mere fire,' as the sailors express it." and for three days more the diary goes on with tales of davits unshipped, high seas, strong gales from the southward, and the ship driven to refuge in kirkwall or deer sound. i have many a passage before me to transcribe, in which my grandfather draws himself as a man of minute and anxious exactitude about details. it must not be forgotten that these voyages in the tender were the particular pleasure and reward of his existence; that he had in him a reserve of romance which carried him delightedly over these hardships and perils; that to him it was "great gain" to be eight nights and seven days in the savage bay of levenswick--to read a book in the much agitated cabin--to go on deck and hear the gale scream in his ears, and see the landscape dark with rain, and the ship plunge at her two anchors--and to turn in at night and wake again at morning, in his narrow berth, to the clamorous and continued voices of the gale. his perils and escapes were beyond counting. i shall only refer to two: the first, because of the impression made upon himself; the second, from the incidental picture it presents of the north islanders. on the th october he took passage from orkney in the sloop _elizabeth_ of stromness. she made a fair passage till within view of kinnaird head, where, as she was becalmed some three miles in the offing, and wind seemed to threaten from the south-east, the captain landed him, to continue his journey more expeditiously ashore. a gale immediately followed, and the _elizabeth_ was driven back to orkney and lost with all hands. the second escape i have been in the habit of hearing related by an eye-witness, my own father, from the earliest days of childhood. on a september night, the _regent_ lay in the pentland firth in a fog and a violent and windless swell. it was still dark, when they were alarmed by the sound of breakers, and an anchor was immediately let go. the peep of dawn discovered them swinging in desperate proximity to the isle of swona[ ] and the surf bursting close under their stern. there was in this place a hamlet of the inhabitants, fisher-folk and wreckers; their huts stood close about the head of the beach. all slept; the doors were closed, and there was no smoke, and the anxious watchers on board ship seemed to contemplate a village of the dead. it was thought possible to launch a boat and tow the _regent_ from her place of danger; and with this view a signal of distress was made and a gun fired with a red-hot poker from the galley. its detonation awoke the sleepers. door after door was opened, and in the grey light of the morning fisher after fisher was seen to come forth, yawning and stretching himself, nightcap on head. fisher after fisher, i wrote, and my pen tripped; for it should rather stand wrecker after wrecker. there was no emotion, no animation, it scarce seemed any interest; not a hand was raised; but all callously awaited the harvest of the sea, and their children stood by their side and waited also. to the end of his life, my father remembered that amphitheatre of placid spectators on the beach, and with a special and natural animosity, the boys of his own age. but presently a light air sprang up, and filled the sails, and fainted, and filled them again; and little by little the _regent_ fetched way against the swell, and clawed off shore into the turbulent firth. the purpose of these voyages was to effect a landing on open beaches or among shelving rocks, not for persons only, but for coals and food, and the fragile furniture of light-rooms. it was often impossible. in i find my grandfather "hovering for a week" about the pentland skerries for a chance to land; and it was almost always difficult. much knack and enterprise were early developed among the seamen of the service; their management of boats is to this day a matter of admiration; and i find my grandfather in his diary depicting the nature of their excellence in one happily descriptive phrase, when he remarks that captain soutar had landed "the small stores and nine casks of oil _with all the activity of a smuggler_." and it was one thing to land, another to get on board again. i have here a passage from the diary, where it seems to have been touch-and-go. "i landed at tarbetness, on the eastern side of the point, in _a mere gale or blast of wind_ from west-south-west, at p.m. it blew so fresh that the captain, in a kind of despair, went off to the ship, leaving myself and the steward ashore. while i was in the lightroom, i felt it shaking and waving, not with the tremor of the bell rock, but with the _waving of a tree_! this the lightkeepers seemed to be quite familiar to, the principal keeper remarking that 'it was very pleasant,' perhaps meaning interesting or curious. the captain worked the vessel into smooth water with admirable dexterity, and i got on board again about p.m. from the other side of the point." but not even the dexterity of soutar could prevail always; and my grandfather must at times have been left in strange berths and with but rude provision. i may instance the case of my father, who was storm-bound three days upon an islet, sleeping in the uncemented and unchimneyed houses of the islanders, and subsisting on a diet of nettlesoup and lobsters. the name of soutar has twice escaped my pen, and i feel i owe him a vignette. soutar first attracted notice as mate of a praam at the bell rock, and rose gradually to be captain of the _regent_. he was active, admirably skilled in his trade, and a man incapable of fear. once, in london, he fell among a gang of confidence-men, naturally deceived by his rusticity and his prodigious accent. they plied him with drink--a hopeless enterprise, for soutar could not be made drunk; they proposed cards, and soutar would not play. at last, one of them, regarding him with a formidable countenance, inquired if he were not frightened? "i'm no' very easy fleyed," replied the captain. and the rooks withdrew after some easier pigeon. so many perils shared, and the partial familiarity of so many voyages, had given this man a stronghold in my grandfather's estimation; and there is no doubt but he had the art to court and please him with much hypocritical skill. he usually dined on sundays in the cabin. he used to come down daily after dinner for a glass of port or whisky, often in his full rig of sou'-wester, oilskins, and long boots; and i have often heard it described how insinuatingly he carried himself on these appearances, artfully combining the extreme of deference with a blunt and seamanlike demeanour. my father and uncles, with the devilish penetration of the boy, were far from being deceived; and my father, indeed, was favoured with an object-lesson not to be mistaken. he had crept one rainy night into an apple-barrel on deck, and from this place of ambush overheard soutar and a comrade conversing in their oilskins. the smooth sycophant of the cabin had wholly disappeared, and the boy listened with wonder to a vulgar and truculent ruffian. of soutar, i may say _tantum vidi_, having met him in the leith docks now more than thirty years ago, when he abounded in the praises of my grandfather, encouraged me (in the most admirable manner) to pursue his footprints, and left impressed for ever on my memory the image of his own bardolphian nose. he died not long after. the engineer was not only exposed to the hazards of the sea; he must often ford his way by land to remote and scarce accessible places, beyond reach of the mail or the post-chaise, beyond even the tracery of the bridle-path, and guided by natives across bog and heather. up to my grandfather seems to have travelled much on horseback; but he then gave up the idea--"such," he writes with characteristic emphasis and capital letters, "is the plague of baiting." he was a good pedestrian; at the age of fifty-eight i find him covering seventeen miles over the moors of the mackay country in less than seven hours, and that is not bad travelling for a scramble. the piece of country traversed was already a familiar track, being that between loch eriboll and cape wrath; and i think i can scarce do better than reproduce from the diary some traits of his first visit. the tender lay in loch eriboll; by five in the morning they sat down to breakfast on board; by six they were ashore--my grandfather, mr. slight an assistant, and soutar of the jolly nose, and had been taken in charge by two young gentlemen of the neighbourhood and a pair of gillies. about noon they reached the kyle of durness and passed the ferry. by half-past three they were at cape wrath--not yet known by the emphatic abbreviation of "the cape"--and beheld upon all sides of them unfrequented shores, an expanse of desert moor, and the high-piled western ocean. the site of the tower was chosen. perhaps it is by inheritance of blood, but i know few things more inspiriting than this location of a lighthouse in a designated space of heather and air, through which the sea-birds are still flying. by p.m. the return journey had brought them again to the shores of the kyle. the night was dirty, and as the sea was high and the ferry-boat small, soutar and mr. stevenson were left on the far side, while the rest of the party embarked and were received into the darkness. they made, in fact, a safe though an alarming passage; but the ferryman refused to repeat the adventure; and my grandfather and the captain long paced the beach, impatient for their turn to pass, and tormented with rising anxiety as to the fate of their companions. at length they sought the shelter of a shepherd's house. "we had miserable up-putting," the diary continues, "and on both sides of the ferry much anxiety of mind. our beds were clean straw, and but for the circumstance of the boat, i should have slept as soundly as ever i did after a walk through moss and mire of sixteen hours." to go round the lights, even to-day, is to visit past centuries. the tide of tourists that flows yearly in scotland, vulgarising all where it approaches, is still defined by certain barriers. it will be long ere there is a hotel at sumburgh or a hydropathic at cape wrath; it will be long ere any _char-à-banc_, laden with tourists, shall drive up to barra head or monach, the island of the monks. they are farther from london than st. petersburg, and except for the towers, sounding and shining all night with fog-bells and the radiance of the light-room, glittering by day with the trivial brightness of white paint, these island and moorland stations seem inaccessible to the civilisation of to-day, and even to the end of my grandfather's career the isolation was far greater. there ran no post at all in the long island; from the lighthouse on barra head a boat must be sent for letters as far as tobermory, between sixty and seventy miles of open sea; and the posts of shetland, which had surprised sir walter scott in , were still unimproved in , when my grandfather reported on the subject. the group contained at the time a population of , souls, and enjoyed a trade which had increased in twenty years sevenfold, to between three and four thousand tons. yet the mails were despatched and received by chance coasting vessels at the rate of a penny a letter; six and eight weeks often elapsed between opportunities, and when a mail was to be made up, sometimes at a moment's notice, the bellman was sent hastily through the streets of lerwick. between shetland and orkney, only seventy miles apart, there was "no trade communication whatever." such was the state of affairs, only sixty years ago, with the three largest clusters of the scottish archipelago; and forty-seven years earlier, when thomas smith began his rounds, or forty-two, when robert stevenson became conjoined with him in these excursions, the barbarism was deep, the people sunk in superstition, the circumstances of their life perhaps unique in history. lerwick and kirkwall, like guam or the bay of islands, were but barbarous ports where whalers called to take up and to return experienced seamen. on the outlying islands the clergy lived isolated, thinking other thoughts, dwelling in a different country from their parishioners, like missionaries in the south seas. my grandfather's unrivalled treasury of anecdote was never written down; it embellished his talk while he yet was, and died with him when he died; and such as have been preserved relate principally to the islands of ronaldsay and sanday, two of the orkney group. these bordered on one of the water-highways of civilisation; a great fleet passed annually in their view, and of the shipwrecks of the world they were the scene and cause of a proportion wholly incommensurable to their size. in one year, , my grandfather found the remains of no fewer than five vessels on the isle of sanday, which is scarcely twelve miles long. "hardly a year passed," he writes, "without instances of this kind; for, owing to the projecting points of this strangely formed island, the lowness and whiteness of its eastern shores, and the wonderful manner in which the scanty patches of land are intersected with lakes and pools of water, it becomes, even in daylight, a deception, and has often been fatally mistaken for an open sea. it had even become proverbial with some of the inhabitants to observe that 'if wrecks were to happen, they might as well be sent to the poor isle of sanday as anywhere else.' on this and the neighbouring islands the inhabitants had certainly had their share of wrecked goods, for the eye is presented with these melancholy remains in almost every form. for example, although quarries are to be met with generally in these islands, and the stones are very suitable for building dykes (_anglicé_, walls), yet instances occur of the land being enclosed, even to a considerable extent, with ship-timbers. the author has actually seen a park (_anglicé_, meadow) paled round chiefly with cedar-wood and mahogany from the wreck of a honduras-built ship; and in one island, after the wreck of a ship laden with wine, the inhabitants have been known to take claret to their barley-meal porridge. on complaining to one of the pilots of the badness of his boat's sails, he replied to the author with some degree of pleasantry, 'had it been his will that you camena' here wi' your lights, we might a' had better sails to our boats, and more o' other things.' it may further be mentioned that when some of lord dundas's farms are to be let in these islands a competition takes place for the lease, and it is _bona fide_ understood that a much higher rent is paid than the lands would otherwise give were it not for the chance of making considerably by the agency and advantages attending shipwrecks on the shores of the respective farms." the people of north ronaldsay still spoke norse, or, rather, mixed it with their english. the walls of their huts were built to a great thickness of rounded stones from the sea-beach; the roof flagged, loaded with earth, and perforated by a single hole for the escape of smoke. the grass grew beautifully green on the flat house-top, where the family would assemble with their dogs and cats, as on a pastoral lawn; there were no windows, and in my grandfather's expression, "there was really no demonstration of a house unless it were the diminutive door." he once landed on ronaldsay with two friends. "the inhabitants crowded and pressed so much upon the strangers that the bailiff, or resident factor of the island, blew with his ox-horn, calling out to the natives to stand off and let the gentlemen come forward to the laird; upon which one of the islanders, as spokesman, called out, 'god ha'e us, man! thou needsna mak' sic a noise. it's no' every day we ha'e _three hatted men_ on our isle.'" when the surveyor of taxes came (for the first time, perhaps) to sanday, and began in the king's name to complain of the unconscionable swarms of dogs, and to menace the inhabitants with taxation, it chanced that my grandfather and his friend, dr. patrick neill, were received by an old lady in a ronaldsay hut. her hut, which was similar to the model described, stood on a ness, or point of land jutting into the sea. they were made welcome in the firelit cellar, placed "in _casey_ or straw-worked chairs, after the norwegian fashion, with arms, and a canopy overhead," and given milk in a wooden dish. these hospitalities attended to, the old lady turned at once to dr. neill, whom she took for the surveyor of taxes. "sir," said she, "gin ye'll tell the king that i canna keep the ness free o' the bangers (sheep) without twa hun's, and twa guid hun's too, he'll pass me threa the tax on dugs." this familiar confidence, these traits of engaging simplicity, are characters of a secluded people. mankind--and, above all, islanders--come very swiftly to a bearing, and find very readily, upon one convention or another, a tolerable corporate life. the danger is to those from without, who have not grown up from childhood in the islands, but appear suddenly in that narrow horizon, life-sized apparitions. for these no bond of humanity exists, no feeling of kinship is awakened by their peril; they will assist at a shipwreck, like the fisher-folk of lunga, as spectators, and when the fatal scene is over, and the beach strewn with dead bodies, they will fence their fields with mahogany, and, after a decent grace, sup claret to their porridge. it is not wickedness: it is scarce evil; it is only, in its highest power, the sense of isolation and the wise disinterestedness of feeble and poor races. think how many viking ships had sailed by these islands in the past, how many vikings had landed, and raised turmoil, and broken up the barrows of the dead, and carried off the wines of the living; and blame them, if you are able, for that belief (which may be called one of the parables of the devil's gospel) that a man rescued from the sea will prove the bane of his deliverer. it might be thought that my grandfather, coming there unknown, and upon an employment so hateful to the inhabitants, must have run the hazard of his life. but this were to misunderstand. he came franked by the laird and the clergyman; he was the king's officer; the work was "opened with prayer by the rev. walter trail, minister of the parish"; god and the king had decided it, and the people of these pious islands bowed their heads. there landed, indeed, in north ronaldsay, during the last decade of the eighteenth century, a traveller whose life seems really to have been imperilled. a very little man of a swarthy complexion, he came ashore, exhausted and unshaved, from a long boat passage, and lay down to sleep in the home of the parish schoolmaster. but he had been seen landing. the inhabitants had identified him for a pict, as, by some singular confusion of name, they called the dark and dwarfish aboriginal people of the land. immediately the obscure ferment of a race-hatred, grown into a superstition, began to work in their bosoms, and they crowded about the house and the room-door with fearful whisperings. for some time the schoolmaster held them at bay, and at last despatched a messenger to call my grandfather. he came: he found the islanders beside themselves at this unwelcome resurrection of the dead and the detested; he was shown, as adminicular of testimony, the traveller's uncouth and thick-soled boots; he argued, and finding argument unavailing, consented to enter the room and examine with his own eyes the sleeping pict. one glance was sufficient: the man was now a missionary, but he had been before that an edinburgh shopkeeper with whom my grandfather had dealt. he came forth again with this report, and the folk of the island, wholly relieved, dispersed to their own houses. they were timid as sheep and ignorant as limpets; that was all. but the lord deliver us from the tender mercies of a frightened flock! i will give two more instances of their superstition. when sir walter scott visited the stones of stennis, my grandfather put in his pocket a hundred-foot line, which he unfortunately lost. "some years afterwards," he writes, "one of my assistants on a visit to the stones of stennis took shelter from a storm in a cottage close by the lake; and seeing a box-measuring-line in the bole or sole of the cottage window, he asked the woman where she got this well-known professional appendage. she said: 'o sir, ane of the bairns fand it lang syne at the stanes; and when drawing it out we took fright, and thinking it had belanged to the fairies, we threw it into the bole, and it has layen there ever since.'" this is for the one; the last shall be a sketch by the master hand of scott himself:-- "at the village of stromness, on the orkney main island, called pomona, lived, in , an aged dame called bessie millie, who helped out her subsistence by selling favourable winds to mariners. he was a venturous master of a vessel who left the roadstead of stromness without paying his offering to propitiate bessie millie! her fee was extremely moderate, being exactly sixpence, for which she boiled her kettle and gave the bark the advantage of her prayers, for she disclaimed all unlawful acts. the wind thus petitioned for was sure, she said, to arrive, though occasionally the mariners had to wait some time for it. the woman's dwelling and appearance were not unbecoming her pretensions. her house, which was on the brow of the steep hill on which stromness is founded, was only accessible by a series of dirty and precipitous lanes, and for exposure might have been the abode of eolus himself, in whose commodities the inhabitant dealt. she herself was, as she told us, nearly one hundred years old, withered and dried up like a mummy. a clay-coloured kerchief, folded round her neck, corresponded in colour to her corpse-like complexion. two light blue eyes that gleamed with a lustre like that of insanity, an utterance of astonishing rapidity, a nose and chin that almost met together, and a ghastly expression of cunning, gave her the effect of hecate. such was bessie millie, to whom the mariners paid a sort of tribute with a feeling between jest and earnest." ii from about the beginning of the century up to robert stevenson was in partnership with thomas smith. in the last-named year the partnership was dissolved; thomas smith returning to his business, and my grandfather becoming sole engineer to the board of northern lights. i must try, by excerpts from his diary and correspondence, to convey to the reader some idea of the ardency and thoroughness with which he threw himself into the largest and least of his multifarious engagements in this service. but first i must say a word or two upon the life of lightkeepers, and the temptations to which they are more particularly exposed. the lightkeeper occupies a position apart among men. in sea-towers the complement has always been three since the deplorable business in the eddystone, when one keeper died, and the survivor, signalling in vain for relief, was compelled to live for days with the dead body. these usually pass their time by the pleasant human expedient of quarrelling; and sometimes, i am assured, not one of the three is on speaking terms with any other. on shore stations, which on the scottish coast are sometimes hardly less isolated, the usual number is two, a principal and an assistant. the principal is dissatisfied with the assistant, or perhaps the assistant keeps pigeons, and the principal wants the water from the roof. their wives and families are with them, living cheek by jowl. the children quarrel; jockie hits jimsie in the eye, and the mothers make haste to mingle in the dissension. perhaps there is trouble about a broken dish; perhaps mrs. assistant is more highly born than mrs. principal and gives herself airs; and the men are drawn in and the servants presently follow. "church privileges have been denied the keeper's and the assistant's servants," i read in one case, and the eminently scots periphrasis means neither more nor less than excommunication, "on account of the discordant and quarrelsome state of the families. the cause, when inquired into, proves to be _tittle-tattle_ on both sides." the tender comes round; the foremen and artificers go from station to station; the gossip flies through the whole system of the service, and the stories, disfigured and exaggerated, return to their own birthplace with the returning tender. the english board was apparently shocked by the picture of these dissensions. "when the trinity house can," i find my grandfather writing at beachy head, in , "they do not appoint two keepers, they disagree so ill. a man who has a family is assisted by his family; and in this way, to my experience and present observation, the business is very much neglected. one keeper is, in my view, a bad system. this day's visit to an english lighthouse convinces me of this, as the lightkeeper was walking on a staff with the gout, and the business performed by one of his daughters, a girl of thirteen or fourteen years of age." this man received a hundred a year! it shows a different reading of human nature, perhaps typical of scotland and england, that i find in my grandfather's diary the following pregnant entry: _"the lightkeepers, agreeing ill, keep one another to their duty."_ but the scottish system was not alone founded on this cynical opinion. the dignity and the comfort of the northern lightkeeper were both attended to. he had a uniform to "raise him in his own estimation, and in that of his neighbour, which is of consequence to a person of trust. the keepers," my grandfather goes on, in another place, "are attended to in all the detail of accommodation in the best style as shipmasters; and this is believed to have a sensible effect upon their conduct, and to regulate their general habits as members of society." he notes, with the same dip of ink, that "the brasses were not clean, and the persons of the keepers not _trig_"; and thus we find him writing to a culprit: "i have to complain that you are not cleanly in your person, and that your manner of speech is ungentle, and rather inclines to rudeness. you must therefore take a different view of your duties as a lightkeeper." a high ideal for the service appears in these expressions, and will be more amply illustrated further on. but even the scottish lightkeeper was frail. during the unbroken solitude of the winter months, when inspection is scarce possible, it must seem a vain toil to polish the brass hand-rail of the stair, or to keep an unrewarded vigil in the lightroom; and the keepers are habitually tempted to the beginnings of sloth, and must unremittingly resist. he who temporises with his conscience is already lost. i must tell here an anecdote that illustrates the difficulties of inspection. in the days of my uncle david and my father there was a station which they regarded with jealousy. the two engineers compared notes and were agreed. the tower was always clean, but seemed always to bear traces of a hasty cleansing, as though the keepers had been suddenly forewarned. on inquiry, it proved that such was the case, and that a wandering fiddler was the unfailing harbinger of the engineer. at last my father was storm-stayed one sunday in a port at the other side of the island. the visit was quite overdue, and as he walked across upon the monday morning he promised himself that he should at last take the keepers unprepared. they were both waiting for him in uniform at the gate; the fiddler had been there on saturday! my grandfather, as will appear from the following extracts, was much a martinet, and had a habit of expressing himself on paper with an almost startling emphasis. personally, with his powerful voice, sanguine countenance, and eccentric and original locutions, he was well qualified to inspire a salutary terror in the service. "i find that the keepers have, by some means or another, got into the way of cleaning too much with rotten-stone and oil. i take the principal keeper to _task_ on this subject, and make him bring a clean towel and clean one of the brazen frames, which leaves the towel in an odious state. this towel i put up in a sheet of paper, seal, and take with me to confront mr. murdoch, who has just left the station." "this letter"--a stern enumeration of complaints--"to lie a week on the lightroom book-place, and to be put in the inspector's hands when he comes round." "it is the most painful thing that can occur for me to have a correspondence of this kind with any of the keepers; and when i come to the lighthouse, instead of having the satisfaction to meet them with approbation, it is distressing when one is obliged to put on a most angry countenance and demeanour; but from such culpable negligence as you have shown there is no avoiding it. i hold it as a fixed maxim that, when a man or a family put on a slovenly appearance in their houses, stairs, and lanterns, i always find their reflectors, burners, windows, and light in general, ill attended to; and, therefore, i must insist on cleanliness throughout." "i find you very deficient in the duty of the high tower. you thus place your appointment as principal keeper in jeopardy; and i think it necessary, as an old servant of the board, to put you upon your guard once for all at this time. i call upon you to recollect what was formerly and is now said to you. the state of the backs of the reflectors at the high tower was disgraceful, as i pointed out to you on the spot. they were as if spitten upon, and greasy finger-marks upon the back straps. i demand an explanation of this state of things." "the cause of the commissioners dismissing you is expressed in the minute; and it must be a matter of regret to you that you have been so much engaged in smuggling, and also that the reports relative to the cleanliness of the lighthouse, upon being referred to, rather added to their unfavourable opinion." "i do not go into the dwelling-house, but severely chide the lightkeepers for the disagreement that seems to subsist among them." "the families of the two lightkeepers here agree very ill. i have effected a reconciliation for the present." "things are in a very _humdrum_ state here. there is no painting, and in and out of doors no taste or tidiness displayed. robert's wife _greets_ and m'gregor's scolds; and robert is so down-hearted that he says he is unfit for duty. i told him that if he was to mind wives' quarrels, and to take them up, the only way was for him and m'gregor to go down to the point like sir g. grant and lord somerset." "i cannot say that i have experienced a more unpleasant meeting than that of the lighthouse folks this morning, or ever saw a stronger example of unfeeling barbarity than the conduct which the ----s exhibited. these two cold-hearted persons, not contented with having driven the daughter of the poor nervous woman from her father's house, _both_ kept _pouncing_ at her, lest she should forget her great misfortune. write me of their conduct. do not make any communication of the state of these families at kinnaird head, as this would be like _tale-bearing_." there is the great word out. tales and tale-bearing, always with the emphatic capitals, run continually in his correspondence. i will give but two instances:-- "write to david [one of the lightkeepers] and caution him to be more prudent how he expresses himself. let him attend his duty to the lighthouse and his family concerns, and give less heed to tale-bearers." "i have not your last letter at hand to quote its date; but, if i recollect, it contains some kind of tales, which nonsense i wish you would lay aside, and notice only the concerns of your family and the important charge committed to you." apparently, however, my grandfather was not himself inaccessible to the tale-bearer, as the following indicates:-- "in-walking along with mr. ----, i explain to him that i should be under the necessity of looking more closely into the business here from his conduct at buddonness, which had given an instance of weakness in the moral principle which had staggered my opinion of him. his answer was, 'that will be with regard to the lass?' i told him i was to enter no farther with him upon the subject." "mr. miller appears to be master and man. i am sorry about this foolish fellow. had i known his train, i should not, as i did, have rather forced him into the service. upon finding the windows in the state they were, i turned upon mr. watt, and especially upon mr. stewart. the latter did not appear for a length of time to have visited the lightroom. on asking the cause--did mr. watt and him (_sic_) disagree; he said no; but he had got very bad usage from the assistant, 'who was a very obstreperous man.' i could not bring mr. watt to put in language his objections to miller; all i could get was that, he being your friend, and saying he was unwell, he did not like to complain or to push the man; that the man seemed to have no liking to anything like work; that he was unruly; that, being an educated man, he despised them. i was, however, determined to have out of these _unwilling_ witnesses the language alluded to. i fixed upon mr. stewart as chief; he hedged. my curiosity increased, and i urged. then he said, 'what would i think, just exactly, of mr. watt being called an old b----?' you may judge of my surprise. there was not another word uttered. this was quite enough, as coming from a person i should have calculated upon quite different behaviour from. it spoke a volume of the man's mind and want of principle." "object to the keeper keeping a bull-terrier dog of ferocious appearance. it is dangerous, as we land at all times of the night." "have only to complain of the storehouse floor being spotted with oil. give orders for this being instantly rectified, so that on my return to-morrow i may see things in good order." "the furniture of both houses wants much rubbing. mrs. ----'s carpets are absurd beyond anything i have seen. i want her to turn the fenders up with the bottom to the fireplace: the carpets, when not likely to be in use, folded up and laid as a hearthrug partly under the fender." my grandfather was king in the service to his fingertips. all should go in his way, from the principal lightkeeper's coat to the assistant's fender, from the gravel in the garden-walks to the bad smell in the kitchen, or the oil-spots on the store-room floor. it might be thought there was nothing more calculated to awake men's resentment, and yet his rule was not more thorough than it was beneficent. his thought for the keepers was continual, and it did not end with their lives. he tried to manage their successions; he thought no pains too great to arrange between a widow and a son who had succeeded his father; he was often harassed and perplexed by tales of hardship; and i find him writing, almost in despair, of their improvident habits and the destitution that awaited their families upon a death. "the house being completely furnished, they come into possession without necessaries, and they go out naked. the insurance seems to have failed, and what next is to be tried?" while they lived he wrote behind their backs to arrange for the education of their children, or to get them other situations if they seemed unsuitable for the northern lights. when he was at a lighthouse on a sunday he held prayers and heard the children read. when a keeper was sick, he lent him his horse and sent him mutton and brandy from the ship. "the assistant's wife having been this morning confined, there was sent ashore a bottle of sherry and a few rusks--a practice which i have always observed in this service," he writes. they dwelt, many of them, in uninhabited isles or desert forelands, totally cut off from shops. many of them were, besides, fallen into a rustic dishabitude of life, so that even when they visited a city they could scarce be trusted with their own affairs, as (for example) he who carried home to his children, thinking they were oranges, a bag of lemons. and my grandfather seems to have acted, at least in his early years, as a kind of gratuitous agent for the service. thus i find him writing to a keeper in , when his mind was already pre-occupied with arrangements for the bell rock: "i am much afraid i stand very unfavourably with you as a man of promise, as i was to send several things of which i believe i have more than once got the memorandum. all i can say is that in this respect you are not singular. this makes me no better; but really i have been driven about beyond all example in my past experience, and have been essentially obliged to neglect my own urgent affairs." no servant of the northern lights came to edinburgh but he was entertained at baxter's place to breakfast. there, at his own table, my grandfather sat down delightedly with his broad-spoken, homespun officers. his whole relation to the service was, in fact, patriarchal; and i believe i may say that throughout its ranks he was adored. i have spoken with many who knew him; i was his grandson, and their words may have very well been words of flattery; but there was one thing that could not be affected, and that was the look and light that came into their faces at the name of robert stevenson. in the early part of the century the foreman builder was a young man of the name of george peebles, a native of anstruther. my grandfather had placed in him a very high degree of confidence, and he was already designated to be foreman at the bell rock, when, on christmas-day , on his way home from orkney, he was lost in the schooner _traveller_. the tale of the loss of the _traveller_ is almost a replica of that of the _elizabeth_ of stromness; like the _elizabeth_ she came as far as kinnaird head, was then surprised by a storm, driven back to orkney, and bilged and sank on the island of flotta. it seems it was about the dusk of the day when the ship struck, and many of the crew and passengers were drowned. about the same hour, my grandfather was in his office at the writing-table; and the room beginning to darken, he laid down his pen and fell asleep. in a dream he saw the door open and george peebles come in, "reeling to and fro, and staggering like a drunken man," with water streaming from his head and body to the floor. there it gathered into a wave which, sweeping forward, submerged my grandfather. well, no matter how deep; versions vary; and at last he awoke, and behold it was a dream! but it may be conceived how profoundly the impression was written even on the mind of a man averse from such ideas, when the news came of the wreck on flotta and the death of george. george's vouchers and accounts had perished with himself; and it appeared he was in debt to the commissioners. but my grandfather wrote to orkney twice, collected evidence of his disbursements, and proved him to be seventy pounds ahead. with this sum, he applied to george's brothers, and had it apportioned between their mother and themselves. he approached the board and got an annuity of £ bestowed on the widow peebles; and we find him writing her a long letter of explanation and advice, and pressing on her the duty of making a will. that he should thus act executor was no singular instance. but besides this we are able to assist at some of the stages of a rather touching experiment: no less than an attempt to secure charles peebles heir to george's favour. he is despatched, under the character of "a fine young man"; recommended to gentlemen for "advice, as he's a stranger in your place, and indeed to this kind of charge, this being his first outset as foreman"; and for a long while after, the letter-book, in the midst of that thrilling first year of the bell rock, is encumbered with pages of instruction and encouragement. the nature of a bill, and the precautions that are to be observed about discounting it, are expounded at length and with clearness. "you are not, i hope, neglecting, charles, to work the harbour at spring-tides; and see that you pay the greatest attention to get the well so as to supply the keeper with water, for he is a very helpless fellow, and so unfond of hard work that i fear he could do ill to keep himself in water by going to the other side for it."--"with regard to spirits, charles, i see very little occasion for it." these abrupt apostrophes sound to me like the voice of an awakened conscience; but they would seem to have reverberated in vain in the ears of charles. there was trouble in pladda, his scene of operations; his men ran away from him, there was at least a talk of calling in the sheriff. "i fear," writes my grandfather, "you have been too indulgent, and i am sorry to add that men do not answer to be too well treated, a circumstance which i have experienced, and which you will learn as you go on in business." i wonder, was not charles peebles himself a case in point? either death, at least, or disappointment and discharge, must have ended his service in the northern lights; and in later correspondence i look in vain for any mention of his name--charles, i mean, not peebles: for as late as my grandfather is patiently writing to another of the family: "i am sorry you took the trouble of applying to me about your son, as it lies quite out of my way to forward his views in the line of his profession as a draper." iii a professional life of robert stevenson has been already given to the world by his son david, and to that i would refer those interested in such matters. but my own design, which is to represent the man, would be very ill carried out if i suffered myself or my reader to forget that he was, first of all and last of all, an engineer. his chief claim to the style of a mechanical inventor is on account of the jib or balance crane of the bell rock, which are beautiful contrivances. but the great merit of this engineer was not in the field of engines. he was above all things a projector of works in the face of nature, and a modifier of nature itself. a road to be made, a tower to be built, a harbour to be constructed, a river to be trained and guided in its channel--these were the problems with which his mind was continually occupied; and for these and similar ends he travelled the world for more than half a century, like an artist, note-book in hand. he once stood and looked on at the emptying of a certain oil-tube; he did so watch in hand, and accurately timed the operation; and in so doing offered the perfect type of his profession. the fact acquired might never be of use: it was acquired: another link in the world's huge chain of processes was brought down to figures and placed at the service of the engineer. "the very term mensuration sounds _engineer-like_," i find him writing; and in truth what the engineer most properly deals with is that which can be measured, weighed, and numbered. the time of any operation in hours and minutes, its cost in pounds, shillings, and pence, the strain upon a given point in foot-pounds--these are his conquests, with which he must continually furnish his mind, and which, after he has acquired them, he must continually apply and exercise. they must be not only entries in note-books, to be hurriedly consulted; in the actor's phrase, he must be _stale_ in them; in a word of my grandfather's, they must be "fixed in the mind like the ten fingers and ten toes." these are the certainties of the engineer; so far he finds a solid footing and clear views. but the province of formulas and constants is restricted. even the mechanical engineer comes at last to an end of his figures, and must stand up, a practical man, face to face with the discrepancies of nature and the hiatuses of theory. after the machine is finished, and the steam turned on, the next is to drive it; and experience and an exquisite sympathy must teach him where a weight should be applied or a nut loosened. with the civil engineer, more properly so called (if anything can be proper with this awkward coinage), the obligation starts with the beginning. he is always the practical man. the rains, the winds and the waves, the complexity and the fitfulness of nature, are always before him. he has to deal with the unpredictable, with those forces (in smeaton's phrase) that "are subject to no calculation"; and still he must predict, still calculate them, at his peril. his work is not yet in being, and he must foresee its influence: how it shall deflect the tide, exaggerate the waves, dam back the rain-water, or attract the thunderbolt. he visits a piece of sea-board: and from the inclination and soil of the beach, from the weeds and shell-fish, from the configuration of the coast and the depth of soundings outside, he must deduce what magnitude of waves is to be looked for. he visits a river, its summer water babbling on shallows; and he must not only read, in a thousand indications, the measure of winter freshets, but be able to predict the violence of occasional great floods. nay, and more: he must not only consider that which is, but that which may be. thus i find my grandfather writing, in a report on the north esk bridge: "a less waterway might have sufficed, but _the valleys may come to be meliorated by drainage_." one field drained after another through all that confluence of vales, and we come to a time when they shall precipitate, by so much a more copious and transient flood, as the gush of the flowing drain-pipe is superior to the leakage of a peat. it is plain there is here but a restricted use for formulas. in this sort of practice, the engineer has need of some transcendental sense. smeaton, the pioneer, bade him obey his "feelings"; my father, that "power of estimating obscure forces which supplies a coefficient of its own to every rule." the rules must be everywhere indeed; but they must everywhere be modified by this transcendental coefficient, everywhere bent to the impression of the trained eye and the _feelings_ of the engineer. a sentiment of physical laws and of the scale of nature, which shall have been strong in the beginning and progressively fortified by observation, must be his guide in the last recourse. i had the most opportunity to observe my father. he would pass hours on the beach, brooding over the waves, counting them, noting their least deflection, noting when they broke. on tweedside, or by lyne or manor, we have spent together whole afternoons; to me, at the time, extremely wearisome; to him, as i am now sorry to think, bitterly mortifying. the river was to me a pretty and various spectacle; i could not see--i could not be made to see--it otherwise. to my father it was a chequer-board of lively forces, which he traced from pool to shallow with minute appreciation and enduring interest. "that bank was being undercut," he might say; "why? suppose you were to put a groin out here, would not the _filum fluminis_ be cast abruptly off across the channel? and where would it impinge upon the other shore? and what would be the result? or suppose you were to blast that boulder, what would happen? follow it--use the eyes god has given you--can you not see that a great deal of land would be reclaimed upon this side?" it was to me like school in holidays; but to him, until i had worn him out with my invincible triviality, a delight. thus he pored over the engineer's voluminous handy-book of nature; thus must, too, have pored my grandfather and uncles. but it is of the essence of this knowledge, or this knack of mind, to be largely incommunicable. "it cannot be imparted to another," says my father. the verbal casting-net is thrown in vain over these evanescent, inferential relations. hence the insignificance of much engineering literature. so far as the science can be reduced to formulas or diagrams, the book is to the point; so far as the art depends on intimate study of the ways of nature, the author's words will too often be found vapid. this fact--engineering looks one way, and literature another--was what my grandfather overlooked. all his life long, his pen was in his hand, piling up a treasury of knowledge, preparing himself against all possible contingencies. scarce anything fell under his notice but he perceived in it some relation to his work, and chronicled it in the pages of his journal in his always lucid, but sometimes inexact and wordy, style. the travelling diary (so he called it) was kept in fascicles of ruled paper, which were at last bound up, rudely indexed, and put by for future reference. such volumes as have reached me contain a surprising medley: the whole details of his employment in the northern lights and his general practice; the whole biography of an enthusiastic engineer. much of it is useful and curious; much merely otiose; and much can only be described as an attempt to impart that which cannot be imparted in words. of such are his repeated and heroic descriptions of reefs; monuments of misdirected literary energy, which leave upon the mind of the reader no effect but that of a multiplicity of words and the suggested vignette of a lusty old gentleman scrambling among tangle. it is to be remembered that he came to engineering while yet it was in the egg and without a library, and that he saw the bounds of that profession widen daily. he saw iron ships, steamers, and the locomotive engine, introduced. he lived to travel from glasgow to edinburgh in the inside of a forenoon, and to remember that he himself had "often been twelve hours upon the journey, and his grandfather (lillie) two days"! the profession was still but in its second generation, and had already broken down the barriers of time and space. who should set a limit to its future encroachments? and hence, with a kind of sanguine pedantry, he pursued his design of "keeping up with the day" and posting himself and his family on every mortal subject. of this unpractical idealism we shall meet with many instances; there was not a trade, and scarce an accomplishment, but he thought it should form part of the outfit of an engineer; and not content with keeping an encyclopædic diary himself, he would fain have set all his sons to work continuing and extending it. they were more happily inspired. my father's engineering pocket-book was not a bulky volume; with its store of pregnant notes and vital formulas, it served him through life, and was not yet filled when he came to die. as for robert stevenson and the travelling diary, i should be ungrateful to complain, for it has supplied me with many lively traits for this and subsequent chapters; but i must still remember much of the period of my study there as a sojourn in the valley of the shadow. the duty of the engineer is twofold--to design the work, and to see the work done. we have seen already something of the vociferous thoroughness of the man, upon the cleaning of lamps and the polishing of reflectors. in building, in road-making, in the construction of bridges, in every detail and byway of his employments, he pursued the same ideal. perfection (with a capital p and violently underscored) was his design. a crack for a penknife, the waste of "six-and-thirty shillings," "the loss of a day or a tide," in each of these he saw and was revolted by the finger of the sloven; and to spirits intense as his, and immersed in vital undertakings, the slovenly is the dishonest, and wasted time is instantly translated into lives endangered. on this consistent idealism there is but one thing that now and then trenches with a touch of incongruity, and that is his love of the picturesque. as when he laid out a road on hogarth's line of beauty; bade a foreman be careful, in quarrying, not "to disfigure the island"; or regretted in a report that "the great stone, called the _devil in the hole_, was blasted or broken down to make road-metal, and for other purposes of the work." footnote: [ ] this is only a probable hypothesis; i have tried to identify my father's anecdote in my grandfather's diary, and may very well have been deceived.--r. l. s. chapter iii the building of the bell rock off the mouths of the tay and the forth, thirteen miles from fifeness, eleven from arbroath, and fourteen from the red head of angus, lies the inchcape or bell rock. it extends to a length of about fourteen hundred feet, but the part of it discovered at low water to not more than four hundred and twenty-seven. at a little more than half-flood in fine weather the seamless ocean joins over the reef, and at high-water springs it is buried sixteen feet. as the tide goes down, the higher reaches of the rock are seen to be clothed by _conferva rupestris_ as by a sward of grass; upon the more exposed edges, where the currents are most swift and the breach of the sea heaviest, baderlock or henware flourishes; and the great tangle grows at the depth of several fathoms with luxuriance. before man arrived, and introduced into the silence of the sea the smoke and clangour of a blacksmith's shop, it was a favourite resting-place of seals. the crab and lobster haunt in the crevices; and limpets, mussels, and the white buckie abound. according to a tradition, a bell had been once hung upon this rock by an abbot of arbroath,[ ] "and being taken down by a sea-pirate, a year thereafter he perished upon the same rock, with ship and goods, in the righteous judgment of god." from the days of the abbot and the sea-pirate no man had set foot upon the inchcape, save fishers from the neighbouring coast, or perhaps--for a moment, before the surges swallowed them--the unfortunate victims of shipwreck. the fishers approached the rock with an extreme timidity; but their harvest appears to have been great, and the adventure no more perilous than lucrative. in , on the occasion of my grandfather's first landing, and during the two or three hours which the ebb-tide and the smooth water allowed them to pass upon its shelves, his crew collected upwards of two hundredweight of old metal: pieces of a kedge anchor and a cabin stove, crow-bars, a hinge and lock of a door, a ship's marking-iron, a piece of a ship's caboose, a soldier's bayonet, a cannon ball, several pieces of money, a shoe-buckle, and the like. such were the spoils of the bell rock. but the number of vessels actually lost upon the reef was as nothing to those that were cast away in fruitless efforts to avoid it. placed right in the fairway of two navigations, and one of these the entrance to the only harbour of refuge between the downs and the moray firth, it breathed abroad along the whole coast an atmosphere of terror and perplexity; and no ship sailed that part of the north sea at night, but what the ears of those on board would be strained to catch the roaring of the seas on the bell rock. from onward, the mind of my grandfather had been exercised with the idea of a light upon this formidable danger. to build a tower on a sea rock, eleven miles from shore, and barely uncovered at low water of neaps, appeared a fascinating enterprise. it was something yet unattempted, unessayed; and even now, after it has been lighted for more than eighty years, it is still an exploit that has never been repeated.[ ] my grandfather was, besides, but a young man, of an experience comparatively restricted, and a reputation confined to scotland; and when he prepared his first models, and exhibited them in merchants' hall, he can hardly be acquitted of audacity. john clerk of eldin stood his friend from the beginning, kept the key of the model room, to which he carried "eminent strangers," and found words of counsel and encouragement beyond price. "mr. clerk had been personally known to smeaton, and used occasionally to speak of him to me," says my grandfather; and again: "i felt regret that i had not the opportunity of a greater range of practice to fit me for such an undertaking; but i was fortified by an expression of my friend mr. clerk in one of our conversations. 'this work,' said he, 'is unique, and can be little forwarded by experience of ordinary masonic operations. in this case smeaton's "narrative" must be the text-book, and energy and perseverance the pratique.'" a bill for the work was introduced into parliament and lost in the lords in - . john rennie was afterwards, at my grandfather's suggestion, called in council, with the style of chief engineer. the precise meaning attached to these words by any of the parties appears irrecoverable. chief engineer should have full authority, full responsibility, and a proper share of the emoluments; and there were none of these for rennie. i find in an appendix a paper which resumes the controversy on this subject; and it will be enough to say here that rennie did not design the bell rock, that he did not execute it, and that he was not paid for it.[ ] from so much of the correspondence as has come down to me, the acquaintance of this man, eleven years his senior, and already famous, appears to have been both useful and agreeable to robert stevenson. it is amusing to find my grandfather seeking high and low for a brace of pistols which his colleague had lost by the way between aberdeen and edinburgh; and writing to messrs. dollond, "i have not thought it necessary to trouble mr. rennie with this order, but _i beg you will see to get two minutes of him as he passes your door_"--a proposal calculated rather from the latitude of edinburgh than from london, even in . it is pretty, too, to observe with what affectionate regard smeaton was held in mind by his immediate successors. "poor old fellow," writes rennie to stevenson, "i hope he will now and then take a peep at us, and inspire you with fortitude and courage to brave all difficulties and dangers to accomplish a work which will, if successful, immortalise you in the annals of fame." the style might be bettered, but the sentiment is charming. smeaton was, indeed, the patron saint of the bell rock. undeterred by the sinister fate of winstanley, he had tackled and solved the problem of the eddystone; but his solution had not been in all respects perfect. it remained for my grandfather to outdo him in daring, by applying to a tidal rock those principles which had been already justified by the success of the eddystone, and to perfect the model by more than one exemplary departure. smeaton had adopted in his floors the principle of the arch; each therefore exercised an outward thrust upon the walls, which must be met and combated by embedded chains. my grandfather's flooring-stones, on the other hand, were flat, made part of the outer wall, and were keyed and dovetailed into a central stone, so as to bind the work together and be positive elements of strength. in winstanley still thought it possible to erect his strange pagoda, with its open gallery, its florid scrolls and candlesticks: like a rich man's folly for an ornamental water in a park. smeaton followed; then stevenson in his turn corrected such flaws as were left in smeaton's design; and with his improvements, it is not too much to say the model was made perfect. smeaton and stevenson had between them evolved and finished the sea-tower. no subsequent builder has departed in anything essential from the principles of their design. it remains, and it seems to us as though it must remain for ever, an ideal attained. every stone in the building, it may interest the reader to know, my grandfather had himself cut out in the model; and the manner in which the courses were fitted, joggled, trenailed, wedged, and the bond broken, is intricate as a puzzle and beautiful by ingenuity. in a second bill passed both houses, and the preliminary works were at once begun. the same year the navy had taken a great harvest of prizes in the north sea, one of which, a prussian fishing dogger, flat-bottomed and rounded at the stem and stern, was purchased to be a floating lightship, and re-named the _pharos_. by july she was overhauled, rigged for her new purpose, and turned into the lee of the isle of may. "it was proposed that the whole party should meet in her and pass the night; but she rolled from side to side in so extraordinary a manner, that even the most seahardy fled. it was humorously observed of this vessel that she was in danger of making a round turn and appearing with her keel uppermost; and that she would even turn a halfpenny if laid upon deck." by two o'clock on the morning of the th july this purgatorial vessel was moored by the bell rock. a sloop of forty tons had been in the meantime built at leith, and named the _smeaton_: by the th of august my grandfather set sail in her-- "carrying with him mr. peter logan, foreman builder, and five artificers selected from their having been somewhat accustomed to the sea, the writer being aware of the distressing trial which the floating light would necessarily inflict upon landsmen from her rolling motion. here he remained till the th, and, as the weather was favourable, a landing was effected daily, when the workmen were employed in cutting the large seaweed from the sites of the lighthouse and beacon, which were respectively traced with pickaxes upon the rock. in the meantime the crew of the _smeaton_ was employed in laying down the several sets of moorings within about half a mile of the rock for the convenience of vessels. the artificers, having, fortunately, experienced moderate weather, returned to the workyard of arbroath with a good report of their treatment afloat; when their comrades ashore began to feel some anxiety to see a place of which they had heard so much, and to change the constant operations with the iron and mallet in the process of hewing for an occasional tide's work on the rock, which they figured to themselves as a state of comparative ease and comfort." i am now for many pages to let my grandfather speak for himself, and tell in his own words the story of his capital achievement. the tall quarto of pages from which the following narrative has been dug out is practically unknown to the general reader, yet good judges have perceived its merit, and it has been named (with flattering wit) "the romance of stone and lime" and "the robinson crusoe of civil engineering." the tower was but four years in the building; it took robert stevenson, in the midst of his many avocations, no less than fourteen to prepare the _account_. the title-page is a solid piece of literature of upwards of a hundred words; the table of contents runs to thirteen pages; and the dedication (to that revered monarch, george iv) must have cost him no little study and correspondence. walter scott was called in council, and offered one miscorrection which still blots the page. in spite of all this pondering and filing, there remain pages not easy to construe, and inconsistencies not easy to explain away. i have sought to make these disappear, and to lighten a little the baggage with which my grandfather marches; here and there i have rejointed and rearranged a sentence, always with his own words, and all with a reverent and faithful hand; and i offer here to the reader the true monument of robert stevenson with a little of the moss removed from the inscription, and the portrait of the artist with some superfluous canvas cut away. i operations of sunday, th aug. everything being arranged for sailing to the rock on saturday the th, the vessel might have proceeded on the sunday; but understanding that this would not be so agreeable to the artificers it was deferred until monday. here we cannot help observing that the men allotted for the operations at the rock seemed to enter upon the undertaking with a degree of consideration which fully marked their opinion as to the hazardous nature of the undertaking on which they were about to enter. they went in a body to church on sunday, and whether it was in the ordinary course, or designed for the occasion, the writer is not certain, but the service was, in many respects, suitable to their circumstances. monday, th aug. the tide happening to fall late in the evening of monday the th, the party, counting twenty-four in number, embarked on board of the _smeaton_ about ten o'clock p.m., and sailed from arbroath with a gentle breeze at west. our ship's colours having been flying all day in compliment to the commencement of the work, the other vessels in the harbour also saluted, which made a very gay appearance. a number of the friends and acquaintances of those on board having been thus collected, the piers, though at a late hour, were perfectly crowded, and just as the _smeaton_ cleared the harbour, all on board united in giving three hearty cheers, which were returned by those on shore in such good earnest, that, in the still of the evening, the sound must have been heard in all parts of the town, reechoing from the walls and lofty turrets of the venerable abbey of aberbrothwick. the writer felt much satisfaction at the manner of this parting scene, though he must own that the present rejoicing was, on his part, mingled with occasional reflections upon the responsibility of his situation, which extended to the safety of all who should be engaged in this perilous work. with such sensations he retired to his cabin; but as the artificers were rather inclined to move about the deck than to remain in their confined berths below, his repose was transient, and the vessel being small every motion was necessarily heard. some who were musically inclined occasionally sung; but he listened with peculiar pleasure to the sailor at the helm, who hummed over dibdin's characteristic air:-- "they say there's a providence sits up aloft, to keep watch for the life of poor jack." tuesday, th aug. the weather had been very gentle all night, and, about four in the morning of the th, the _smeaton_ anchored. agreeably to an arranged plan of operations, all hands were called at five o'clock a.m., just as the highest part of the bell rock began to show its sable head among the light breakers, which occasionally whitened with the foaming sea. the two boats belonging to the floating light attended the _smeaton_, to carry the artificers to the rock, as her boat could only accommodate about six or eight sitters. every one was more eager than his neighbour to leap into the boats, and it required a good deal of management on the part of the coxswains to get men unaccustomed to a boat to take their places for rowing and at the same time trimming her properly. the landing-master and foreman went into one boat, while the writer took charge of another, and steered it to and from the rock. this became the more necessary in the early stages of the work, as places could not be spared for more than two, or at most three, seamen to each boat, who were always stationed, one at the bow, to use the boat-hook in fending or pushing off, and the other at the aftermost oar, to give the proper time in rowing, while the middle oars were double-banked, and rowed by the artificers. as the weather was extremely fine, with light airs of wind from the east, we landed without difficulty upon the central part of the rock at half-past five, but the water had not yet sufficiently left it for commencing the work. this interval, however, did not pass unoccupied. the first and last of all the principal operations at the bell rock were accompanied by three hearty cheers from all hands, and, on occasions like the present, the steward of the ship attended, when each man was regaled with a glass of rum. as the water left the rock about six, some began to bore the holes for the great bats or holdfasts, for fixing the beams of the beacon-house, while the smith was fully attended in laying out the site of his forge, upon a somewhat sheltered spot of the rock, which also recommended itself from the vicinity of a pool of water for tempering his irons. these preliminary steps occupied about an hour, and as nothing further could be done during this tide towards fixing the forge, the workmen gratified their curiosity by roaming about the rock, which they investigated with great eagerness till the tide overflowed it. those who had been sick picked dulse (_fucus palmatus_), which they ate with much seeming appetite; others were more intent upon collecting limpets for bait, to enjoy the amusement of fishing when they returned on board of the vessel. indeed, none came away empty-handed, as everything found upon the bell rock was considered valuable, being connected with some interesting association. several coins and numerous bits of shipwrecked iron, were picked up, of almost every description; and, in particular, a marking-iron lettered james--a circumstance of which it was thought proper to give notice to the public, as it might lead to the knowledge of some unfortunate shipwreck, perhaps unheard of till this simple occurrence led to the discovery. when the rock began to be overflowed, the landing-master arranged the crews of the respective boats, appointing twelve persons to each. according to a rule which the writer had laid down to himself, he was always the last person who left the rock. in a short time the bell rock was laid completely under water, and the weather being extremely fine, the sea was so smooth that its place could not be pointed out from the appearance of the surface--a circumstance which sufficiently demonstrates the dangerous nature of this rock, even during the day, and in the smoothest and calmest state of the sea. during the interval between the morning and the evening tides, the artificers were variously employed in fishing and reading; others were busy in drying and adjusting their wet clothes, and one or two amused their companions with the violin and german flute. about seven in the evening the signal bell for landing on the rock was again rung, when every man was at his quarters. in this service it was thought more appropriate to use the bell than to _pipe_ to quarters, as the use of this instrument is less known to the mechanic than the sound of the bell. the landing, as in the morning, was at the eastern harbour. during this tide the seaweed was pretty well cleared from the site of the operations, and also from the tracks leading to the different landing-places; for walking upon the rugged surface of the bell rock, when covered with seaweed, was found to be extremely difficult and even dangerous. every hand that could possibly be occupied was now employed in assisting the smith to fit up the apparatus for his forge. at p.m. the boats returned to the tender, after other two hours' work, in the same order as formerly--perhaps as much gratified with the success that attended the work of this day as with any other in the whole course of the operations. although it could not be said that the fatigues of this day had been great, yet all on board retired early to rest. the sea being calm, and no movement on deck, it was pretty generally remarked in the morning that the bell awakened the greater number on board from their first sleep; and though this observation was not altogether applicable to the writer himself, yet he was not a little pleased to find that thirty people could all at once become so reconciled to a night's quarters within a few hundred paces of the bell rock. wednesday, th aug. being extremely anxious at this time to get forward with fixing the smith's forge, on which the progress of the work at present depended, the writer requested that he might be called at daybreak to learn the landing-master's opinion of the weather from the appearance of the rising sun, a criterion by which experienced seamen can generally judge pretty accurately of the state of the weather for the following day. about five o'clock, on coming upon deck, the sun's upper limb or disc had just begun to appear as if rising from the ocean, and in less than a minute he was seen in the fullest splendour; but after a short interval he was enveloped in a soft cloudy sky, which was considered emblematical of fine weather. his rays had not yet sufficiently dispelled the clouds which hid the land from view, and the bell rock being still overflowed, the whole was one expanse of water. this scene in itself was highly gratifying; and, when the morning bell was tolled, we were gratified with the happy forebodings of good weather and the expectation of having both a morning and an evening tide's work on the rock. the boat which the writer steered happened to be the last which approached the rock at this tide; and, in standing up in the stern, while at some distance, to see how the leading boat entered the creek, he was astonished to observe something in the form of a human figure, in a reclining posture, upon one of the ledges of the rock. he immediately steered the boat through a narrow entrance to the eastern harbour, with a thousand unpleasant sensations in his mind. he thought a vessel or boat must have been wrecked upon the rock during the night; and it seemed probable that the rock might be strewed with dead bodies, a spectacle which could not fail to deter the artificers from returning so freely to their work. in the midst of these reveries the boat took the ground at an improper landing-place but, without waiting to push her off, he leapt upon the rock, and making his way hastily to the spot which had privately given him alarm, he had the satisfaction to ascertain that he had only been deceived by the peculiar situation and aspect of the smith's anvil and block, which very completely represented the appearance of a lifeless body upon the rock. the writer carefully suppressed his feelings, the simple mention of which might have had a bad effect upon the artificers, and his haste passed for an anxiety to examine the apparatus of the smith's forge, left in an unfinished state at evening tide. in the course of this morning's work two or three apparently distant peals of thunder were heard, and the atmosphere suddenly became thick and foggy. but as the _smeaton_, our present tender, was moored at no great distance from the rock, the crew on board continued blowing with a horn, and occasionally fired a musket, so that the boats got to the ship without difficulty. thursday, th aug. the wind this morning inclined from the north-east, and the sky had a heavy and cloudy appearance, but the sea was smooth, though there was an undulating motion on the surface, which indicated easterly winds, and occasioned a slight surf upon the rock. but the boats found no difficulty in landing at the western creek at half-past seven, and, after a good tide's work, left it again about a quarter from eleven. in the evening the artificers landed at half-past seven, and continued till half-past eight, having completed the fixing of the smith's forge, his vice, and a wooden board or bench, which were also batted to a ledge of the rock, to the great joy of all, under a salute of three hearty cheers. from an oversight on the part of the smith, who had neglected to bring his tinder-box and matches from the vessel, the work was prevented from being continued for at least an hour longer. the smith's shop was, of course, in _open space_: the large bellows were carried to and from the rock every tide, for the serviceable condition of which, together with the tinder-box, fuel, and embers of the former fire, the smith was held responsible. those who have been placed in situations to feel the inconveniency and want of this useful artisan, will be able to appreciate his value in a case like the present. it often happened, to our annoyance and disappointment, in the early state of the work, when the smith was in the middle of a _favourite heat_ in making some useful article, or in sharpening the tools, after the flood-tide had obliged the pickmen to strike work, a sea would come rolling over the rocks, dash out the fire, and endanger his indispensable implement, the bellows. if the sea was smooth, while the smith often stood at work knee-deep in water, the tide rose by imperceptible degrees, first cooling the exterior of the fireplace, or hearth, and then quietly blackening and extinguishing the fire from below. the writer has frequently been amused at the perplexing anxiety of the blacksmith when coaxing his fire and endeavouring to avert the effects of the rising tide. friday, st aug. everything connected with the forge being now completed, the artificers found no want of sharp tools, and the work went forward with great alacrity and spirit. it was also alleged that the rock had a more habitable appearance from the volumes of smoke which ascended from the smith's shop and the busy noise of his anvil, the operations of the masons, the movements of the boats, and shipping at a distance--all contributed to give life and activity to the scene. this noise and traffic had, however, the effect of almost completely banishing the herd of seals which had hitherto frequented the rock as a resting-place during the period of low water. the rock seemed to be peculiarly adapted to their habits, for, excepting two or three days at neap-tides, a part of it always dries at low water--at least, during the summer season--and as there was good fishing-ground in the neighbourhood, without a human being to disturb or molest them, it had become a very favourite residence of these amphibious animals, the writer having occasionally counted from fifty to sixty playing about the rock at a time. but when they came to be disturbed every tide, and their seclusion was broken in upon by the kindling of great fires, together with the beating of hammers and picks during low water, after hovering about for a time, they changed their place, and seldom more than one or two were to be seen about the rock upon the more detached outlayers which dry partially, whence they seemed to look with that sort of curiosity which is observable in these animals when following a boat. saturday, nd aug. hitherto the artificers had remained on board the _smeaton_, which was made fast to one of the mooring buoys at a distance only of about a quarter of a mile from the rock, and, of course, a very great conveniency to the work. being so near, the seamen could never be mistaken as to the progress of the tide, or state of the sea upon the rock, nor could the boats be much at a loss to pull on board of the vessel during fog, or even in very rough weather; as she could be cast loose from her moorings at pleasure, and brought to the lee side of the rock. but the _smeaton_ being only about forty register tons, her accommodations were extremely limited. it may, therefore, be easily imagined that an addition of twenty-four persons to her own crew must have rendered the situation of those on board rather uncomfortable. the only place for the men's hammocks on board being in the hold, they were unavoidably much crowded: and if the weather had required the hatches to be fastened down, so great a number of men could not possibly have been accommodated. to add to this evil, the _co-boose_ or cooking-place being upon deck, it would not have been possible to have cooked for so large a company in the event of bad weather. the stock of water was now getting short, and some necessaries being also wanted for the floating light, the _smeaton_ was despatched for arbroath; and the writer, with the artificers, at the same time shifted their quarters from her to the floating light. although the rock barely made its appearance at this period of the tides till eight o'clock, yet, having now a full mile to row from the floating light to the rock, instead of about a quarter of a mile from the moorings of the _smeaton_, it was necessary to be earlier astir, and to form different arrangements; breakfast was accordingly served up at seven o'clock this morning. from the excessive motion of the floating light, the writer had looked forward rather with anxiety to the removal of the workmen to this ship. some among them, who had been congratulating themselves upon having become sea-hardy while on board the _smeaton_, had a complete relapse upon returning to the floating light. this was the case with the writer. from the spacious and convenient berthage of the floating light, the exchange to the artificers was, in this respect, much for the better. the boats were also commodious, measuring sixteen feet in length on the keel, so that, in fine weather, their complement of sitters was sixteen persons for each, with which, however, they were rather crowded, but she could not stow two boats of larger dimensions. when there was what is called a breeze of wind, and a swell in the sea, the proper number for each boat could not, with propriety, be rated at more than twelve persons. when the tide-bell rung the boats were hoisted out, and two active seamen were employed to keep them from receiving damage alongside. the floating light being very buoyant, was so quick in her motions that when those who were about to step from her gunwale into a boat, placed themselves upon a cleat or step on the ship's side, with the man or rail ropes in their hands, they had often to wait for some time till a favourable opportunity occurred for stepping into the boat. while in this situation, with the vessel rolling from side to side, watching the proper time for letting go the man-ropes, it required the greatest dexterity and presence of mind to leap into the boats. one who was rather awkward would often wait a considerable period in this position: at one time his side of the ship would be so depressed that he would touch the boat to which he belonged, while the next sea would elevate him so much that he would see his comrades in the boat on the opposite side of the ship, his friends in the one boat calling to him to "jump," while those in the boat on the other side, as he came again and again into their view, would jocosely say, "are you there yet? you seem to enjoy a swing." in this situation it was common to see a person upon each side of the ship for a length of time, waiting to quit his hold. on leaving the rock to-day a trial of seamanship was proposed amongst the rowers, for by this time the artificers had become tolerably expert in this exercise. by inadvertency some of the oars provided had been made of fir instead of ash, and although a considerable stock had been laid in, the workmen, being at first awkward in the art, were constantly breaking their oars; indeed it was no uncommon thing to see the broken blades of a pair of oars floating astern, in the course of a passage from the rock to the vessel. the men, upon the whole, had but little work to perform in the course of a day; for though they exerted themselves extremely hard while on the rock, yet, in the early state of the operations, this could not be continued for more than three or four hours at a time, and as their rations were large--consisting of one pound and a half of beef, one pound of ship biscuit, eight ounces oatmeal, two ounces barley, two ounces butter, three quarts of small beer, with vegetables and salt--they got into excellent spirits when free of sea-sickness. the rowing of the boats against each other became a favourite amusement, which was rather a fortunate circumstance, as it must have been attended with much inconvenience had it been found necessary to employ a sufficient number of sailors for this purpose. the writer, therefore, encouraged this spirit of emulation, and the speed of their respective boats became a favourite topic. premiums for boat-races were instituted, which were contended for with great eagerness, and the respective crews kept their stations in the boats with as much precision as they kept their beds on board of the ship. with these and other pastimes, when the weather was favourable, the time passed away among the inmates of the forecastle and waist of the ship. the writer looks back with interest upon the hours of solitude which he spent in this lonely ship with his small library. this being the first saturday that the artificers were afloat, all hands were served with a glass of rum and water at night, to drink the sailors' favourite toast of "wives and sweethearts." it was customary, upon these occasions, for the seamen and artificers to collect in the galley, when the musical instruments were put in requisition: for, according to invariable practice, every man must play a tune, sing a song, or tell a story. sunday, rd aug. having, on the previous evening, arranged matters with the landing-master as to the business of the day, the signal was rung for all hands at half-past seven this morning. in the early state of the spring-tides the artificers went to the rock before breakfast, but as the tides fell later in the day, it became necessary to take this meal before leaving the ship. at eight o'clock all hands were assembled on the quarter-deck for prayers, a solemnity which was gone through in as orderly a manner as circumstances would admit. when the weather permitted, the flags of the ship were hung up as an awning or screen, forming the quarter-deck into a distinct compartment; the pendant was also hoisted at the mainmast, and a large ensign flag was displayed over the stern; and lastly, the ship's companion, or top of the staircase, was covered with the _flag proper_ of the lighthouse service, on which the bible was laid. a particular toll of the bell called all hands to the quarter-deck, when the writer read a chapter of the bible, and, the whole ship's company being uncovered, he also read the impressive prayer composed by the reverend dr. brunton, one of the ministers of edinburgh. upon concluding this service, which was attended with becoming reverence and attention, all on board retired to their respective berths to breakfast, and, at half-past nine, the bell again rung for the artificers to take their stations in their respective boats. some demur having been evinced on board about the propriety of working on sunday, which had hitherto been touched upon as delicately as possible, all hands being called aft, the writer, from the quarter-deck, stated generally the nature of the service, expressing his hopes that every man would feel himself called upon to consider the erection of a lighthouse on the bell rock, in every point of view, as a work of necessity and mercy. he knew that scruples had existed with some, and these had, indeed, been fairly and candidly urged before leaving the shore; but it was expected that, after having seen the critical nature of the rock, and the necessity of the measure, every man would now be satisfied of the propriety of embracing all opportunities of landing on the rock when the state of the weather would permit. the writer further took them to witness that it did not proceed from want of respect for the appointments and established forms of religion that he had himself adopted the resolution of attending the bell rock works on the sunday; but, as he hoped, from a conviction that it was his bounden duty, on the strictest principles of morality. at the same time it was intimated that, if any were of a different opinion, they should be perfectly at liberty to hold their sentiments without the imputation of contumacy or disobedience; the only difference would be in regard to the pay. upon stating this much, he stepped into his boat, requesting all who were so disposed to follow him. the sailors, from their habits, found no scruple on this subject, and all of the artificers, though a little tardy, also embarked, excepting four of the masons, who, from the beginning, mentioned that they would decline working on sundays. it may here be noticed that throughout the whole of the operations it was observable that the men wrought, if possible, with more keenness upon the sundays than at other times, from an impression that they were engaged in a work of imperious necessity, which required every possible exertion. on returning to the floating light, after finishing the tide's work, the boats were received by the part of the ship's crew left on board with the usual attention of handing ropes to the boats and helping the artificers on board; but the four masons who had absented themselves from the work did not appear upon deck. monday, th aug. the boats left the floating light at a quarter-past nine o'clock this morning, and the work began at three-quarters past nine; but as the neap-tides were approaching the working time at the rock became gradually shorter, and it was now with difficulty that two and a half hours' work could be got. but so keenly had the workmen entered into the spirit of the beacon-house operations, that they continued to bore the holes in the rock till some of them were knee-deep in water. the operations at this time were entirely directed to the erection of the beacon, in which every man felt an equal interest, as at this critical period the slightest casualty to any of the boats at the rock might have been fatal to himself individually, while it was perhaps peculiar to the writer more immediately to feel for the safety of the whole. each log or upright beam of the beacon was to be fixed to the rock by two strong and massive bats or stanchions of iron. these bats, for the fixture of the principal and diagonal beams and bracing chains, required fifty-four holes, each measuring two inches in diameter and eighteen inches in depth. there had already been so considerable a progress made in boring and excavating the holes that the writer's hopes of getting the beacon erected this year began to be more and more confirmed, although it was now advancing towards what was considered the latter end of the proper working season at the bell rock. the foreman joiner, mr. francis watt, was accordingly appointed to attend at the rock to-day, when the necessary levels were taken for the step or seat of each particular beam of the beacon, that they might be cut to their respective lengths, to suit the inequalities of the rock; several of the stanchions were also tried into their places, and other necessary observations made, to prevent mistakes on the application of the apparatus, and to facilitate the operations when the beams came to be set up, which would require to be done in the course of a single tide. tuesday, th aug. we had now experienced an almost unvaried tract of light airs of easterly wind, with clear weather in the fore-part of the day and fog in the evenings. to-day, however, it sensibly changed; when the wind came to the south-west, and blew a fresh breeze. at nine a.m. the bell rung, and the boats were hoisted out, and though the artificers were now pretty well accustomed to tripping up and down the sides of the floating light, yet it required more seamanship this morning than usual. it therefore afforded some merriment to those who had got fairly seated in their respective boats to see the difficulties which attended their companions, and the hesitating manner in which they quitted hold of the man-ropes in leaving the ship. the passage to the rock was tedious, and the boats did not reach it till half-past ten. it being now the period of neap-tides, the water only partially left the rock, and some of the men who were boring on the lower ledges of the site of the beacon stood knee-deep in water. the situation of the smith to-day was particularly disagreeable, but his services were at all times indispensable. as the tide did not leave the site of the forge, he stood in the water, and as there was some roughness on the surface it was with considerable difficulty that, with the assistance of the sailors, he was enabled to preserve alive his fire; and, while his feet were immersed in water, his face was not only scorched but continually exposed to volumes of smoke, accompanied with sparks from the fire, which were occasionally set up owing to the strength and direction of the wind. wednesday, th aug the wind had shifted this morning to n.n.w., with rain, and was blowing what sailors call a fresh breeze. to speak, perhaps, somewhat more intelligibly to the general reader, the wind was such that a fishing-boat could just carry full sail. but as it was of importance, specially in the outset of the business, to keep up the spirit of enterprise for landing on all practicable occasions, the writer, after consulting with the landing-master, ordered the bell to be rung for embarking, and at half-past eleven the boats reached the rock, and left it again at a quarter-past twelve, without, however, being able to do much work, as the smith could not be set to work from the smallness of the ebb and the strong breach of sea, which lashed with great force among the bars of the forge. just as we were about to leave the rock the wind shifted to the s.w., and, from a fresh gale, it became what seamen term a hard gale, or such as would have required the fisherman to take in two or three reefs in his sail. it is a curious fact that the respective tides of ebb and flood are apparent upon the shore about an hour and a half sooner than at the distance of three or four miles in the offing. but what seems chiefly interesting here is that the tides around this small sunken rock should follow exactly the same laws as on the extensive shores of the mainland. when the boats left the bell rock to-day it was overflowed by the flood-tide, but the floating light did not swing round to the flood-tide for more than an hour afterwards. under this disadvantage the boats had to struggle with the ebb-tide and a hard gale of wind, so that it was with the greatest difficulty they reached the floating light. had this gale happened in spring-tides when the current was strong we must have been driven to sea in a very helpless condition. the boat which the writer steered was considerably behind the other, one of the masons having unluckily broken his oar. our prospect of getting on board, of course, became doubtful, and our situation was rather perilous, as the boat shipped so much sea that it occupied two of the artificers to bale and clear her of water. when the oar gave way we were about half a mile from the ship, but, being fortunately to windward, we got into the wake of the floating light, at about fathoms astern, just as the landing-master's boat reached the vessel. he immediately streamed or floated a life-buoy astern, with a line which was always in readiness, and by means of this useful implement the boat was towed alongside of the floating light, where, from her rolling motion, it required no small management to get safely on board, as the men were worn out with their exertions in pulling from the rock. on the present occasion the crews of both boats were completely drenched with spray, and those who sat upon the bottom of the boats to bale them were sometimes pretty deep in the water before it could be cleared out. after getting on board, all hands were allowed an extra dram, and, having shifted and got a warm and comfortable dinner, the affair, it is believed, was little more thought of. thursday, th aug. the tides were now in that state which sailors term the dead of the neap, and it was not expected that any part of the rock would be seen above water to-day; at any rate, it was obvious, from the experience of yesterday, that no work could be done upon it, and therefore the artificers were not required to land. the wind was at west, with light breezes, and fine clear weather; and as it was an object with the writer to know the actual state of the bell rock at neap-tides, he got one of the boats manned, and, being accompanied by the landing-master, went to it at a quarter-past twelve. the parts of the rock that appeared above water being very trifling, were covered by every wave, so that no landing was made. upon trying the depth of water with a boat-hook, particularly on the sites of the lighthouse and beacon, on the former, at low water, the depth was found to be three feet, and on the central parts of the latter it was ascertained to be two feet eight inches. having made these remarks, the boat returned to the ship at two p.m., and the weather being good, the artificers were found amusing themselves with fishing. the _smeaton_ came from arbroath this afternoon, and made fast to her moorings, having brought letters and newspapers, with parcels of clean linen, etc., for the workmen, who were also made happy by the arrival of three of their comrades from the workyard ashore. from these men they not only received all the news of the workyard, but seemed themselves to enjoy great pleasure in communicating whatever they considered to be interesting with regard to the rock. some also got letters from their friends at a distance, the postage of which for the men afloat was always free, so that they corresponded the more readily. the site of the building having already been carefully traced out with the pick-axe, the artificers this day commenced the excavation of the rock for the foundation or first course of the lighthouse. four men only were employed at this work, while twelve continued at the site of the beacon-house, at which every possible opportunity was embraced, till this essential part of the operations should be completed. wednesday nd sept. the floating light's bell rung this morning at half-past four o'clock, as a signal for the boats to be got ready, and the landing took place at half-past five. in passing the _smeaton_ at her moorings near the rock, her boat followed with eight additional artificers who had come from arbroath with her at last trip, but there being no room for them in the floating light's boats, they had continued on board. the weather did not look very promising in the morning, the wind blowing pretty fresh from w.s.w.: and had it not been that the writer calculated upon having a vessel so much at command, in all probability he would not have ventured to land. the _smeaton_ rode at what sailors call a _salvagee_, with a cross-head made fast to the floating buoy. this kind of attachment was found to be more convenient than the mode of passing the hawser through the ring of the buoy when the vessel was to be made fast. she had then only to be steered very close to the buoy, when the salvagee was laid hold of with a boat-hook, and the _bite_ of the hawser thrown over the cross-head. but the salvagee, by this method, was always left at the buoy, and was, of course, more liable to chafe and wear than a hawser passed through the ring, which could be wattled with canvas, and shifted at pleasure. the salvagee and cross method is, however, much practised; but the experience of this morning showed it to be very unsuitable for vessels riding in an exposed situation for any length of time. soon after the artificers landed they commenced work; but the wind coming to blow hard, the _smeaton's_ boat and crew, who had brought their complement of eight men to the rock, went off to examine her riding ropes, and see that they were in proper order. the boat had no sooner reached the vessel than she went adrift, carrying the boat along with her. by the time that she was got round to make a tack towards the rock, she had drifted at least three miles to leeward, with the praam boat astern; and, having both the wind and a tide against her, the writer perceived, with no little anxiety, that she could not possibly return to the rock till long after its being overflowed; for, owing to the anomaly of the tides formerly noticed, the bell rock is completely under water when the ebb abates to the offing. in this perilous predicament, indeed, he found himself placed between hope and despair--but certainly the latter was by much the most predominant feeling of his mind--situate upon a sunken rock in the middle of the ocean, which, in the progress of the flood-tide, was to be laid under water to the depth of at least twelve feet in a stormy sea. there were this morning thirty-two persons in all upon the rock, with only two boats, whose complement, even in good weather, did not exceed twenty-four sitters; but to row to the floating light with so much wind, and in so heavy a sea, a complement of eight men for each boat was as much as could, with propriety, be attempted, so that, in this way, about one-half of our number was unprovided for. under these circumstances, had the writer ventured to despatch one of the boats in expectation of either working the _smeaton_ sooner up towards the rock, or in hopes of getting her boat brought to our assistance, this must have given an immediate alarm to the artificers, each of whom would have insisted upon taking to his own boat, and leaving the eight artificers belonging to the _smeaton_ to their chance. of course a scuffle might have ensued, and it is hard to say, in the ardour of men contending for life, where it might have ended. it has even been hinted to the writer that a party of the _pickmen_ were determined to keep exclusively to their own boat against all hazards. the unfortunate circumstance of the _smeaton_ and her boat having drifted was, for a considerable time, only known to the writer and to the landing-master, who removed to the farther point of the rock, where he kept his eye steadily upon the progress of the vessel. while the artificers were at work, chiefly in sitting or kneeling postures, excavating the rock, or boring with the jumpers, and while their numerous hammers, with the sound of the smith's anvil, continued, the situation of things did not appear so awful. in this state of suspense, with almost certain destruction at hand, the water began to rise upon those who were at work on the lower parts of the sites of the beacon and lighthouse. from the run of sea upon the rock, the forge fire was also sooner extinguished this morning than usual, and the volumes of smoke having ceased, objects in every direction became visible from all parts of the rock. after having had about three hours' work, the men began, pretty generally, to make towards their respective boats for their jackets and stockings, when, to their astonishment, instead of three, they found only two boats, the third being adrift with the _smeaton_. not a word was uttered by any one, but all appeared to be silently calculating their numbers, and looking to each other with evident marks of perplexity depicted in their countenances. the landing-master, conceiving that blame might be attached to him for allowing the boat to leave the rock, still kept at a distance. at this critical moment the author was standing upon an elevated part of smith's ledge, where he endeavoured to mark the progress of the _smeaton_, not a little surprised that her crew did not cut the praam adrift, which greatly retarded her way, and amazed that some effort was not making to bring at least the boat, and attempt our relief. the workmen looked steadfastly upon the writer, and turned occasionally towards the vessel, still far to leeward.[ ] all this passed in the most perfect silence, and the melancholy solemnity of the group made an impression never to be effaced from his mind. the writer had all along been considering of various schemes--providing the men could be kept under command--which might be put in practice for the general safety, in hopes that the _smeaton_ might be able to pick up the boats to leeward, when they were obliged to leave the rock. he was, accordingly, about to address the artificers on the perilous nature of their circumstances, and to propose that all hands should unstrip their upper clothing when the higher parts of the rock were laid under water; that the seamen should remove every unnecessary weight and encumbrance from the boats; that a specified number of men should go into each boat, and that the remainder should hang by the gunwales, while the boats were to be rowed gently towards the _smeaton_, as the course to the _pharos_, or floating light, lay rather to windward of the rock. but when he attempted to speak his mouth was so parched that his tongue refused utterance, and he now learned by experience that the saliva is as necessary as the tongue itself for speech. he turned to one of the pools on the rock and lapped a little water, which produced immediate relief. but what was his happiness, when on rising from this unpleasant beverage, some one called out, "a boat! a boat!" and, on looking around, at no great distance, a large boat was seen through the haze making towards the rock. this at once enlivened and rejoiced every heart. the timeous visitor proved to be james spink, the bell rock pilot, who had come express from arbroath with letters. spink had for some time seen the _smeaton_, and had even supposed, from the state of the weather, that all hands were on board of her till he approached more nearly and observed people upon the rock; but not supposing that the assistance of his boat was necessary to carry the artificers off the rock, he anchored on the lee-side and began to fish, waiting, as usual, till the letters were sent for, as the pilot-boat was too large and unwieldy for approaching the rock when there was any roughness or run of the sea at the entrance of the landing creeks. upon this fortunate change of circumstances, sixteen of the artificers were sent, at two trips, in one of the boats, with instructions for spink to proceed with them to the floating light. this being accomplished, the remaining sixteen followed in the two boats belonging to the service of the rock. every one felt the most perfect happiness at leaving the bell rock this morning, though a very hard and dangerous passage to the floating light still awaited us, as the wind by this time had increased to a pretty hard gale, accompanied with a considerable swell of sea. every one was as completely drenched in water as if he had been dragged astern of the boats. the writer, in particular, being at the helm, found, on getting on board, that his face and ears were completely coated with a thin film of salt from the sea spray, which broke constantly over the bows of the boat. after much baling of water and severe work at the oars, the three boats reached the floating light, where some new difficulties occurred in getting on board in safety, owing partly to the exhausted state of the men, and partly to the violent rolling of the vessel. as the tide flowed, it was expected that the _smeaton_ would have got to windward; but, seeing that all was safe, after tacking for several hours and making little progress, she bore away for arbroath, with the praam-boat. as there was now too much wind for the pilot-boat to return to arbroath, she was made fast astern of the floating light, and the crew remained on board till next day, when the weather moderated. there can be very little doubt that the appearance of james spink with his boat on this critical occasion was the means of preventing the loss of lives at the rock this morning. when these circumstances, some years afterwards, came to the knowledge of the board, a small pension was ordered to our faithful pilot, then in his seventieth year; and he still continues to wear the uniform clothes and badge of the lighthouse service. spink is a remarkably strong man, whose _tout ensemble_ is highly characteristic of a north-country fisherman. he usually dresses in a _pé-jacket_, cut after a particular fashion, and wears a large, flat, blue bonnet. a striking likeness of spink in his pilot-dress, with the badge or insignia on his left arm which is characteristic of the boatmen in the service of the northern lights, has been taken by howe, and is in the writer's possession. thursday, rd. sept. the bell rung this morning at five o'clock, but the writer must acknowledge, from the circumstances of yesterday, that its sound was extremely unwelcome. this appears also to have been the feelings of the artificers, for when they came to be mustered, out of twenty-six, only eight, besides the foreman and seamen, appeared upon deck to accompany the writer to the rock. such are the baneful effects of anything like misfortune or accident connected with a work of this description. the use of argument to persuade the men to embark in cases of this kind would have been out of place, as it is not only discomfort, or even the risk of the loss of a limb, but life itself that becomes the question. the boats, notwithstanding the thinness of our ranks, left the vessel at half-past five. the rough weather of yesterday having proved but a summer's gale, the wind came to-day in gentle breezes; yet, the atmosphere being cloudy, it had not a very favourable appearance. the boats reached the rock at six a.m., and the eight artificers who landed were employed in clearing out the bat-holes for the beacon-house, and had a very prosperous tide of four hours' work, being the longest yet experienced by half an hour. the boats left the rock again at ten o'clock, and the weather having cleared up as we drew near the vessel, the eighteen artificers who had remained on board were observed upon deck, but as the boats approached they sought their way below, being quite ashamed of their conduct. this was the only instance of refusal to go to the rock which occurred during the whole progress of the work, excepting that of the four men who declined working upon sunday, a case which the writer did not conceive to be at all analogous to the present. it may here be mentioned, much to the credit of these four men, that they stood foremost in embarking for the rock this morning. saturday, th sept. it was fortunate that a landing was not attempted this evening, for at eight o'clock the wind shifted to e.s.e., and at ten it had become a hard gale, when fifty fathoms of the floating light's hempen cable were veered out. the gale still increasing, the ship rolled and laboured excessively, and at midnight eighty fathoms of cable were veered out; while the sea continued to strike the vessel with a degree of force which had not before been experienced. sunday, th sept. during the last night there was little rest on board of the _pharos_, and daylight, though anxiously wished for, brought no relief, as the gale continued with unabated violence. the sea struck so hard upon the vessel's bows that it rose in great quantities, or in "green seas," as the sailors termed it, which were carried by the wind as far aft as the quarter-deck, and not unfrequently over the stern of the ship altogether. it fell occasionally so heavily on the skylight of the writer's cabin, though so far aft as to be within five feet of the helm, that the glass was broken to pieces before the dead-light could be got into its place, so that the water poured down in great quantities. in shutting out the water, the admission of light was prevented, and in the morning all continued in the most comfortless state of darkness. about ten o'clock a.m. the wind shifted to n.e., and blew, if possible, harder than before, and it was accompanied by a much heavier swell of sea. in the course of the gale, the part of the cable in the hause-hole had been so often shifted that nearly the whole length of one of her hempen cables, of fathoms, had been veered out, besides the chain-moorings. the cable, for its preservation, was also carefully served or wattled with pieces of canvas round the windlass, and with leather well greased in the hause-hole. in this state things remained during the whole day, every sea which struck the vessel--and the seas followed each other in close succession--causing her to shake, and all on board occasionally to tremble. at each of these strokes of the sea the rolling and pitching of the vessel ceased for a time, and her motion was felt as if she had either broke adrift before the wind or were in the act of sinking; but, when another sea came, she ranged up against it with great force, and this became the regular intimation of our being still riding at anchor. about eleven o'clock, the writer with some difficulty got out of bed, but, in attempting to dress, he was thrown twice upon the floor at the opposite end of the cabin. in an undressed state he made shift to get about half-way up the companion-stairs, with an intention to observe the state of the sea and of the ship upon deck; but he no sooner looked over the companion than a heavy sea struck the vessel, which fell on the quarter-deck, and rushed downstairs in the officers' cabin in so considerable a quantity that it was found necessary to lift one of the scuttles in the floor, to let the water into the limbers of the ship, as it dashed from side to side in such a manner as to run into the lower tier of beds. having been foiled in this attempt, and being completely wetted, he again got below and went to bed. in this state of the weather the seamen had to move about the necessary or indispensable duties of the ship with the most cautious use both of hands and feet, while it required all the art of the landsman to keep within the precincts of his bed. the writer even found himself so much tossed about that it became necessary, in some measure, to shut himself in bed, in order to avoid being thrown upon the floor. indeed, such was the motion of the ship that it seemed wholly impracticable to remain in any other than a lying posture. on deck the most stormy aspect presented itself, while below all was wet and comfortless. about two o'clock p.m. a great alarm was given throughout the ship from the effects of a very heavy sea which struck her, and almost filled the waist, pouring down into the berths below, through every chink and crevice of the hatches and skylights. from the motion of the vessel being thus suddenly deadened or checked, and from the flowing in of the water above, it is believed there was not an individual on board who did not think, at the moment, that the vessel had foundered, and was in the act of sinking. the writer could withstand this no longer, and as soon as she again began to range to the sea he determined to make another effort to get upon deck. in the first instance, however, he groped his way in darkness from his own cabin through the berths of the officers, where all was quietness. he next entered the galley and other compartments occupied by the artificers. here also all was shut up in darkness, the fire having been drowned out in the early part of the gale. several of the artificers were employed in prayer, repeating psalms and other devotional exercises in a full tone of voice; others protesting that, if they should fortunately get once more on shore, no one should ever see them afloat again. with the assistance of the landing-master, the writer made his way, holding on step by step, among the numerous impediments which lay in the way. such was the creaking noise of the bulkheads or partitions, the dashing of the water, and the whistling noise of the winds, that it was hardly possible to break in upon such a confusion of sounds. in one or two instances, anxious and repeated inquiries were made by the artificers as to the state of things upon deck, to which the captain made the usual answer, that it could not blow long in this way, and that we must soon have better weather. the next berth in succession, moving forward in the ship, was that allotted for the seamen. here the scene was considerably different. having reached the middle of this darksome berth without its inmates being aware of any intrusion, the writer had the consolation of remarking that, although they talked of bad weather and the cross accidents of the sea, yet the conversation was carried on in that sort of tone and manner which bespoke an ease and composure of mind highly creditable to them and pleasing to him. the writer immediately accosted the seamen about the state of the ship. to these inquiries they replied that the vessel being light, and having but little hold of the water, no top-rigging, with excellent ground-tackle, and everything being fresh and new, they felt perfect confidence in their situation. it being impossible to open any of the hatches in the fore part of the ship in communicating with the deck, the watch was changed by passing through the several berths to the companion-stair leading to the quarter-deck. the writer, therefore, made the best of his way aft, and, on a second attempt to look out, he succeeded, and saw indeed an astonishing sight. the sea or waves appeared to be ten or fifteen feet in height of unbroken water, and every approaching billow seemed as if it would overwhelm our vessel, but she continued to rise upon the waves and to fall between the seas in a very wonderful manner. it seemed to be only those seas which caught her in the act of rising which struck her with so much violence and threw such quantities of water aft. on deck there was only one solitary individual looking out, to give the alarm in the event of the ship breaking from her moorings. the seaman on watch continued only two hours; he who kept watch at this time was a tall, slender man of a black complexion; he had no greatcoat nor over-all of any kind, but was simply dressed in his ordinary jacket and trousers; his hat was tied under his chin with a napkin, and he stood aft the foremast, to which he had lashed himself with a gasket or small rope round his waist, to prevent his falling upon deck or being washed overboard. when the writer looked up, he appeared to smile, which afforded a further symptom of the confidence of the crew in their ship. this person on watch was as completely wetted as if he had been drawn through the sea, which was given as a reason for his not putting on a greatcoat, that he might wet as few of his clothes as possible, and have a dry shift when he went below. upon deck everything that was movable was out of sight, having either been stowed below, previous to the gale, or been washed overboard. some trifling parts of the quarter boards were damaged by the breach of the sea; and one of the boats upon deck was about one-third full of water, the oyle-hole or drain having been accidentally stopped up, and part of her gunwale had received considerable injury. these observations were hastily made, and not without occasionally shutting the companion, to avoid being wetted by the successive seas which broke over the bows and fell upon different parts of the deck according to the impetus with which the waves struck the vessel. by this time it was about three o'clock in the afternoon, and the gale, which had now continued with unabated force for twenty-seven hours, had not the least appearance of going off. in the dismal prospect of undergoing another night like the last, and being in imminent hazard of parting from our cable, the writer thought it necessary to advise with the master and officers of the ship as to the probable event of the vessel's drifting from her moorings. they severally gave it as their opinion that we had now every chance of riding out the gale, which, in all probability, could not continue with the same fury many hours longer; and that even if she should part from her anchor, the storm-sails had been laid to hand, and could be bent in a very short time. they further stated that from the direction of the wind being n.e., she would sail up the firth of forth to leith roads. but if this should appear doubtful, after passing the island and light of may, it might be advisable at once to steer for tyningham sands, on the western side of dunbar, and there run the vessel ashore. if this should happen at the time of high-water, or during the ebbing of the tide, they were of opinion, from the flatness and strength of the floating light, that no danger would attend her taking the ground, even with a very heavy sea. the writer, seeing the confidence which these gentlemen possessed with regard to the situation of things, found himself as much relieved with this conversation as he had previously been with the seeming indifference of the forecastle-men, and the smile of the watch upon deck, though literally lashed to the foremast. from this time he felt himself almost perfectly at ease; at any rate, he was entirely resigned to the ultimate result. about six o'clock in the evening the ship's company was heard moving upon deck, which on the present occasion was rather the cause of alarm. the writer accordingly rang his bell to know what was the matter, when he was informed by the steward that the weather looked considerably better, and that the men upon deck were endeavouring to ship the smoke-funnel of the galley that the people might get some meat. this was a more favourable account than had been anticipated. during the last twenty-one hours he himself had not only had nothing to eat, but he had almost never passed a thought on the subject. upon the mention of a change of weather, he sent the steward to learn how the artificers felt, and on his return he stated that they now seemed to be all very happy, since the cook had begun to light the galley-fire and make preparations for the suet-pudding of sunday, which was the only dish to be attempted for the mess, from the ease with which it could both be cooked and served up. the principal change felt upon the ship as the wind abated was her increased rolling motion, but the pitching was much diminished, and now hardly any sea came farther aft than the foremast: but she rolled so extremely hard as frequently to dip and take in water over the gunwales and rails in the waist. by nine o'clock all hands had been refreshed by the exertions of the cook and steward, and were happy in the prospect of the worst of the gale being over. the usual complement of men was also now set on watch, and more quietness was experienced throughout the ship. although the previous night had been a very restless one, it had not the effect of inducing repose in the writer's berth on the succeeding night; for having been so much tossed about in bed during the last thirty hours, he found no easy spot to turn to, and his body was all sore to the touch, which ill accorded with the unyielding materials with which his bed-place was surrounded. monday, th sept. this morning, about eight o'clock, the writer was agreeably surprised to see the scuttle of his cabin skylight removed, and the bright rays of the sun admitted. although the ship continued to roll excessively, and the sea was still running very high, yet the ordinary business on board seemed to be going forward on deck. it was impossible to steady a telescope, so as to look minutely at the progress of the waves and trace their breach upon the bell rock; but the height to which the cross-running waves rose in sprays when they met each other was truly grand, and the continued roar and noise of the sea was very perceptible to the ear. to estimate the height of the sprays at forty or fifty feet would surely be within the mark. those of the workmen who were not much afflicted with sea-sickness came upon deck, and the wetness below being dried up, the cabins were again brought into a habitable state. every one seemed to meet as if after a long absence, congratulating his neighbour upon the return of good weather. little could be said as to the comfort of the vessel, but after riding out such a gale, no one felt the least doubt or hesitation as to the safety and good condition of her moorings. the master and mate were extremely anxious, however, to heave in the hempen cable, and see the state of the clinch or iron ring of the chain-cable. but the vessel rolled at such a rate that the seamen could not possibly keep their feet at the windlass nor work the handspikes, though it had been several times attempted since the gale took off. about twelve noon, however, the vessel's motion was observed to be considerably less, and the sailors were enabled to walk upon deck with some degree of freedom. but, to the astonishment of every one, it was soon discovered that the floating light was adrift! the windlass was instantly manned, and the men soon gave out that there was no strain upon the cable. the mizzen sail, which was bent for the occasional purpose of making the vessel ride more easily to the tide, was immediately set, and the other sails were also hoisted in a short time, when, in no small consternation, we bore away about one mile to the south-westward of the former station, and there let go the best bower anchor and cable in twenty fathoms water, to ride until the swell of the sea should fall, when it might be practicable to grapple for the moorings, and find a better anchorage for the ship. tuesday, th sept. this morning, at five a.m., the bell rung as a signal for landing upon the rock, a sound which, after a lapse of ten days, it is believed was welcomed by every one on board. there being a heavy breach of sea at the eastern creek, we landed, though not without difficulty, on the western side, every one seeming more eager than another to get upon the rock; and never did hungry men sit down to a hearty meal with more appetite than the artificers began to pick the dulse from the rocks. this marine plant had the effect of reviving the sickly, and seemed to be no less relished by those who were more hardy. while the water was ebbing, and the men were roaming in quest of their favourite morsel, the writer was examining the effects of the storm upon the forge and loose apparatus left upon the rock. six large blocks of granite which had been landed, by way of experiment, on the st instant, were now removed from their places and, by the force of the sea, thrown over a rising ledge into a hole at the distance of twelve or fifteen paces from the place on which they had been landed. this was a pretty good evidence both of the violence of the storm and the agitation of the sea upon the rock. the safety of the smith's forge was always an object of essential regard. the ash-pan of the hearth or fireplace, with its weighty cast-iron back, had been washed from their places of supposed security; the chains of attachment had been broken, and these ponderous articles were found at a very considerable distance in a hole on the western side of the rock; while the tools and picks of the aberdeen masons were scattered about in every direction. it is, however, remarkable that not a single article was ultimately lost. this being the night on which the floating light was advertised to be lighted, it was accordingly exhibited, to the great joy of every one. wednesday, th sept. the writer was made happy to-day by the return of the lighthouse yacht from a voyage to the northern lighthouses. having immediately removed on board of this fine vessel of eighty-one tons register, the artificers gladly followed; for, though they found themselves more pinched for accommodation on board of the yacht, and still more so in the _smeaton_, yet they greatly preferred either of these to the _pharos_, or floating light, on account of her rolling motion, though in all respects fitted up for their conveniency. the writer called them to the quarter-deck and informed them that, having been one month afloat, in terms of their agreement they were now at liberty to return to the workyard at arbroath if they preferred this to continuing at the bell rock. but they replied that, in the prospect of soon getting the beacon erected upon the rock, and having made a change from the floating light, they were now perfectly reconciled to their situation, and would remain afloat till the end of the working season. thursday, th sept. the wind was at n.e. this morning, and though there were only light airs, yet there was a pretty heavy swell coming ashore upon the rock. the boats landed at half-past seven o'clock a.m., at the creek on the southern side of the rock, marked port hamilton. but as one of the boats was in the act of entering this creek, the seaman at the bow-oar, who had just entered the service, having inadvertently expressed some fear from a heavy sea which came rolling towards the boat, and one of the artificers having at the same time looked round and missed a stroke with his oar, such a preponderance was thus given to the rowers upon the opposite side that when the wave struck the boat it threw her upon a ledge of shelving rocks, where the water left her, and she having _kanted_ to seaward, the next wave completely filled her with water. after making considerable efforts the boat was again got afloat in the proper track of the creek, so that we landed without any other accident than a complete ducking. there being no possibility of getting a shift of clothes, the artificers began with all speed to work, so as to bring themselves into heat, while the writer and his assistants kept as much as possible in motion. having remained more than an hour upon the rock, the boats left it at half-past nine; and, after getting on board, the writer recommended to the artificers, as the best mode of getting into a state of comfort, to strip off their wet clothes and go to bed for an hour or two. no further inconveniency was felt, and no one seemed to complain of the affection called "catching cold." friday, th sept. an important occurrence connected with the operations of this season was the arrival of the _smeaton_ at four p.m., having in tow the six principal beams of the beacon-house, together with all the stanchions and other work on board for fixing it on the rock. the mooring of the floating light was a great point gained, but in the erection of the beacon at this late period of the season new difficulties presented themselves. the success of such an undertaking at any season was precarious, because a single day of bad weather occurring before the necessary fixtures could be made might sweep the whole apparatus from the rock. notwithstanding these difficulties, the writer had determined to make the trial, although he could almost have wished, upon looking at the state of the clouds and the direction of the wind, that the apparatus for the beacon had been still in the workyard. saturday, th sept. the main beams of the beacon were made up in two separate rafts, fixed with bars and bolts of iron. one of these rafts, not being immediately wanted, was left astern of the floating light, and the other was kept in tow by the _smeaton_, at the buoy nearest to the rock. the lighthouse yacht rode at another buoy with all hands on board that could possibly be spared out of the floating light. the party of artificers and seamen which landed on the rock counted altogether forty in number. at half-past eight o'clock a derrick, or mast of thirty feet in height, was erected and properly supported with guy-ropes, for suspending the block for raising the first principal beam of the beacon; and a winch machine was also bolted down to the rock for working the purchase-tackle. upon raising the derrick, all hands on the rock spontaneously gave three hearty cheers, as a favourable omen of our future exertions in pointing out more permanently the position of the rock. even to this single spar of timber, could it be preserved, a drowning man might lay hold. when the _smeaton_ drifted on the nd of this month such a spar would have been sufficient to save us till she could have come to our relief. sunday, th sept. the wind this morning was variable, but the weather continued extremely favourable for the operations throughout the whole day. at six a.m. the boats were in motion, and the raft, consisting of four of the six principal beams of the beacon-house, each measuring about sixteen inches square, and fifty feet in length, was towed to the rock, where it was anchored, that it might _ground_ upon it as the water ebbed. the sailors and artificers, including all hands, to-day counted no fewer than fifty-two, being perhaps the greatest number of persons ever collected upon the bell rock. it was early in the tide when the boats reached the rock, and the men worked a considerable time up to their middle in water, every one being more eager than his neighbour to be useful. even the four artificers who had hitherto declined working on sunday were to-day most zealous in their exertions. they had indeed become so convinced of the precarious nature and necessity of the work that they never afterwards absented themselves from the rock on sunday when a landing was practicable. having made fast a piece of very good new line, at about two-thirds from the lower end of one of the beams, the purchase-tackle of the derrick was hooked into the turns of the line, and it was speedily raised by the number of men on the rock and the power of the winch tackle. when this log was lifted to a sufficient height, its foot, or lower end, was _stepped_ into the spot which had been previously prepared for it. two of the great iron stanchions were then set in their respective holes on each side of the beam, when a rope was passed round them and the beam, to prevent it from slipping till it could be more permanently fixed. the derrick, or upright spar used for carrying the tackle to raise the first beam, was placed in such a position as to become useful for supporting the upper end of it, which now became, in its turn, the prop of the tackle for raising the second beam. the whole difficulty of this operation was in the raising and propping of the first beam, which became a convenient derrick for raising the second, these again a pair of shears for lifting the third, and the shears a triangle for raising the fourth. having thus got four of the six principal beams set on end, it required a considerable degree of trouble to get their upper ends to fit. here they formed the apex of a cone, and were all together mortised into a large piece of beechwood, and secured, for the present, with ropes, in a temporary manner. during the short period of one tide all that could further be done for their security was to put a single screw-bolt through the great kneed bats or stanchions on each side of the beams, and screw the nut home. in this manner these four principal beams were erected, and left in a pretty secure state. the men had commenced while there was about two or three feet of water upon the side of the beacon, and as the sea was smooth they continued the work equally long during flood-tide. two of the boats being left at the rock to take off the joiners, who were busily employed on the upper parts till two o'clock p.m., this tide's work may be said to have continued for about seven hours, which was the longest that had hitherto been got upon the rock by at least three hours. when the first boats left the rock with the artificers employed on the lower part of the work during the flood-tide, the beacon had quite a novel appearance. the beams erected formed a common base of about thirty-three feet, meeting at the top, which was about forty-five feet above the rock, and here half a dozen of the artificers were still at work. after clearing the rock the boats made a stop, when three hearty cheers were given, which were returned with equal goodwill by those upon the beacon, from the personal interest which every one felt in the prosperity of this work, so intimately connected with his safety. all hands having returned to their respective ships, they got a shift of dry clothes and some refreshment. being sunday, they were afterwards convened by signal on board of the lighthouse yacht, when prayers were read; for every heart upon this occasion felt gladness, and every mind was disposed to be thankful for the happy and successful termination of the operations of this day. monday, st sept. the remaining two principal beams were erected in the course of this tide, which, with the assistance of those set up yesterday, was found to be a very simple operation. tuesday, nd sept. the six principal beams of the beacon were thus secured, at least in a temporary manner, in the course of two tides, or in the short space of about eleven hours and a half. such is the progress that may be made when active hands and willing minds set properly to work in operations of this kind. having now got the weighty part of this work over, and being thereby relieved of the difficulty both of landing and victualling such a number of men, the _smeaton_ could now be spared, and she was accordingly despatched to arbroath for a supply of water and provisions, and carried with her six of the artificers who could best be spared. wednesday, rd sept. in going out of the eastern harbour, the boat which the writer steered shipped a sea, that filled her about one-third with water. she had also been hid for a short time, by the waves breaking upon the rock, from the sight of the crew of the preceding boat, who were much alarmed for our safety, imagining for a time that she had gone down. the _smeaton_ returned from arbroath this afternoon, but there was so much sea that she could not be made fast to her moorings, and the vessel was obliged to return to arbroath without being able either to deliver the provisions or take the artificers on board. the lighthouse yacht was also soon obliged to follow her example, as the sea was breaking heavily over her bows. after getting two reefs in the mainsail, and the third or storm-jib set, the wind being s.w., she bent to windward, though blowing a hard gale, and got into st. andrews bay, where we passed the night under the lee of fifeness. thursday, th sept. at two o'clock this morning we were in st. andrews bay, standing off and on shore, with strong gales of wind at s.w.; at seven we were off the entrance of the tay; at eight stood towards the rock, and at ten passed to leeward of it, but could not attempt a landing. the beacon, however, appeared to remain in good order, and by six p.m. the vessel had again beaten up to st. andrews bay, and got into somewhat smoother water for the night. friday, th sept. at seven o'clock bore away for the bell rock, but finding a heavy sea running on it were unable to land. the writer, however, had the satisfaction to observe, with his telescope, that everything about the beacon appeared entire; and although the sea had a most frightful appearance, yet it was the opinion of every one that, since the erection of the beacon, the bell rock was divested of many of its terrors, and had it been possible to have got the boats hoisted out and manned, it might have even been found practicable to land. at six it blew so hard that it was found necessary to strike the topmast and take in a third reef of the mainsail, and under this low canvas we soon reached st. andrews bay, and got again under the lee of the land for the night. the artificers, being sea-hardy, were quite reconciled to their quarters on board of the lighthouse yacht; but it is believed that hardly any consideration would have induced them again to take up their abode in the floating light. saturday, th sept. at daylight the yacht steered towards the bell rock, and at eight a.m. made fast to her moorings; at ten, all hands, to the amount of thirty, landed, when the writer had the happiness to find that the beacon had withstood the violence of the gale and the heavy breach of sea, everything being found in the same state in which it had been left on the st. the artificers were now enabled to work upon the rock throughout the whole day, both at low and high water, but it required the strictest attention to the state of the weather, in case of their being overtaken with a gale, which might prevent the possibility of getting them off the rock. two somewhat memorable circumstances in the annals of the bell rock attended the operations of this day: one was the removal of mr. james dove, the foreman smith, with his apparatus, from the rock to the upper part of the beacon, where the forge was now erected on a temporary platform, laid on the cross beams or upper framing. the other was the artificers having dined for the first time upon the rock, their dinner being cooked on board of the yacht, and sent to them by one of the boats. but what afforded the greatest happiness and relief was the removal of the large bellows, which had all along been a source of much trouble and perplexity, by their hampering and incommoding the boat which carried the smiths and their apparatus. saturday, rd oct. the wind being west to-day, the weather was very favourable for operations at the rock, and during the morning and evening tides, with the aid of torchlight, the masons had seven hours' work upon the site of the building. the smiths and joiners, who landed at half-past six a.m., did not leave the rock till a quarter-past eleven p.m., having been at work, with little intermission, for sixteen hours and three-quarters. when the water left the rock, they were employed at the lower parts of the beacon, and as the tide rose or fell, they shifted the place of their operations. from these exertions, the fixing and securing of the beacon made rapid advancement, as the men were now landed in the morning, and remained throughout the day. but, as a sudden change of weather might have prevented their being taken off at the proper time of tide, a quantity of bread and water was always kept on the beacon. during this period of working at the beacon all the day, and often a great part of the night, the writer was much on board of the tender; but, while the masons could work on the rock, and frequently also while it was covered by the tide, he remained on the beacon; especially during the night, as he made a point of being on the rock to the latest hour, and was generally the last person who stepped into the boat. he had laid this down as part of his plan of procedure; and in this way had acquired, in the course of the first season, a pretty complete knowledge and experience of what could actually be done at the bell rock, under all circumstances of the weather. by this means also his assistants, and the artificers and mariners, got into a systematic habit of proceeding at the commencement of the work, which, it is believed, continued throughout the whole of the operations. sunday, th oct. the external part of the beacon was now finished, with its supports and bracing-chains, and whatever else was considered necessary for its stability, in so far as the season would permit; and although much was still wanting to complete this fabric, yet it was in such a state that it could be left without much fear of the consequences of a storm. the painting of the upper part was nearly finished this afternoon and the _smeaton_ had brought off a quantity of brushwood and other articles, for the purpose of heating or charring the lower part of the principal beams, before being laid over with successive coats of boiling pitch, to the height of from eight to twelve feet, or as high as the rise of spring-tides. a small flagstaff having also been erected to-day, a flag was displayed for the first time from the beacon, by which its perspective effect was greatly improved. on this, as on all like occasions at the bell rock, three hearty cheers were given; and the steward served out a dram of rum to all hands, while the lighthouse yacht, _smeaton_, and floating light, hoisted their colours in compliment to the erection. monday, th oct. in the afternoon, and just as the tide's work was over, mr. john rennie, engineer, accompanied by his son mr. george, on their way to the harbour works of fraserburgh, in aberdeenshire, paid a visit to the bell rock, in a boat from arbroath. it being then too late in the tide for landing, they remained on board of the lighthouse yacht all night, when the writer, who had now been secluded from society for several weeks, enjoyed much of mr. rennie's interesting conversation, both on general topics, and professionally upon the progress of the bell rock works, on which he was consulted as chief engineer. tuesday, th oct. the artificers landed this morning at nine, after which one of the boats returned to the ship for the writer and messrs. rennie, who, upon landing, were saluted with a display of the colours from the beacon and by three cheers from the workmen. everything was now in a prepared state for leaving the rock, and giving up the works afloat for this season, excepting some small articles, which would still occupy the smiths and joiners for a few days longer. they accordingly shifted on board of the _smealon_, while the yacht left the rock for arbroath, with messrs. rennie, the writer, and the remainder of the artificers. but, before taking leave, the steward served out a farewell glass, when three hearty cheers were given, and an earnest wish expressed that everything, in the spring of , might be found in the same state of good order as it was now about to be left. ii operations of monday, th feb. the writer sailed from arbroath at one a.m. in the lighthouse yacht. at seven the floating light was hailed, and all on board found to be well. the crew were observed to have a very healthy-like appearance, and looked better than at the close of the works upon the rock. they seemed only to regret one thing, which was the secession of their cook, thomas elliot--not on account of his professional skill, but for his facetious and curious manner. elliot had something peculiar in his history, and was reported by his comrades to have seen better days. he was, however, happy with his situation on board of the floating light, and having a taste for music, dancing, and acting plays, he contributed much to the amusement of the ship's company in their dreary abode during the winter months. he had also recommended himself to their notice as a good shipkeeper for as it did not answer elliot to go often ashore, he had always given up his turn of leave to his neighbours. at his own desire he was at length paid off, when he had a considerable balance of wages to receive, which he said would be sufficient to carry him to the west indies, and he accordingly took leave of the lighthouse service. tuesday, st march. at daybreak the lighthouse yacht, attended by a boat from the floating light, again stood towards the bell rock. the weather felt extremely cold this morning, the thermometer being at degrees, with the wind at east, accompanied by occasional showers of snow, and the marine barometer indicated . . at half-past seven the sea ran with such force upon the rock that it seemed doubtful if a landing could be effected. at half-past eight, when it was fairly above water, the writer took his place in the floating light's boat with the artificers, while the yacht's boat followed, according to the general rule of having two boats afloat in landing expeditions of this kind, that, in case of accident to one boat, the other might assist. in several unsuccessful attempts the boats were beat back by the breach of the sea upon the rock. on the eastern side it separated into two distinct waves, which came with a sweep round to the western side, where they met; and at the instance of their confluence the water rose in spray to a considerable height. watching what the sailors term a _smooth_, we caught a favourable opportunity, and in a very dexterous manner the boats were rowed between the two seas, and made a favourable landing at the western creek. at the latter end of last season, as was formerly noticed, the beacon was painted white, and from the bleaching of the weather and the sprays of the sea the upper parts were kept clean; but within the range of the tide the principal beams were observed to be thickly coated with a green stuff, the _conferva_ of botanists. notwithstanding the intrusion of these works, which had formerly banished the numerous seals that played about the rock, they were now seen in great numbers, having been in an almost undisturbed state for six months. it had now also, for the first time, got some inhabitants of the feathered tribe: in particular the scarth or cormorant, and the large herring-gull, had made the beacon a resting-place, from its vicinity to their fishing-grounds. about a dozen of these birds had rested upon the cross-beams, which, in some places, were coated with their dung; and their flight, as the boats approached, was a very unlooked-for indication of life and habitation on the bell rock, conveying the momentary idea of the conversion of this fatal rock, from being a terror to the mariner, into a residence of man and a safeguard to shipping. upon narrowly examining the great iron stanchions with which the beams were fixed to the rock, the writer had the satisfaction of finding that there was not the least appearance of working or shifting at any of the joints or places of connection; and, excepting the loosening of the bracing-chains, everything was found in the same entire state in which it had been left in the month of october. this, in the estimation of the writer, was a matter of no small importance to the future success of the work. he from that moment saw the practicability and propriety of fitting up the beacon, not only as a place of refuge in case of accident to the boats in landing, but as a residence for the artificers during the working months. while upon the top of the beacon the writer was reminded by the landing-master that the sea was running high, and that it would be necessary to set off while the rock afforded anything like shelter to the boats, which by this time had been made fast by a long line to the beacon, and rode with much agitation, each requiring two men with boat-hooks to keep them from striking each other, or from ranging up against the beacon. but even under these circumstances the greatest confidence was felt by every one, from the security afforded by this temporary erection. for, supposing the wind had suddenly increased to a gale, and that it had been found unadvisable to go into the boats; or, supposing they had drifted or sprung a leak from striking upon the rocks; in any of these possible and not at all improbable cases, those who might thus have been left upon the rock had now something to lay hold of, and, though occupying this dreary habitation of the sea-gull and the cormorant, affording only bread and water, yet _life_ would be preserved, and the mind would still be supported by the hope of being ultimately relieved. wednesday, th may. on the th of may the writer embarked at arbroath, on board of the _sir joseph banks_, for the bell rock, accompanied by mr. logan senior, foreman builder, with twelve masons, and two smiths, together with thirteen seamen, including the master, mate, and steward. thursday, th may. mr. james wilson, now commander of the _pharos_, floating light, and landing-master, in the room of mr. sinclair, who had left the service, came into the writer's cabin this morning at six o'clock, and intimated that there was a good appearance of landing on the rock. everything being arranged, both boats proceeded in company, and at eight a.m. they reached the rock. the lighthouse colours were immediately hoisted upon the flag-staff of the beacon, a compliment which was duly returned by the tender and floating light, when three hearty cheers were given, and a glass of rum was served out to all hands to drink success to the operations of . friday, th may. this morning the wind was at east, blowing a fresh gale, the weather being hazy, with a considerable breach of sea setting in upon the rock. the morning bell was therefore rung, in some doubt as to the practicability of making a landing. after allowing the rock to get fully up, or to be sufficiently left by the tide, that the boats might have some shelter from the range of the sea, they proceeded at eight a.m., and upon the whole made a pretty good landing; and after two hours and three-quarters' work returned to the ship in safety. in the afternoon the wind considerably increased, and, as a pretty heavy sea was still running, the tender rode very hard, when mr. taylor, the commander, found it necessary to take in the bowsprit, and strike the fore and main topmasts, that she might ride more easily. after consulting about the state of the weather, it was resolved to leave the artificers on board this evening, and carry only the smiths to the rock, as the sharpening of the irons was rather behind, from their being so much broken and blunted by the hard and tough nature of the rock, which became much more compact and hard as the depth of excavation was increased. besides avoiding the risk of encumbering the boats with a number of men who had not yet got the full command of the oar in a breach of sea, the writer had another motive for leaving them behind. he wanted to examine the site of the building without interruption, and to take the comparative levels of the different inequalities of its area; and as it would have been painful to have seen men standing idle upon the bell rock, where all moved with activity, it was judged better to leave them on board. the boats landed at half-past seven p.m., and the landing-master, with the seamen, was employed during this tide in cutting the seaweeds from the several paths leading to the landing-places, to render walking more safe, for, from the slippery state of the surface of the rock, many severe tumbles had taken place. in the meantime the writer took the necessary levels, and having carefully examined the site of the building and considered all its parts, it still appeared to be necessary to excavate to the average depth of fourteen inches over the whole area of the foundation. saturday, th may. the wind still continued from the eastward with a heavy swell; and to-day it was accompanied with foggy weather and occasional showers of rain. notwithstanding this, such was the confidence which the erection of the beacon had inspired that the boats landed the artificers on the rock under very unpromising circumstances, at half-past eight, and they continued at work till half-past eleven, being a period of three hours, which was considered a great tide's work in the present low state of the foundation. three of the masons on board were so afflicted with sea-sickness that they had not been able to take any food for almost three days, and they were literally assisted into the boats this morning by their companions. it was, however, not a little surprising to see how speedily these men revived upon landing on the rock and eating a little dulse. two of them afterwards assisted the sailors in collecting the chips of stone and carrying them out of the way of the pickmen; but the third complained of a pain in his head, and was still unable to do anything. instead of returning to the tender with the boats, these three men remained on the beacon all day, and had their victuals sent to them along with the smiths'. from mr. dove, the foreman smith, they had much sympathy, for he preferred remaining on the beacon at all hazards, to be himself relieved from the malady of sea-sickness. the wind continuing high, with a heavy sea, and the tide falling late, it was not judged proper to land the artificers this evening, but in the twilight the boats were sent to fetch the people on board who had been left on the rock. sunday, th may. the wind was from the s.w. to-day, and the signal-bell rung, as usual, about an hour before the period for landing on the rock. the writer was rather surprised, however, to hear the landing-master repeatedly call, "all hands for the rock!" and, coming on deck, he was disappointed to find the seamen only in the boats. upon inquiry, it appeared that some misunderstanding had taken place about the wages of the artificers for sundays. they had preferred wages for seven days statedly to the former mode of allowing a day for each tide's work on sunday, as they did not like the appearance of working for double or even treble wages on sunday, and would rather have it understood that their work on that day arose more from the urgency of the case than with a view to emolument. this having been judged creditable to their religious feelings, and readily adjusted to their wish, the boats proceeded to the rock, and the work commenced at nine a.m. monday, th may. mr. francis watt commenced, with five joiners, to fit up a temporary platform upon the beacon, about twenty-five feet above the highest part of the rock. this platform was to be used as the site of the smith's forge, after the beacon should be fitted up as a barrack; and here also the mortar was to be mixed and prepared for the building, and it was accordingly termed the mortar gallery. the landing-master's crew completed the discharging from the _smeaton_ of her cargo of the cast-iron rails and timber. it must not here be omitted to notice that the _smeaton_ took in ballast from the bell rock, consisting of the shivers or chips of stone produced by the workmen in preparing the site of the building, which were now accumulating in great quantities on the rock. these the boats loaded, after discharging the iron. the object in carrying off these chips, besides ballasting the vessel, was to get them permanently out of the way, as they were apt to shift about from place to place with every gale of wind; and it often required a considerable time to clear the foundation a second time of this rubbish. the circumstance of ballasting a ship at the bell rock afforded great entertainment, especially to the sailors; and it was perhaps with truth remarked that the _smeaton_ was the first vessel that had ever taken on board ballast at the bell rock. mr. pool, the commander of this vessel, afterwards acquainted the writer that, when the ballast was landed upon the quay at leith, many persons carried away specimens of it, as part of a cargo from the bell rock; when he added, that such was the interest excited, from the number of specimens carried away, that some of his friends suggested that he should have sent the whole to the cross of edinburgh, where each piece might have sold for a penny. tuesday, st may. in the evening the boats went to the rock, and brought the joiners and smiths, and their sickly companions, on board of the tender. these also brought with them two baskets full of fish, which they had caught at high-water from the beacon, reporting, at the same time, to their comrades, that the fish were swimming in such numbers over the rock at high-water that it was completely hid from their sight, and nothing seen but the movement of thousands of fish. they were almost exclusively of the species called the podlie, or young coal-fish. this discovery, made for the first time to-day by the workmen, was considered fortunate, as an additional circumstance likely to produce an inclination among the artificers to take up their residence in the beacon, when it came to be fitted up as a barrack. tuesday, th june. at three o'clock in the morning the ship's bell was rung as the signal for landing at the rock. when the landing was to be made before breakfast, it was customary to give each of the artificers and seamen a dram and a biscuit, and coffee was prepared by the steward for the cabins. exactly at four o'clock the whole party landed from three boats, including one of those belonging to the floating light, with a part of that ship's crew, which always attended the works in moderate weather. the landing-master's boat, called the _seaman_, but more commonly called the _lifeboat_, took the lead. the next boat, called the _mason_, was generally steered by the writer; while the floating light's boat, _pharos_, was under the management of the boatswain of that ship. having now so considerable a party of workmen and sailors on the rock, it may be proper here to notice how their labours were directed. preparations having been made last month for the erection of a second forge upon the beacon, the smiths commenced their operations both upon the lower and higher platforms. they were employed in sharpening the picks and irons for the masons, and making bats and other apparatus of various descriptions connected with the fitting of the railways. the landing-master's crew were occupied in assisting the millwrights in laying the railways to hand. sailors, of all other descriptions of men, are the most accommodating in the use of their hands. they worked freely with the boring-irons, and assisted in all the operations of the railways, acting by turns as boatmen, seamen, and artificers. we had no such character on the bell rock as the common labourer. all the operations of this department were cheerfully undertaken by the seamen, who, both on the rock and on shipboard, were the inseparable companions of every work connected with the erection of the bell rock lighthouse. it will naturally be supposed that about twenty-five masons, occupied with their picks in executing and preparing the foundation of the lighthouse, in the course of a tide of about three hours, would make a considerable impression upon an area even of forty-two feet in diameter. but in proportion as the foundation was deepened, the rock was found to be much more hard and difficult to work, while the baling and pumping of water became much more troublesome. a joiner was kept almost constantly employed in fitting the picks to their handles, which, as well as the points to the irons, were very frequently broken. the bell rock this morning presented by far the most busy and active appearance it had exhibited since the erection of the principal beams of the beacon. the surface of the rock was crowded with men, the two forges flaming, the one above the other, upon the beacon, while the anvils thundered with the rebounding noise of their wooden supports, and formed a curious contrast with the occasional clamour of the surges. the wind was westerly, and the weather being extremely agreeable, so soon after breakfast as the tide had sufficiently overflowed the rock to float the boats over it, the smiths, with a number of the artificers, returned to the beacon, carrying their fishing-tackle along with them. in the course of the forenoon, the beacon exhibited a still more extraordinary appearance than the rock had done in the morning. the sea being smooth, it seemed to be afloat upon the water, with a number of men supporting themselves in all the variety of attitude and position: while, from the upper part of this wooden house, the volumes of smoke which ascended from the forges gave the whole a very curious and fanciful appearance. in the course of this tide it was observed that a heavy swell was setting in from the eastward, and the appearance of the sky indicated a change of weather, while the wind was shifting about. the barometer also had fallen from in. to . . it was, therefore, judged prudent to shift the vessel to the s.w. or more distant buoy. her bowsprit was also soon afterwards taken in, the topmasts struck, and everything made _snug_, as seamen term it, for a gale. during the course of the night the wind increased and shifted to the eastward, when the vessel rolled very hard, and the sea often broke over her bows with great force. wednesday, th june. although the motion of the tender was much less than that of the floating light--at least, in regard to the rolling motion--yet she _sended_, or pitched, much. being also of a very handsome build, and what seamen term very _clean aft_, the sea often struck her counter with such force that the writer, who possessed the aftermost cabin, being unaccustomed to this new vessel, could not divest himself of uneasiness; for when her stern fell into the sea, it struck with so much violence as to be more like the resistance of a rock than the sea. the water, at the same time, often rushed with great force up the rudder-case, and, forcing up the valve of the water-closet, the floor of his cabin was at times laid under water. the gale continued to increase, and the vessel rolled and pitched in such a manner that the hawser by which the tender was made fast to the buoy snapped, and she went adrift. in the act of swinging round to the wind she shipped a very heavy sea, which greatly alarmed the artificers, who imagined that we had got upon the rock; but this, from the direction of the wind, was impossible. the writer, however, sprung upon deck, where he found the sailors busily employed in rigging out the bowsprit and in setting sail. from the easterly direction of the wind, it was considered most advisable to steer for the firth of forth, and there wait a change of weather. at two p.m. we accordingly passed the isle of may, at six anchored in leith roads, and at eight the writer landed, when he came in upon his friends, who were not a little surprised at his unexpected appearance, which gave an instantaneous alarm for the safety of things at the bell rock. thursday, th june. the wind still continued to blow very hard at e. by n., and the _sir joseph banks_ rode heavily, and even drifted with both anchors ahead, in leith roads. the artificers did not attempt to leave the ship last night; but there being upwards of fifty people on board, and the decks greatly lumbered with the two large boats, they were in a very crowded and impatient state on board. but to-day they got ashore, and amused themselves by walking about the streets of edinburgh, some in very humble apparel, from having only the worst of their jackets with them, which, though quite suitable for their work, were hardly fit for public inspection, being not only tattered, but greatly stained with the red colour of the rock. friday, th june. to-day the wind was at s.e., with light breezes and foggy weather. at six a.m. the writer again embarked for the bell rock, when the vessel immediately sailed. at eleven p.m., there being no wind, the kedge-anchor was _let go_ off anstruther, one of the numerous towns on the coast of fife, where we waited the return of the tide. saturday, th june. at six a.m. the _sir joseph_ got under weigh, and at eleven was again made fast to the southern buoy at the bell rock. though it was now late in the tide, the writer, being anxious to ascertain the state of things after the gale, landed with the artificers to the number of forty-four. everything was found in an entire state; but, as the tide was nearly gone, only half an hour's work had been got when the site of the building was overflowed. in the evening the boats again landed at nine, and, after a good tide's work of three hours with torchlight, the work was left off at midnight. to the distant shipping the appearance of things under night on the bell rock, when the work was going forward, must have been very remarkable, especially to those who were strangers to the operations. mr. john reid, principal lightkeeper, who also acted as master of the floating light during the working months at the rock, described the appearance of the numerous lights situated so low in the water, when seen at the distance of two or three miles, as putting him in mind of milton's description of the fiends in the lower regions, adding, "for it seems greatly to surpass will-o'-the-wisp, or any of those earthly spectres of which we have so often heard." monday th june. from the difficulties attending the landing on the rock, owing to the breach of sea which had for days past been around it, the artificers showed some backwardness at getting into the boats this morning; but after a little explanation this was got over. it was always observable that for some time after anything like danger had occurred at the rock, the workmen became much more cautious, and on some occasions their timidity was rather troublesome. it fortunately happened, however, that along with the writer's assistants and the sailors there were also some of the artificers themselves who felt no such scruples, and in this way these difficulties were the more easily surmounted. in matters where life is in danger it becomes necessary to treat even unfounded prejudices with tenderness, as an accident, under certain circumstances, would not only have been particularly painful to those giving directions, but have proved highly detrimental to the work, especially in the early stages of its advancement. at four o'clock fifty-eight persons landed; but the tides being extremely languid, the water only left the higher parts of the rock, and no work could be done at the site of the building. a third forge was, however, put in operation during a short time, for the greater conveniency of sharpening the picks and irons, and for purposes connected with the preparations for fixing the railways on the rock. the weather towards the evening became thick and foggy, and there was hardly a breath of wind to ruffle the surface of the water. had it not, therefore, been for the noise from the anvils of the smiths who had been left on the beacon throughout the day, which afforded a guide for the boats, a landing could not have been attempted this evening, especially with such a company of artificers. this circumstance confirmed the writer's opinion with regard to the propriety of connecting large bells to be rung with machinery in the lighthouse, to be tolled day and night during the continuance of foggy weather. thursday, rd june. the boats landed this evening, when the artificers had again two hours' work. the weather still continuing very thick and foggy, more difficulty was experienced in getting on board of the vessels to-night than had occurred on any previous occasion, owing to a light breeze of wind which carried the sound of the bell, and the other signals made on board of the vessels, away from the rock. having fortunately made out the position of the sloop _smeaton_ at the n.e. buoy--to which we were much assisted by the barking of the ship's dog,--we parted with the _smeaton's_ boat, when the boats of the tender took a fresh departure for that vessel, which lay about half a mile to the south-westward. yet such is the very deceiving state of the tides, that, although there was a small binnacle and compass in the landing-master's boat, we had, nevertheless, passed the _sir joseph_ a good way, when, fortunately, one of the sailors catched the sound of a blowing-horn. the only firearms on board were a pair of swivels of one-inch calibre; but it is quite surprising how much the sound is lost in foggy weather, as the report was heard but at a very short distance. the sound from the explosion of gunpowder is so instantaneous that the effect of the small guns was not so good as either the blowing of a horn or the tolling of a bell, which afforded a more constant and steady direction for the pilot. wednesday, th july. landed on the rock with the three boats belonging to the tender at five p.m., and began immediately to bale the water out of the foundation-pit with a number of buckets, while the pumps were also kept in action with relays of artificers and seamen. the work commenced upon the higher parts of the foundation as the water left them, but it was now pretty generally reduced to a level. about twenty men could be conveniently employed at each pump, and it is quite astonishing in how short a time so great a body of water could be drawn off. the water in the foundation-pit at this time measured about two feet in depth, on an area of forty-two feet in diameter, and yet it was drawn off in the course of about half an hour. after this the artificers commenced with their picks and continued at work for two hours and a half, some of the sailors being at the same time busily employed in clearing the foundation of chips and in conveying the irons to and from the smiths on the beacon, where they were sharped. at eight o'clock the sea broke in upon us and overflowed the foundation-pit, when the boats returned to the tender. thursday, th july. the landing-master's bell rung this morning about four o'clock, and at half-past five, the foundation being cleared, the work commenced on the site of the building. but from the moment of landing, the squad of joiners and millwrights was at work upon the higher parts of the rock in laying the railways, while the anvils of the smith resounded on the beacon, and such columns of smoke ascended from the forges that they were often mistaken by strangers at a distance for a ship on fire. after continuing three hours at work the foundation of the building was again overflowed, and the boats returned to the ship at half-past eight o'clock. the masons and pickmen had, at this period, a pretty long day on board of the tender, but the smiths and joiners were kept constantly at work upon the beacon, the stability and great conveniency of which had now been so fully shown that no doubt remained as to the propriety of fitting it up as a barrack. the workmen were accordingly employed, during the period of high-water, in making preparations for this purpose. the foundation-pit now assumed the appearance of a great platform, and the late tides had been so favourable that it became apparent that the first course, consisting of a few irregular and detached stones for making up certain inequalities in the interior parts of the site of the building, might be laid in the course of the present spring-tides. having been enabled to-day to get the dimensions of the foundation, or first stone, accurately taken, a mould was made of its figure, when the writer left the rock, after the tide's work of this morning, in a fast rowing-boat for arbroath; and, upon landing, two men were immediately set to work upon one of the blocks from mylnefield quarry, which was prepared in the course of the following day, as the stone-cutters relieved each other, and worked both night and day, so that it was sent off in one of the stone-lighters without delay. saturday, th july. the site of the foundation-stone was very difficult to work, from its depth in the rock; but being now nearly prepared, it formed a very agreeable kind of pastime at high-water for all hands to land the stone itself upon the rock. the landing-master's crew and artificers accordingly entered with great spirit into this operation. the stone was placed upon the deck of the _hedderwick_ praam-boat, which had just been brought from leith, and was decorated with colours for the occasion. flags were also displayed from the shipping in the offing, and upon the beacon. here the writer took his station with the greater part of the artificers, who supported themselves in every possible position while the boats towed the praam from her moorings and brought her immediately over the site of the building, where her grappling anchors were let go. the stone was then lifted off the deck by a tackle hooked into a lewis bat inserted into it, when it was gently lowered into the water and grounded on the site of the building, amidst the cheering acclamations of about sixty persons. sunday, th july. at eleven o'clock the foundation-stone was laid to hand. it was of a square form, containing about twenty cubic feet, and had the figures, or date, of simply cut upon it with a chisel. a derrick, or spar of timber, having been erected at the edge of the hole and guyed with ropes, the stone was then hooked to the tackle and lowered into its place, when the writer, attended by his assistants--mr. peter logan, mr. francis watt, and mr. james wilson,--applied the square, the level, and the mallet, and pronounced the following benediction: "may the great architect of the universe complete and bless this building," on which three hearty cheers were given, and success to the future operations was drunk with the greatest enthusiasm. tuesday, th july. the wind being at s.e. this evening, we had a pretty heavy swell of sea upon the rock, and some difficulty attended our getting off in safety, as the boats got aground in the creek and were in danger of being upset. upon extinguishing the torch-lights, about twelve in number, the darkness of the night seemed quite horrible; the water being also much charged with the phosphorescent appearance which is familiar to every one on shipboard, the waves, as they dashed upon the rock, were in some degree like so much liquid flame. the scene, upon the whole, was truly awful! wednesday, th july. in leaving the rock this evening everything, after the torches were extinguished, had the same dismal appearance as last night, but so perfectly acquainted were the landing-master and his crew with the position of things at the rock, that comparatively little inconveniency was experienced on these occasions when the weather was moderate; such is the effect of habit, even in the most unpleasant situations. if, for example, it had been proposed to a person accustomed to a city life, at once to take up his quarters off a sunken reef and land upon it in boats at all hours of the night, the proposition must have appeared quite impracticable and extravagant; but this practice coming progressively upon the artificers, it was ultimately undertaken with the greatest alacrity. notwithstanding this, however, it must be acknowledged that it was not till after much labour and peril, and many an anxious hour, that the writer is enabled to state that the site of the bell rock lighthouse is fully prepared for the first entire course of the building. friday, th aug. the artificers landed this morning at half-past ten, and after an hour and a half's work eight stones were laid, which completed the first entire course of the building, consisting of blocks, the last of which was laid with three hearty cheers. saturday, th sept. landed at nine a.m., and by a quarter-past twelve noon twenty-three stones had been laid. the works being now somewhat elevated by the lower courses, we got quit of the very serious inconvenience of pumping water to clear the foundation-pit. this gave much facility to the operations, and was noticed with expressions of as much happiness by the artificers as the seamen had shown when relieved of the continual trouble of carrying the smith's bellows off the rock prior to the erection of the beacon. wednesday, st sept. mr. thomas macurich, mate of the _smeaton_, and james scott, one of the crew, a young man about eighteen years of age, immediately went into their boat to make fast a hawser to the ring in the top of the floating buoy of the moorings, and were forthwith to proceed to land their cargo, so much wanted, at the rock. the tides at this period were very strong, and the mooring-chain, when sweeping the ground, had caught hold of a rock or piece of wreck by which the chain was so shortened that when the tide flowed the buoy got almost under water, and little more than the ring appeared at the surface. when macurich and scott were in the act of making the hawser fast to the ring, the chain got suddenly disentangled at the bottom, and this large buoy, measuring about seven feet in height and three feet in diameter at the middle, tapering to both ends, being what seamen term a _nun-buoy_, vaulted or sprung up with such force that it upset the boat, which instantly filled with water. mr. macurich, with much exertion, succeeded in getting hold of the boat's gunwale, still above the surface of the water, and by this means was saved; but the young man scott was unfortunately drowned. he had in all probability been struck about the head by the ring of the buoy, for although surrounded with the oars and the thwarts of the boat which floated near him, yet he seemed entirely to want the power of availing himself of such assistance, and appeared to be quite insensible, while pool, the master of the _smeaton_. called loudly to him; and before assistance could be got from the tender, he was carried away by the strength of the current and disappeared. the young man scott was a great favourite in the service, having had something uncommonly mild and complaisant in his manner; and his loss was therefore universally regretted. the circumstances of his case were also peculiarly distressing to his mother, as her husband, who was a seaman, had for three years past been confined to a french prison, and the deceased was the chief support of the family. in order in some measure to make up the loss to the poor woman for the monthly aliment regularly allowed her by her late son, it was suggested that a younger boy, a brother of the deceased, might be taken into the service. this appeared to be rather a delicate proposition, but it was left to the landing-master to arrange according to circumstances; such was the resignation, and at the same time the spirit, of the poor woman, that she readily accepted the proposal, and in a few days the younger scott was actually afloat in the place of his brother. on representing this distressing case to the board, the commissioners were pleased to grant an annuity of £ to scott's mother. the _smeaton_, not having been made fast to the buoy, had, with the ebb-tide, drifted to leeward a considerable way eastward of the rock, and could not, till the return of the flood-tide, be worked up to her moorings, so that the present tide was lost, notwithstanding all exertions which had been made both ashore and afloat with this cargo. the artificers landed at six a.m.; but, as no materials could be got upon the rock this morning, they were employed in boring trenail holes and in various other operations, and after four hours' work they returned on board the tender. when the _smeaton_ got up to her moorings, the landing-master's crew immediately began to unload her. there being too much wind for towing the praams in the usual way, they were warped to the rock in the most laborious manner by their windlasses, with successive grapplings and hawsers laid out for this purpose. at six p.m. the artificers landed, and continued at work till half-past ten, when the remaining seventeen stones were laid which completed the third entire course, or fourth of the lighthouse, with which the building operations were closed for the season. iii operations of wednesday, th may. the last night was the first that the writer had passed in his old quarters on board of the floating light for about twelve months, when the weather was so fine and the sea so smooth that even here he felt but little or no motion, excepting at the turn of the tide, when the vessel gets into what the seamen term the _trough of the sea_. at six a.m. mr. watt, who conducted the operations of the railways and beacon-house, had landed with nine artificers. at half-past one p.m. mr. peter logan had also landed with fifteen masons, and immediately proceeded to set up the crane. the sheer-crane or apparatus for lifting the stones out of the praam-boats at the eastern creek had been already erected, and the railways now formed about two-thirds of an entire circle round the building: some progress had likewise been made with the reach towards the western landing-place. the floors being laid, the beacon now assumed the appearance of a habitation. the _smeaton_ was at her moorings, with the _fernie_ praam-boat astern, for which she was laying down moorings, and the tender being also at her station, the bell rock had again put on its former busy aspect. wednesday, st may. the landing-master's bell, often no very favourite sound, rung at six this morning; but on this occasion, it is believed, it was gladly received by all on board, as the welcome signal of the return of better weather. the masons laid thirteen stones to-day, which the seamen had landed, together with other building materials. during these twenty-four hours the wind was from the south, blowing fresh breezes, accompanied with showers of snow. in the morning the snow showers were so thick that it was with difficulty the landing-master, who always steered the leading boat, could make his way to the rock through the drift. but at the bell rock neither snow nor rain, nor fog nor wind, retarded the progress of the work, if unaccompanied by a heavy swell or breach of the sea. the weather during the months of april and may had been uncommonly boisterous, and so cold that the thermometer seldom exceeded º, while the barometer was generally about . . we had not only hail and sleet, but the snow on the last day of may lay on the decks and rigging of the ship to the depth of about three inches; and, although now entering upon the month of june, the length of the day was the chief indication of summer. yet such is the effect of habit, and such was the expertness of the landing-master's crew, that, even in this description of weather, seldom a tide's work was lost. such was the ardour and zeal of the heads of the several departments at the rock, including mr. peter logan, foreman builder, mr. francis watt, foreman millwright, and captain wilson, landing-master, that it was on no occasion necessary to address them, excepting in the way of precaution or restraint. under these circumstances, however, the writer not unfrequently felt considerable anxiety, of which this day's experience will afford an example. thursday, st june. this morning, at a quarter-past eight, the artificers were landed as usual, and, after three hours and three-quarters' work, five stones were laid, the greater part of this tide having been taken up in completing the boring and trenailing of the stones formerly laid. at noon the writer, with the seamen and artificers, proceeded to the tender, leaving on the beacon the joiners, and several of those who were troubled with sea-sickness--among whom was mr. logan, who remained with mr. watt--counting altogether eleven persons. during the first and middle parts of these twenty-four hours the wind was from the east, blowing what the seamen term "fresh breezes"; but in the afternoon it shifted to e.n.e., accompanied with so heavy a swell of sea that the _smeaton_ and tender struck their topmasts, launched in their bolt-sprits, and "made all snug" for a gale. at four p.m. the _smeaton_ was obliged to slip her moorings, and passed the tender, drifting before the wind, with only the foresail set. in passing, mr. pool hailed that he must run for the firth of forth to prevent the vessel from "riding under." on board of the tender the writer's chief concern was about the eleven men left upon the beacon. directions were accordingly given that everything about the vessel should be put in the best possible state, to present as little resistance to the wind as possible, that she might have the better chance of riding out the gale. among these preparations the best bower cable was bent, so as to have a second anchor in readiness in case the mooring-hawser should give way, that every means might be used for keeping the vessel within sight of the prisoners on the beacon, and thereby keep them in as good spirits as possible. from the same motive the boats were kept afloat that they might be less in fear of the vessel leaving her station. the landing-master had, however, repeatedly expressed his anxiety for the safety of the boats, and wished much to have them hoisted on board. at seven p.m. one of the boats, as he feared, was unluckily filled with sea from a wave breaking into her, and it was with great difficulty that she could be baled out and got on board, with the loss of her oars, rudder, and loose thwarts. such was the motion of the ship that in taking this boat on board her gunwale was stove in, and she otherwise received considerable damage. night approached, but it was still found quite impossible to go near the rock. consulting, therefore, the safety of the second boat, she also was hoisted on board of the tender. at this time the cabins of the beacon were only partially covered, and had neither been provided with bedding nor a proper fireplace, while the stock of provisions was but slender. in these uncomfortable circumstances the people on the beacon were left for the night, nor was the situation of those on board of the tender much better. the rolling and pitching motion of the ship was excessive; and, excepting to those who had been accustomed to a residence in the floating light, it seemed quite intolerable. nothing was heard but the hissing of the winds and the creaking of the bulkheads or partitions of the ship; the night was, therefore, spent in the most unpleasant reflections upon the condition of the people on the beacon, especially in the prospect of the tender being driven from her moorings. but, even in such a case, it afforded some consolation that the stability of the fabric was never doubted, and that the boats of the floating light were at no great distance, and ready to render the people on the rock the earliest assistance which the weather would permit. the writer's cabin being in the sternmost part of the ship, which had what sailors term a good entry, or was sharp built, the sea, as before noticed, struck her counter with so much violence that the water, with a rushing noise, continually forced its way up the rudder-case, lifted the valve of the water-closet, and overran the cabin floor. in these circumstances daylight was eagerly looked for, and hailed with delight, as well by those afloat as by the artificers upon the rock. friday, nd june. in the course of the night the writer held repeated conversations with the officer on watch, who reported that the weather continued much in the same state, and that the barometer still indicated . inches. at six a.m. the landing-master considered the weather to have somewhat moderated; and, from certain appearances of the sky, he was of opinion that a change for the better would soon take place. he accordingly proposed to attempt a landing at low-water, and either get the people off the rock, or at least ascertain what state they were in. at nine a.m. he left the vessel with a boat well manned, carrying with him a supply of cooked provisions and a tea-kettle full of mulled port wine for the people on the beacon, who had not had any regular diet for about thirty hours, while they were exposed during that period, in a great measure, both to the winds and the sprays of the sea. the boat having succeeded in landing, she returned at eleven a.m. with the artificers, who had got off with considerable difficulty, and who were heartily welcomed by all on board. upon inquiry it appeared that three of the stones last laid upon the building had been partially lifted from their beds by the force of the sea, and were now held only by the trenails, and that the cast-iron sheer-crane had again been thrown down and completely broken. with regard to the beacon, the sea at high-water had lifted part of the mortar gallery or lowest floor, and washed away all the lime-casks and other movable articles from it; but the principal parts of this fabric had sustained no damage. on pressing messrs. logan and watt on the situation of things in the course of the night, mr. logan emphatically said; "that the beacon had an _ill-faured[ ] twist_ when the sea broke upon it at high-water, but that they were not very apprehensive of danger." on inquiring as to how they spent the night, it appeared that they had made shift to keep a small fire burning, and by means of some old sails defended themselves pretty well from the sea sprays. it was particularly mentioned that by the exertions of james glen, one of the joiners, a number of articles were saved from being washed off the mortar gallery. glen was also very useful in keeping up the spirits of the forlorn party. in the early part of life he had undergone many curious adventures at sea, which he now recounted somewhat after the manner of the tales of the "arabian nights." when one observed that the beacon was a most comfortless lodging, glen would presently introduce some of his exploits and hardships, in comparison with which the state of things at the beacon bore an aspect of comfort and happiness. looking to their slender stock of provisions, and their perilous and uncertain chance of speedy relief, he would launch out into an account of one of his expeditions in the north sea, when the vessel, being much disabled in a storm, was driven before the wind with the loss of almost all their provisions; and the ship being much infested with rats, the crew hunted these vermin with great eagerness to help their scanty allowance. by such means glen had the address to make his companions, in some measure, satisfied, or at least passive, with regard to their miserable prospects upon this half-tide rock in the middle of the ocean. this incident is noticed, more particularly, to show the effects of such a happy turn of mind, even under the most distressing and ill-fated circumstances. saturday, th june. at eight a.m. the artificers and sailors, forty-five in number, landed on the rock, and after four hours' work seven stones were laid. the remainder of this tide, from the threatening appearance of the weather, was occupied in trenailing and making all things as secure as possible. at twelve noon the rock and building were again overflowed, when the masons and seamen went on board of the tender, but mr. watt, with his squad of ten men, remained on the beacon throughout the day. as it blew fresh from the n.w. in the evening, it was found impracticable either to land the building artificers or to take the artificers off the beacon, and they were accordingly left there all night, but in circumstances very different from those of the st of this month. the house, being now in a more complete state, was provided with bedding, and they spent the night pretty well, though they complained of having been much disturbed at the time of high-water by the shaking and tremulous motion of their house and by the plashing noise of the sea upon the mortar gallery. here james glen's versatile powers were again at work in cheering up those who seemed to be alarmed, and in securing everything as far as possible. on this occasion he had only to recall to the recollections of some of them the former night which they had spent on the beacon, the wind and sea being then much higher, and their habitation in a far less comfortable state. the wind still continuing to blow fresh from the n.w., at five p.m. the writer caused a signal to be made from the tender for the _smeaton_ and _patriot_ to slip their moorings, when they ran for lunan bay, an anchorage on the east side of the redhead. those on board of the tender spent but a very rough night, and perhaps slept less soundly than their companions on the beacon, especially as the wind was at n.w., which caused the vessel to ride with her stern towards the bell rock; so that, in the event of anything giving way, she could hardly have escaped being stranded upon it. sunday, th june. the weather having moderated to-day, the wind shifted to the westward. at a quarter-past nine a.m. the artificers landed from the tender and had the pleasure to find their friends who had been left on the rock quite hearty, alleging that the beacon was the preferable quarters of the two. saturday, th june. mr. peter logan, the foreman builder, and his squad, twenty-one in number, landed this morning at three o'clock, and continued at work four hours and a quarter, and after laying seventeen stones returned to the tender. at six a.m. mr. francis watt and his squad of twelve men landed, and proceeded with their respective operations at the beacon and railways, and were left on the rock during the whole day without the necessity of having any communication with the tender, the kitchen of the beacon-house being now fitted up. it was to-day, also, that peter fortune--a most obliging and well-known character in the lighthouse service--was removed from the tender to the beacon as cook and steward, with a stock of provisions as ample as his limited storeroom would admit. when as many stones were built as comprised this day's work, the demand for mortar was proportionally increased, and the task of the mortar-makers on these occasions was both laborious and severe. this operation was chiefly performed by john watt--a strong, active quarrier by profession,--who was a perfect character in his way, and extremely zealous in his department. while the operations of the mortar-makers continued, the forge upon their gallery was not generally in use; but, as the working hours of the builders extended with the height of the building, the forge could not be so long wanted, and then a sad confusion often ensued upon the circumscribed floor of the mortar gallery, as the operations of watt and his assistants trenched greatly upon those of the smiths. under these circumstances the boundary of the smiths was much circumscribed, and they were personally annoyed, especially in blowy weather, with the dust of the lime in its powdered state. the mortar-makers, on the other hand, were often not a little distressed with the heat of the fire and the sparks elicited on the anvil, and not unaptly complained that they were placed between "the devil and the deep sea." sunday, th june. the work being now about ten feet in height, admitted of a rope-ladder being distended[ ] between the beacon and the building. by this "jacob's ladder," as the seamen termed it, a communication was kept up with the beacon while the rock was considerably under water. one end of it being furnished with tackle-blocks, was fixed to the beams of the beacon, at the level of the mortar gallery, while the further end was connected with the upper course of the building by means of two lewis bats which were lifted from course to course as the work advanced. in the same manner a rope furnished with a travelling pulley was distended for the purpose of transporting the mortar-buckets, and other light articles between the beacon and the building, which also proved a great conveniency to the work. at this period the rope-ladder and tackle for the mortar had a descent from the beacon to the building; by and by they were on a level, and towards the end of the season, when the solid part had attained its full height, the ascent was from the mortar gallery to the building. friday, th june. the artificers landed on the rock this morning at a quarter-past six, and remained at work five hours. the cooking apparatus being now in full operation, all hands had breakfast on the beacon at the usual hour, and remained there throughout the day. the crane upon the building had to be raised to-day from the eighth to the ninth course, an operation which now required all the strength that could be mustered for working the guy-tackles; for as the top of the crane was at this time about thirty-five feet above the rock, it became much more unmanageable. while the beam was in the act of swinging round from one guy to another, a great strain was suddenly brought upon the opposite tackle, with the end of which the artificers had very improperly neglected to take a turn round some stationary object, which would have given them the complete command of the tackle. owing to this simple omission, the crane got a preponderancy to one side, and fell upon the building with a terrible crash. the surrounding artificers immediately flew in every direction to get out of its way; but michael wishart, the principal builder, having unluckily stumbled upon one of the uncut trenails, fell upon his back. his body fortunately got between the movable beam and the upright shaft of the crane, and was thus saved; but his feet got entangled with the wheels of the crane and were severely injured. wishart, being a robust young man, endured his misfortune with wonderful firmness; he was laid upon one of the narrow framed beds of the beacon and despatched in a boat to the tender, where the writer was when this accident happened, not a little alarmed on missing the crane from the top of the building, and at the same time seeing a boat rowing towards the vessel with great speed. when the boat came alongside with poor wishart, stretched upon a bed covered with blankets, a moment of great anxiety followed, which was, however, much relieved when, on stepping into the boat, he was accosted by wishart, though in a feeble voice, and with an aspect pale as death from excessive bleeding. directions having been immediately given to the coxswain to apply to mr. kennedy at the workyard to procure the best surgical aid, the boat was sent off without delay to arbroath. the writer then landed at the rock, when the crane was in a very short time got into its place and again put in a working state. monday, rd july. the writer having come to arbroath with the yacht, had an opportunity of visiting michael wishart, the artificer who had met with so severe an accident at the rock on the th ult., and had the pleasure to find him in a state of recovery. from dr. stevenson's account, under whose charge he had been placed, hopes were entertained that amputation would not be necessary, as his patient still kept free of fever or any appearance of mortification; and wishart expressed a hope that he might, at least, be ultimately capable of keeping the light at the bell rock, as it was not now likely that he would assist further in building the house. saturday, th july. it was remarked to-day, with no small demonstration of joy, that the tide, being neap, did not, for the first time, overflow the building at high-water. flags were accordingly hoisted on the beacon-house and crane on the top of the building, which were repeated from the floating light, lighthouse yacht, tender, _smeaton, patriot_, and the two praams. a salute of three guns was also fired from the yacht at high-water, when, all the artificers being collected on the top of the building, three cheers were given in testimony of this important circumstance. a glass of rum was then served out to all hands on the rock and on board of the respective ships. sunday, th july. besides laying, boring, trenailing, wedging, and grouting thirty-two stones, several other operations were proceeded with on the rock at low-water, when some of the artificers were employed at the railways and at high-water at the beacon-house. the seamen having prepared a quantity of tarpaulin or cloth laid over with successive coats of hot tar, the joiners had just completed the covering of the roof with it. this sort of covering was lighter and more easily managed than sheet-lead in such a situation. as a further defence against the weather the whole exterior of this temporary residence was painted with three coats of white-lead paint. between the timber framing of the habitable part of the beacon the interstices were to be stuffed with moss as a light substance that would resist dampness and check sifting winds; the whole interior was then to be lined with green baize cloth, so that both without and within the cabins were to have a very comfortable appearance. although the building artificers generally remained on the rock throughout the day, and the millwrights, joiners, and smiths, while their number was considerable, remained also during the night, yet the tender had hitherto been considered as their night quarters. but the wind having in the course of the day shifted to the n.w., and as the passage to the tender, in the boats, was likely to be attended with difficulty, the whole of the artificers, with mr. logan, the foreman, preferred remaining all night on the beacon, which had of late become the solitary abode of george forsyth, a jobbing upholsterer, who had been employed in lining the beacon-house with cloth and in fitting up the bedding. forsyth was a tall, thin, and rather loose-made man, who had an utter aversion at climbing upon the trap-ladders of the beacon, but especially at the process of boating, and the motion of the ship, which he said "was death itself." he therefore pertinaciously insisted with the landing-master in being left upon the beacon, with a small black dog as his only companion. the writer, however, felt some delicacy in leaving a single individual upon the rock, who must have been so very helpless in case of accident. this fabric had, from the beginning, been rather intended by the writer to guard against accident from the loss or damage of a boat, and as a place for making mortar, a smith's shop, and a store for tools during the working months, than as permanent quarters; nor was it at all meant to be possessed until the joiner-work was completely finished, and his own cabin, and that for the foreman, in readiness, when it was still to be left to the choice of the artificers to occupy the tender or the beacon. he, however, considered forsyth's partiality and confidence in the latter as rather a fortunate occurrence. wednesday, th july. the whole of the artificers, twenty-three in number, now removed of their own accord from the tender, to lodge in the beacon, together with peter fortune, a person singularly adapted for a residence of this kind, both from the urbanity of his manners and the versatility of his talents. fortune, in his person, was of small stature, and rather corpulent. besides being a good scots cook, he had acted both as groom and house-servant; he had been a soldier, a sutler, a writer's clerk, and an apothecary, from which he possessed the art of writing and suggesting recipes, and had hence, also, perhaps, acquired a turn for making collections in natural history. but in his practice in surgery on the bell rock, for which he received an annual fee of three guineas, he is supposed to have been rather partial to the use of the lancet. in short, peter was the _factotum_ of the beacon-house, where he ostensibly acted in the several capacities of cook, steward, surgeon, and barber, and kept a statement of the rations or expenditure of the provisions with the strictest integrity. in the present important state of the building, when it had just attained the height of sixteen feet, and the upper courses, and especially the imperfect one, were in the wash of the heaviest seas, an express boat arrived at the rock with a letter from mr. kennedy, of the workyard, stating that in consequence of the intended expedition to walcheren, an embargo had been laid on shipping at all the ports of great britain: that both the _smeaton_ and _patriot_ were detained at arbroath, and that but for the proper view which mr. ramsey, the port officer, had taken of his orders, neither the express boat nor one which had been sent with provisions and necessaries for the floating light would have been permitted to leave the harbour. the writer set off without delay for arbroath, and on landing used every possible means with the official people, but their orders were deemed so peremptory that even boats were not permitted to sail from any port upon the coast. in the meantime, the collector of the customs at montrose applied to the board at edinburgh, but could, of himself, grant no relief to the bell rock shipping. at this critical period mr. adam duff, then sheriff of forfarshire, now of the county of edinburgh, and _ex officio_ one of the commissioners of the northern lighthouses, happened to be at arbroath. mr. duff took an immediate interest in representing the circumstances of the case to the board of customs at edinburgh. but such were the doubts entertained on the subject that, on having previously received the appeal from the collector at montrose, the case had been submitted to the consideration of the lords of the treasury, whose decision was now waited for. in this state of things the writer felt particularly desirous to get the thirteenth course finished, that the building might be in a more secure state in the event of bad weather. an opportunity was therefore embraced on the th, in sailing with provisions for the floating light, to carry the necessary stones to the rock for this purpose, which were landed and built on the th and th. but so closely was the watch kept up that a custom-house officer was always placed on board of the _smeaton_ and _patriot_ while they were afloat, till the embargo was especially removed from the lighthouse vessels. the artificers at the bell rock had been reduced to fifteen, who were regularly supplied with provisions, along with the crew of the floating light, mainly through the port officer's liberal interpretation of his orders. tuesday, st aug. there being a considerable swell and breach of sea upon the rock yesterday, the stones could not be got landed till the day following, when the wind shifted to the southward and the weather improved. but to-day no less than seventy-eight blocks of stone were landed, of which forty were built, which completed the fourteenth and part of the fifteenth courses. the number of workmen now resident in the beacon-house were augmented to twenty-four, including the landing-master's crew from the tender and the boat's crew from the floating light, who assisted at landing the stones. those daily at work upon the rock at this period amounted to forty-six. a cabin had been laid out for the writer on the beacon, but his apartment had been the last which was finished, and he had not yet taken possession of it; for though he generally spent the greater part of the day, at this time, upon the rock, yet he always slept on board of the tender. friday, th aug. the wind was at s.e. on the th, and there was so very heavy a swell of sea upon the rock that no boat could approach it. saturday, th aug. the gale still continuing from the s.e., the sea broke with great violence both upon the building and the beacon. the former being twenty-three feet in height, the upper part of the crane erected on it having been lifted from course to course as the building advanced, was now about thirty-six feet above the rock. from observations made on the rise of the sea by this crane, the artificers were enabled to estimate its height to be about fifty feet above the rock, while the sprays fell with a most alarming noise upon their cabins. at low-water, in the evening, a signal was made from the beacon, at the earnest desire of some of the artificers, for the boats to come to the rock; and although this could not be effected without considerable hazard, it was, however, accomplished, when twelve of their number, being much afraid, applied to the foreman to be relieved, and went on board of the tender. but the remaining fourteen continued on the rock, with mr. peter logan, the foreman builder. although this rule of allowing an option to every man either to remain on the rock or return to the tender was strictly adhered to, yet, as it would have been extremely inconvenient to have had the men parcelled out in this manner, it became necessary to embrace the first opportunity of sending those who had left the beacon to the workyard, with as little appearance of intention as possible, lest it should hurt their feelings, or prevent others from acting according to their wishes, either in landing on the rock or remaining on the beacon. tuesday, th aug. the wind had fortunately shifted to the s.w. this morning, and though a considerable breach was still upon the rock, yet the landing-master's crew were enabled to get one praam-boat, lightly loaded with five stones, brought in safety to the western creek; these stones were immediately laid by the artificers, who gladly embraced the return of good weather to proceed with their operations. the writer had this day taken possession of his cabin in the beacon-house. it was small, but commodious, and was found particularly convenient in coarse and blowing weather, instead of being obliged to make a passage to the tender in an open boat at all times, both during the day and the night, which was often attended with much difficulty and danger. saturday, th aug. for some days past the weather had been occasionally so thick and foggy that no small difficulty was experienced in going even between the rock and the tender, though quite at hand. but the floating light's boat lost her way so far in returning on board that the first land she made, after rowing all night, was fifeness, a distance of about fourteen miles. the weather having cleared in the morning, the crew stood off again for the floating light, and got on board in a half-famished and much exhausted state, having been constantly rowing for about sixteen hours. sunday, th aug. the weather being very favourable to-day, fifty-three stones were landed, and the builders were not a little gratified in having built the twenty-second course, consisting of fifty-one stones, being the first course which had been completed in one day. this, as a matter of course, produced three hearty cheers. at twelve noon prayers were read for the first time on the bell rock; those present, counting thirty, were crowded into the upper apartment of the beacon, where the writer took a central position, while two of the artificers, joining hands, supported the bible. friday, th aug. to-day the artificers laid forty-five stones, which completed the twenty-fourth course, reckoning above the first entire one, and the twenty-sixth above the rock. this finished the solid part of the building, and terminated the height of the outward casing of granite, which is thirty-one feet six inches above the rock or site of the foundation-stone, and about seventeen feet above high water of spring-tides. being a particular crisis in the progress of the lighthouse, the landing and laying of the last stone for the season was observed with the usual ceremonies. from observations often made by the writer, in so far as such can be ascertained, it appears that no wave in the open seas, in an unbroken state, rises more than from seven to nine feet above the general surface of the ocean. the bell rock lighthouse may therefore now be considered at from eight to ten feet above the height of the waves; and, although the sprays and heavy seas have often been observed, in the present state of the building, to rise to the height of fifty feet, and fall with a tremendous noise on the beacon-house, yet such seas were not likely to make any impression on a mass of solid masonry, containing about tons. wednesday, th aug. the whole of the artificers left the rock at mid-day, when the tender made sail for arbroath, which she reached about six p.m. the vessel being decorated with colours, and having fired a salute of three guns on approaching the harbour, the workyard artificers, with a multitude of people, assembled at the harbour, when mutual cheering and congratulations took place between those afloat and those on the quays. the tender had now, with little exception, been six months on the station at the bell rock, and during the last four months few of the squad of builders had been ashore. in particular, mr. peter logan, the foreman, and mr. robert selkirk, principal builder, had never once left the rock. the artificers, having made good wages during their stay, like seamen upon a return voyage, were extremely happy, and spent the evening with much innocent mirth and jollity. in reflecting upon the state of the matters at the bell rock during the working months, when the writer was much with the artificers, nothing can equal the happy manner in which these excellent workmen spent their time. they always went from arbroath to their arduous task cheering, and they generally returned in the same hearty state. while at the rock, between the tides, they amused themselves in reading, fishing, music, playing cards, draughts, etc., or in sporting with one another. in the workyard at arbroath the young men were almost, without exception, employed in the evening at school, in writing and arithmetic, and not a few were learning architectural drawing, for which they had every convenience and facility, and were, in a very obliging manner, assisted in their studies by mr. david logan, clerk of the works. it therefore affords the most pleasing reflections to look back upon the pursuits of about sixty individuals who for years conducted themselves, on all occasions, in a sober and rational manner. iv operations of thursday, th may. the wind had shifted to-day to w.n.w., when the writer, with considerable difficulty, was enabled to land upon the rock for the first time this season, at ten a.m. upon examining the state of the building, and apparatus in general, he had the satisfaction to find everything in good order. the mortar in all the joints was perfectly entire. the building, now thirty feet in height, was thickly coated with _fuci_ to the height of about fifteen feet, calculating from the rock; on the eastern side, indeed, the growth of seaweed was observable to the full height of thirty feet, and even on the top or upper bed of the last-laid course, especially towards the eastern side, it had germinated, so as to render walking upon it somewhat difficult. the beacon-house was in a perfectly sound state, and apparently just as it had been left in the month of november. but the tides being neap, the lower parts, particularly where the beams rested on the rock, could not now be seen. the floor of the mortar gallery having been already laid down by mr. watt and his men on a former visit, was merely soaked with the sprays; but the joisting-beams which supported it had, in the course of the winter, been covered with a fine downy conferva produced by the range of the sea. they were also a good deal whitened with the mute of the cormorant and other sea-fowls, which had roosted upon the beacon in winter. upon ascending to the apartments, it was found that the motion of the sea had thrown open the door of the cook-house: this was only shut with a single latch, that in case of shipwreck at the bell rock the mariner might find ready access to the shelter of this forlorn habitation, where a supply of provisions was kept; and being within two miles and a half of the floating light, a signal could readily be observed, when a boat might be sent to his relief as soon as the weather permitted. an arrangement for this purpose formed one of the instructions on board of the floating light, but happily no instance occurred for putting it in practice. the hearth or fireplace of the cook-house was built of brick in as secure a manner as possible to prevent accident from fire; but some of the plaster-work had shaken loose, from its damp state and the tremulous motion of the beacon in stormy weather. the writer next ascended to the floor which was occupied by the cabins of himself and his assistants, which were in tolerably good order, having only a damp and musty smell. the barrack for the artificers, over all, was next visited; it had now a very dreary and deserted appearance when its former thronged state was recollected. in some parts the water had come through the boarding, and had discoloured the lining of green cloth, but it was, nevertheless, in a good habitable condition. while the seamen were employed in landing a stock of provisions, a few of the artificers set to work with great eagerness to sweep and clean the several apartments. the exterior of the beacon was, in the meantime, examined, and found in perfect order. the painting, though it had a somewhat blanched appearance, adhered firmly both on the sides and roof, and only two or three panes of glass were broken in the cupola, which had either been blown out by the force of the wind or perhaps broken by sea-fowl. having on this occasion continued upon the building and beacon a considerable time after the tide had begun to flow, the artificers were occupied in removing the forge from the top of the building, to which the gangway or wooden bridge gave great facility; and, although it stretched or had a span of forty-two feet, its construction was extremely simple, while the roadway was perfectly firm and steady. in returning from this visit to the rock every one was pretty well soused in spray before reaching the tender at two o'clock p.m., where things awaited the landing party in as comfortable a way as such a situation would admit. friday, th may. the wind was still easterly, accompanied with rather a heavy swell of sea for the operations in hand. a landing was, however, made this morning, when the artificers were immediately employed in scraping the seaweed off the upper course of the building, in order to apply the moulds of the first course of the staircase, that the joggle-holes might be marked off in the upper course of the solid. this was also necessary previously to the writer's fixing the position of the entrance door, which was regulated chiefly by the appearance of the growth of the seaweed on the building, indicating the direction of the heaviest seas, on the opposite side of which the door was placed. the landing-master's crew succeeded in towing into the creek on the western side of the rock the praam-boat with the balance-crane, which had now been on board of the praam for five days. the several pieces of this machine, having been conveyed along the railways upon the waggons to a position immediately under the bridge, were elevated to its level, or thirty feet above the rock, in the following manner. a chain-tackle was suspended over a pulley from the cross-beam connecting the tops of the kingposts of the bridge, which was worked by a winch-machine with wheel, pinion, and barrel, round which last the chain was wound. this apparatus was placed on the beacon side of the bridge, at the distance of about twelve feet from the cross-beam and pulley in the middle of the bridge. immediately under the cross-beam a hatch was formed in the roadway of the bridge, measuring seven feet in length and five feet in breadth, made to shut with folding boards like a double door, through which stones and other articles were raised; the folding doors were then let down, and the stone or load was gently lowered upon a waggon which was wheeled on railway trucks towards the lighthouse. in this manner the several castings of the balance-crane were got up to the top of the solid of the building. the several apartments of the beacon-house having been cleaned out and supplied with bedding, a sufficient stock of provisions was put into the store, when peter fortune, formerly noticed, lighted his fire in the beacon for the first time this season. sixteen artificers at the same time mounted to their barrack-room, and all the foremen of the works also took possession of their cabin, all heartily rejoiced at getting rid of the trouble of boating and the sickly motion of the tender. saturday, th may. the wind was at e.n.e., blowing so fresh, and accompanied with so much sea, that no stones could be landed to-day. the people on the rock, however, were busily employed in screwing together the balance-crane, cutting out the joggle-holes in the upper course, and preparing all things for commencing the building operations. sunday, th may. the weather still continues boisterous, although the barometer has all the while stood at about inches. towards evening the wind blew so fresh at e. by s. that the boats both of the _smeaton_ and tender were obliged to be hoisted in, and it was feared that the _smeaton_ would have to slip her moorings. the people on the rock were seen busily employed, and had the balance-crane apparently ready for use, but no communication could be had with them to-day. monday, th may. the wind continued to blow so fresh, and the _smeaton_ rode so heavily with her cargo, that at noon a signal was made for her getting under weigh, when she stood towards arbroath; and on board of the tender we are still without any communication with the people on the rock, where the sea was seen breaking over the top of the building in great sprays, and raging with much agitation among the beams of the beacon. thursday, th may. the wind, in the course of the day, had shifted from north to west; the sea being also considerably less, a boat landed on the rock at six p.m., for the first time since the th, with the provisions and water brought off by the _patriot_. the inhabitants of the beacon were all well, but tired above measure for want of employment, as the balance-crane and apparatus was all in readiness. under these circumstances they felt no less desirous of the return of good weather than those afloat, who were continually tossed with the agitation of the sea. the writer, in particular, felt himself almost as much fatigued and worn-out as he had been at any period since the commencement of the work. the very backward state of the weather at so advanced a period of the season unavoidably created some alarm, lest he should be overtaken with bad weather at a late period of the season, with the building operations in an unfinished state. these apprehensions were, no doubt, rather increased by the inconveniences of his situation afloat, as the tender rolled and pitched excessively at times. this being also his first off-set for the season, every bone of his body felt sore with preserving a sitting posture while he endeavoured to pass away the time in reading; as for writing, it was wholly impracticable. he had several times entertained thoughts of leaving the station for a few days and going into arbroath with the tender till the weather should improve; but as the artificers had been landed on the rock he was averse to this at the commencement of the season, knowing also that he would be equally uneasy in every situation till the first cargo was landed: and he therefore resolved to continue at his post until this should be effected. friday, th may. the wind being now n.w., the sea was considerably run down, and this morning at five o'clock the landing-master's crew, thirteen in number, left the tender; and having now no detention with the landing of artificers, they proceeded to unmoor the _hedderwick_ praam-boat, and towed her alongside of the _smeaton_: and in the course of the day twenty-three blocks of stone, three casks of pozzolano, three of sand, three of lime, and one of roman cement, together with three bundles of trenails and three of wedges, were all landed on the rock and raised to the top of the building by means of the tackle suspended from the cross-beam on the middle of the bridge. the stones were then moved along the bridge on the waggon to the building within reach of the balance-crane, with which they were laid in their respective places on the building. the masons immediately thereafter proceeded to bore the trenail-holes into the course below, and otherwise to complete the one in hand. when the first stone was to be suspended by the balance-crane, the bell on the beacon was rung, and all the artificers and seamen were collected on the building. three hearty cheers were given while it was lowered into its place, and the steward served round a glass of rum, when success was drunk to the further progress of the building. sunday, th may. the wind was southerly to-day, but there was much less sea than yesterday, and the landing-master's crew were enabled to discharge and land twenty-three pieces of stone and other articles for the work. the artificers had completed the laying of the twenty-seventh or first course of the staircase this morning, and in the evening they finished the boring, trenailing, wedging, and grouting it with mortar. at twelve o'clock noon the beacon-house bell was rung, and all hands were collected on the top of the building, where prayers were read for the first time on the lighthouse, which forcibly struck every one, and had, upon the whole, a very impressive effect. from the hazardous situation of the beacon-house with regard to fire, being composed wholly of timber, there was no small risk from accident: and on this account one of the most steady of the artificers was appointed to see that the fire of the cooking-house, and the lights in general, were carefully extinguished at stated hours. monday, th june. this being the birthday of our much-revered sovereign king george iii, now in the fiftieth year of his reign, the shipping of the lighthouse service were this morning decorated with colours according to the taste of their respective captains. flags were also hoisted upon the beacon-house and balance-crane on the top of the building. at twelve noon a salute was fired from the tender, when the king's health was drunk, with all the honours, both on the rock and on board of the shipping. tuesday, th june. as the lighthouse advanced in height, the cubical contents of the stones were less, but they had to be raised to a greater height; and the walls, being thinner, were less commodious for the necessary machinery and the artificers employed, which considerably retarded the work. inconvenience was also occasionally experienced from the men dropping their coats, hats, mallets, and other tools, at high-water, which were carried away by the tide; and the danger to the people themselves was now greatly increased. had any of them fallen from the beacon or building at high-water, while the landing-master's crew were generally engaged with the craft at a distance, it must have rendered the accident doubly painful to those on the rock, who at this time had no boat, and consequently no means of rendering immediate and prompt assistance. in such cases it would have been too late to have got a boat by signal from the tender. a small boat, which could be lowered at pleasure, was therefore suspended by a pair of davits projected from the cook-house, the keel being about thirty feet from the rock. this boat, with its tackle, was put under the charge of james glen, of whose exertions on the beacon mention has already been made, and who, having in early life been a seaman, was also very expert in the management of a boat. a life-buoy was likewise suspended from the bridge, to which a coil of line two hundred fathoms in length was attached, which could be let out to a person falling into the water, or to the people in the boat, should they not be able to work her with the oars. thursday, th june. to-day twelve stones were landed on the rock, being the remainder of the _patriot's_ cargo; and the artificers built the thirty-ninth course, consisting of fourteen stones. the bell rock works had now a very busy appearance, as the lighthouse was daily getting more into form. besides the artificers and their cook, the writer and his servant were also lodged on the beacon, counting in all twenty-nine; and at low-water the landing-master's crew, consisting of from twelve to fifteen seamen, were employed in transporting the building materials, working the landing apparatus on the rock, and dragging the stone waggons along the railways. friday, th june. in the course of this day the weather varied much. in the morning it was calm, in the middle part of the day there were light airs of wind from the south, and in the evening fresh breezes from the east. the barometer in the writer's cabin in the beacon-house oscillated from inches to . , and the weather was extremely pleasant. this, in any situation, forms one of the chief comforts of life; but, as may easily be conceived, it was doubly so to people stuck, as it were, upon a pinnacle in the middle of the ocean. sunday, th june. one of the praam-boats had been brought to the rock with eleven stones, notwithstanding the perplexity which attended the getting of those formerly landed taken up to the building. mr. peter logan, the foreman builder, interposed and prevented this cargo from being delivered; but the landing-master's crew were exceedingly averse to this arrangement, from an idea that "ill luck" would in future attend the praam, her cargo, and those who navigated her, from thus reversing her voyage. it may be noticed that this was the first instance of a praam-boat having been sent from the bell rock with any part of her cargo on board, and was considered so uncommon an occurrence that it became a topic of conversation among the seamen and artificers. tuesday, th june. to-day the stones formerly sent from the rock were safely landed, notwithstanding the augury of the seamen in consequence of their being sent away two days before. thursday, th june. to-day twenty-seven stones and eleven joggle-pieces were landed, part of which consisted of the forty-seventh course, forming the storeroom floor. the builders were at work this morning by four o'clock, in the hopes of being able to accomplish the laying of the eighteen stones of this course. but at eight o'clock in the evening they had still two to lay, and as the stones of this course were very unwieldy, being six feet in length, they required much precaution and care both in lifting and laying them. it was only on the writer's suggestion to mr. logan that the artificers were induced to leave off, as they had intended to complete this floor before going to bed. the two remaining stones were, however, laid in their places without mortar when the bell on the beacon was rung, and, all hands being collected on the top of the building, three hearty cheers were given on covering the first apartment. the steward then served out a dram to each, when the whole retired to their barrack much fatigued, but with the anticipation of the most perfect repose even in the "hurricane-house," amidst the dashing seas on the bell rock. while the workmen were at breakfast and dinner it was the writer's usual practice to spend his time on the walls of the building, which, notwithstanding the narrowness of the track, nevertheless formed his principal walk when the rock was under water. but this afternoon he had his writing-desk set upon the storeroom floor, when he wrote to mrs. stevenson--certainly the first letter dated from the bell rock _lighthouse_--giving a detail of the fortunate progress of the work, with an assurance that the lighthouse would soon be completed at the rate at which it now proceeded; and, the _patriot_ having sailed for arbroath in the evening, he felt no small degree of pleasure in despatching this communication to his family. the weather still continuing favourable for the operations at the rock, the work proceeded with much energy, through the exertions both of the seamen and artificers. for the more speedy and effectual working of the several tackles in raising the materials as the building advanced in height, and there being a great extent of railway to attend to, which required constant repairs, two additional millwrights were added to the complement on the rock, which, including the writer, now counted thirty-one in all. so crowded was the men's barrack that the beds were ranged five tier in height, allowing only about one foot eight inches for each bed. the artificers commenced this morning at five o'clock, and, in the course of the day, they laid the forty-eighth and forty-ninth courses, consisting each of sixteen blocks. from the favourable state of the weather, and the regular manner in which the work now proceeded, the artificers had generally from four to seven extra hours' work, which, including their stated wages of s. d., yielded them from s. d. to about s. d. per day besides their board; even the postage of their letters was paid while they were at the bell rock. in these advantages the foremen also shared, having about double the pay and amount of premiums of the artificers. the seamen being less out of their element in the bell rock operations than the landsmen, their premiums consisted in a slump sum payable at the end of the season, which extended from three to ten guineas. as the laying of the floors was somewhat tedious, the landing-master and his crew had got considerably beforehand with the building artificers in bringing materials faster to the rock than they could be built. the seamen having, therefore, some spare time, were occasionally employed during fine weather in dredging or grappling for the several mushroom anchors and mooring-chains which had been lost in the vicinity of the bell rock during the progress of the work by the breaking loose and drifting of the floating buoys. to encourage their exertions in this search, five guineas were offered as a premium for each set they should find; and, after much patient application, they succeeded to-day in hooking one of these lost anchors with its chain. it was a general remark at the bell rock, as before noticed, that fish were never plenty in its neighbourhood excepting in good weather. indeed, the seamen used to speculate about the state of the weather from their success in fishing. when the fish disappeared at the rock, it was considered a sure indication that a gale was not far off, as the fish seemed to seek shelter in deeper water from the roughness of the sea during these changes in the weather. at this time the rock, at high-water, was completely covered with podlies, or the fry of the coal-fish, about six or eight inches in length. the artificers sometimes occupied half an hour after breakfast and dinner in catching these little fishes, but were more frequently supplied from the boats of the tender. saturday, th june. the landing-master having this day discharged the _smeaton_ and loaded the _hedderwick_ and _dickie_ praam-boats with nineteen stones, they were towed to their respective moorings, when captain wilson, in consequence of the heavy swell of sea, came in his boat to the beacon-house to consult with the writer as to the propriety of venturing the loaded praam-boats with their cargoes to the rock while so much sea was running. after some dubiety expressed on the subject, in which the ardent mind of the landing-master suggested many arguments in favour of his being able to convey the praams in perfect safety, it was acceded to. in bad weather, and especially on occasions of difficulty like the present, mr. wilson, who was an extremely active seaman, measuring about five feet three inches in height, of a robust habit, generally dressed himself in what he called a _monkey jacket_, made of thick duffle cloth, with a pair of dutchman's petticoat trousers, reaching only to his knees, where they were met with a pair of long water-tight boots; with this dress, his glazed hat, and his small brass speaking-trumpet in his hand, he bade defiance to the weather. when he made his appearance in this most suitable attire for the service, his crew seemed to possess additional life, never failing to use their utmost exertions when the captain put on his _storm rigging._ they had this morning commenced loading the praam-boats at four o'clock, and proceeded to tow them into the eastern landing-place, which was accomplished with much dexterity, though not without the risk of being thrown, by the force of the sea, on certain projecting ledges of the rock. in such a case the loss even of a single stone would have greatly retarded the work. for the greater safety in entering the creek it was necessary to put out several warps and guy-ropes to guide the boats into its narrow and intricate entrance; and it frequently happened that the sea made a clean breach over the praams, which not only washed their decks, but completely drenched the crew in water. sunday, th june. it was fortunate, in the present state of the weather, that the fiftieth course was in a sheltered spot, within the reach of the tackle of the winch-machine upon the bridge; a few stones were stowed upon the bridge itself, and the remainder upon the building, which kept the artificers at work. the stowing of the materials upon the rock was the department of alexander brebner, mason, who spared no pains in attending to the safety of the stones, and who, in the present state of the work, when the stones were landed faster than could be built, generally worked till the water rose to his middle. at one o'clock to-day the bell rung for prayers, and all hands were collected into the upper barrack-room of the beacon-house, when the usual service was performed. the wind blew very hard in the course of last night from n.e., and to-day the sea ran so high that no boat could approach the rock. during the dinner-hour, when the writer was going to the top of the building as usual, but just as he had entered the door and was about to ascend the ladder, a great noise was heard overhead, and in an instant he was soused in water from a sea which had most unexpectedly come over the walls, though now about fifty-eight feet in height. on making his retreat he found himself completely whitened by the lime, which had mixed with the water while dashing down through the different floors; and, as nearly as he could guess, a quantity equal to about a hogshead had come over the walls, and now streamed out at the door. after having shifted himself, he again sat down in his cabin, the sea continuing to run so high that the builders did not resume their operations on the walls this afternoon. the incident just noticed did not create more surprise in the mind of the writer than the sublime appearance of the waves as they rolled majestically over the rock. this scene he greatly enjoyed while sitting at his cabin window; each wave approached the beacon like a vast scroll unfolding; and in passing discharged a quantity of air, which he not only distinctly felt, but was even sufficient to lift the leaves of a book which lay before him. these waves might be ten or twelve feet in height, and about feet in length, their smaller end being towards the north, where the water was deep, and they were opened or cut through by the interposition of the building and beacon. the gradual manner in which the sea, upon these occasions, is observed to become calm or to subside, is a very remarkable feature of this phenomenon. for example, when a gale is succeeded by a calm, every third or fourth wave forms one of these great seas, which occur in spaces of from three to five minutes, as noted by the writer's watch; but in the course of the next tide they become less frequent, and take off so as to occur only in ten or fifteen minutes; and, singular enough, at the third tide after such gales, the writer has remarked that only one or two of these great waves appear in the course of the whole tide. tuesday, th june. the th was a very unpleasant and disagreeable day, both for the seamen and artificers, as it rained throughout with little intermission from four a.m. till eleven p.m., accompanied with thunder and lightning, during which period the work nevertheless continued unremittingly and the builders laid the fifty-first and fifty-second courses. this state of weather was no less severe upon the mortar-makers, who required to temper or prepare the mortar of a thicker or thinner consistency, in some measure, according to the state of the weather. from the elevated position of the building, the mortar gallery on the beacon was now much lower, and the lime-buckets were made to traverse upon a rope distended between it and the building. on occasions like the present, however, there was often a difference of opinion between the builders and the mortar-makers. john watt, who had the principal charge of the mortar, was a most active worker, but, being somewhat of an irascible temper, the builders occasionally amused themselves at his expense: for while he was eagerly at work with his large iron-shod pestle in the mortar-tub, they often sent down contradictory orders, some crying, "make it a little stiffer, or thicker, john," while others called out to make it "thinner," to which he generally returned very speedy and sharp replies, so that these conversations at times were rather amusing. during wet weather the situation of the artificers on the top of the building was extremely disagreeable; for although their work did not require great exertion, yet, as each man had his particular part to perform, either in working the crane or in laying the stones, it required the closest application and attention, not only on the part of mr. peter logan, the foreman, who was constantly on the walls, but also of the chief workmen. robert selkirk, the principal builder, for example, had every stone to lay in its place. david cumming, a mason, had the charge of working the tackle of the balance-weight, and james scott, also a mason, took charge of the purchase with which the stones were laid; while the pointing the joints of the walls with cement was intrusted to william reid and william kennedy, who stood upon a scaffold suspended over the walls in rather a frightful manner. the least act of carelessness or inattention on the part of any of these men might have been fatal, not only to themselves, but also to the surrounding workmen, especially if any accident had happened to the crane itself, while the material damage or loss of a single stone would have put an entire stop to the operations until another could have been brought from arbroath. the artificers, having wrought seven and a half hours of extra time to-day, had s. d. of extra pay, while the foremen had s. d. over and above their stated pay and board. although, therefore, the work was both hazardous and fatiguing, yet, the encouragement being considerable, they were always very cheerful, and perfectly reconciled to the confinement and other disadvantages of the place. during fine weather, and while the nights were short, the duty on board of the floating light was literally nothing but a waiting on, and therefore one of her boats, with a crew of five men, daily attended the rock, but always returned to the vessel at night. the carpenter, however, was one of those who was left on board of the ship, as he also acted in the capacity of assistant lightkeeper, being, besides, a person who was apt to feel discontent and to be averse to changing his quarters, especially to work with the millwrights and joiners at the rock, who often, for hours together, wrought knee-deep, and not unfrequently up to the middle, in water. mr. watt having about this time made a requisition for another hand, the carpenter was ordered to attend the rock in the floating light's boat. this he did with great reluctance, and found so much fault that he soon got into discredit with his messmates. on this occasion he left the lighthouse service, and went as a sailor in a vessel bound for america--a step which, it is believed, he soon regretted, as, in the course of things, he would, in all probability, have accompanied mr john reid, the principal lightkeeper of the floating light, to the bell rock lighthouse as his principal assistant. the writer had a wish to be of service to this man, as he was one of those who came off to the floating light in the month of september , while she was riding at single anchor after the severe gale of the th, at a time when it was hardly possible to make up this vessel's crew; but the crossness of his manner prevented his reaping the benefit of such intentions. friday, nd june. the building operations had for some time proceeded more slowly, from the higher parts of the lighthouse requiring much longer time than an equal tonnage of the lower courses. the duty of the landing-master's crew had, upon the whole, been easy of late; for though the work was occasionally irregular, yet the stones being lighter, they were more speedily lifted from the hold of the stone vessel to the deck of the praam-boat, and again to the waggons on the railway, after which they came properly under the charge of the foreman builder. it is, however, a strange, though not an uncommon, feature in the human character, that, when people have least to complain of they are most apt to become dissatisfied, as was now the case with the seamen employed in the bell rock service about their rations of beer. indeed, ever since the carpenter of the floating light, formerly noticed, had been brought to the rock, expressions of discontent had been manifested upon various occasions. this being represented to the writer, he sent for captain wilson, the landing-master, and mr. taylor, commander of the tender, with whom he talked over the subject. they stated that they considered the daily allowance of the seamen in every respect ample, and that, the work being now much lighter than formerly, they had no just ground for complaint; mr. taylor adding that, if those who now complained "were even to be fed upon soft bread and turkeys, they would not think themselves right." at twelve noon the work of the landing-master's crew was completed for the day; but at four o'clock, while the rock was under water, those on the beacon were surprised by the arrival of a boat from the tender without any signal having been made from the beacon. it brought the following note to the writer from the landing-master's crew:-- _sir joseph banks tender_ "sir,--we are informed by our masters that our allowance is to be as before, and it is not sufficient to serve us, for we have been at work since four o'clock this morning, and we have come on board to dinner, and there is no beer for us before to-morrow morning, to which a sufficient answer is required before we go from the beacon; and we are, sir, your most obedient servants." on reading this, the writer returned a verbal message, intimating that an answer would be sent on board of the tender, at the same time ordering the boat instantly to quit the beacon. he then addressed the following note to the landing-master:-- "_beacon-house, nd june , five o'clock p.m._ "sir,--i have just now received a letter purporting to be from the landing-master's crew and seamen on board of the _sir joseph banks_, though without either date or signature; in answer to which i enclose a statement of the daily allowance of provisions for the seamen in this service, which you will post up in the ship's galley, and at seven o'clock this evening i will come on board to inquire into this unexpected and most unnecessary demand for an additional allowance of beer. in the enclosed you will not find any alteration from the original statement, fixed in the galley at the beginning of the season. i have, however, judged this mode of giving your people an answer preferable to that of conversing with them on the beacon.--i am, sir, your most obedient servant, "robert stevenson. "to captain wilson." "_beacon house_, _nd june_ .--schedule of the daily allowance of provisions to be served out on board of the _sir joseph banks_ tender: ' - / lb. beef; lb. bread; oz. oatmeal; oz. barley; oz. butter; quarts beer; vegetables and salt no stated allowance. when the seamen are employed in unloading the _smeaton_ and _patriot_, a draught of beer is, as formerly, to be allowed from the stock of these vessels. further, in wet and stormy weather, or when the work commences very early in the morning, or continues till a late hour at night, a glass of spirits will also be served out to the crew as heretofore, on the requisition of the landing-master.' "robert stevenson." on writing this letter and schedule, a signal was made on the beacon for the landing-master's boat, which immediately came to the rock, and the schedule was afterwards stuck up in the tender's galley. when sufficient time had been allowed to the crew to consider of their conduct, a second signal was made for a boat, and at seven o'clock the writer left the bell rock, after a residence of four successive weeks in the beacon-house. the first thing which occupied his attention on board of the tender was to look round upon the lighthouse, which he saw, with some degree of emotion and surprise, now vying in height with the beacon-house; for although he had often viewed it from the extremity of the western railway on the rock, yet the scene, upon the whole, seemed far more interesting from the tender's moorings at the distance of about half a mile. the _smeaton_ having just arrived at her moorings with a cargo, a signal was made for captain pool to come on board of the tender, that he might be at hand to remove from the service any of those who might persist in their discontented conduct. one of the two principal leaders in this affair, the master of one of the praam-boats, who had also steered the boat which brought the letter to the beacon, was first called upon deck, and asked if he had read the statement fixed up in the galley this afternoon, and whether he was satisfied with it. he replied that he had read the paper, but was not satisfied, as it held out no alteration on the allowance, on which he was immediately ordered into the _smeaton's_ boat. the next man called had but lately entered the service, and, being also interrogated as to his resolution, he declared himself to be of the same mind with the praam-master, and was also forthwith ordered into the boat. the writer, without calling any more of the seamen, went forward to the gangway, where they were collected and listening to what was passing upon deck. he addressed them at the hatchway, and stated that two of their companions had just been dismissed the service and sent on board of the _smeaton_ to be conveyed to arbroath. he therefore wished each man to consider for himself how far it would be proper, by any unreasonableness of conduct, to place themselves in a similar situation, especially as they were aware that it was optional in him either to dismiss them or send them on board a man-of-war. it might appear that much inconveniency would be felt at the rock by a change of hands at this critical period, by checking for a time the progress of a building so intimately connected with the best interests of navigation; yet this would be but of a temporary nature, while the injury to themselves might be irreparable. it was now, therefore, required of any man who, in this disgraceful manner, chose to leave the service, that he should instantly make his appearance on deck while the _smeaton's_ boat was alongside. but those below having expressed themselves satisfied with their situation--viz., william brown, george gibb, alexander scott, john dick, robert couper, alexander shephard, james grieve, david carey, william pearson, stuart eaton, alexander lawrence, and john spink--were accordingly considered as having returned to their duty. this disposition to mutiny, which had so strongly manifested itself, being now happily suppressed, captain pool got orders to proceed for arbroath bay, and land the two men he had on board, and to deliver the following letter at the office of the workyard:-- "_on board of the tender off the bell rock_, _nd june_ , _eight o'clock p.m._ "dear sir,--a discontented and mutinous spirit having manifested itself of late among the landing-master's crew, they struck work to-day and demanded an additional allowance of beer, and i have found it necessary to dismiss d----d and m----e, who are now sent on shore with the _smeaton_. you will therefore be so good as to pay them their wages, including this day only. nothing can be more unreasonable than the conduct of the seamen on this occasion, as the landing-master's crew not only had their allowance on board of the tender, but, in the course of this day, they had drawn no fewer than twenty-four quart pots of beer from the stock of the _patriot_ while unloading her.--i remain, yours truly, "robert stevenson. "to mr. lachlan kennedy, bell rock office, arbroath." on despatching this letter to mr. kennedy, the writer returned to the beacon about nine o'clock, where this afternoon's business had produced many conjectures, especially when the _smeaton_ got under weigh, instead of proceeding to land her cargo. the bell on the beacon being rung, the artificers were assembled on the bridge, when the affair was explained to them. he, at the same time, congratulated them upon the first appearance of mutiny being happily set at rest by the dismissal of its two principal abettors. sunday, th june. at the rock, the landing of the materials and the building operations of the light-room store went on successfully, and in a way similar to those of the provision store. to-day it blew fresh breezes; but the seamen nevertheless landed twenty-eight stones, and the artificers built the fifty-eighth and fifty-ninth courses. the works were visited by mr. murdoch, junior, from messrs. boulton and watt's works of soho. he landed just as the bell rung for prayers, after which the writer enjoyed much pleasure from his very intelligent conversation; and, having been almost the only stranger he had seen for some weeks, he parted with him, after a short interview, with much regret. thursday, th june. last night the wind had shifted to north-east, and, blowing fresh, was accompanied with a heavy surf upon the rock. towards high-water it had a very grand and wonderful appearance. waves of considerable magnitude rose as high as the solid or level of the entrance-door, which, being open to the south-west, was fortunately to the leeward; but on the windward side the sprays flew like lightning up the sloping sides of the building; and although the walls were now elevated sixty-four feet above the rock, and about fifty-two feet from high-water mark, yet the artificers were nevertheless wetted, and occasionally interrupted, in their operations on the top of the walls. these appearances were, in a great measure, new at the bell rock, there having till of late been no building to conduct the seas, or object to compare with them. although, from the description of the eddystone lighthouse, the mind was prepared for such effects, yet they were not expected to the present extent in the summer season; the sea being most awful to-day, whether observed from the beacon or the building. to windward, the sprays fell from the height above noticed in the most wonderful cascades, and streamed down the walls of the building in froth as white as snow. to leeward of the lighthouse the collision or meeting of the waves produced a pure white kind of _drift_: it rose about thirty feet in height, like a fine downy mist, which, in its fall, fell upon the face and hands more like a dry powder than a liquid substance. the effect of these seas, as they raged among the beams and dashed upon the higher parts of the beacon, produced a temporary tremulous motion throughout the whole fabric, which to a stranger must have been frightful. sunday, st july. the writer had now been at the bell rock since the latter end of may, or about six weeks, during four of which he had been a constant inhabitant of the beacon without having been once off the rock. after witnessing the laying of the sixty-seventh or second course of the bedroom apartment, he left the rock with the tender and went ashore, as some arrangements were to be made for the future conduct of the works at arbroath, which were soon to be brought to a close; the landing-master's crew having, in the meantime, shifted on board of the _patriot_. in leaving the rock, the writer kept his eyes fixed upon the lighthouse, which had recently got into the form of a house, having several tiers or stories of windows. nor was he unmindful of his habitation in the beacon--now far overtopped by the masonry,--where he had spent several weeks in a kind of active retirement, making practical experiment of the fewness of the positive wants of man. his cabin measured not more than four feet three inches in breadth on the floor; and though, from the oblique direction of the beams of the beacon, it widened towards the top, yet it did not admit of the full extension of his arms when he stood on the floor; while its length was little more than sufficient for suspending a cot-bed during the night, calculated for being triced up to the roof through the day, which left free room for the admission of occasional visitants. his folding table was attached with hinges, immediately under the small window of the apartment, and his books, barometer, thermometer, portmanteau, and two or three camp-stools, formed the bulk of his movables. his diet being plain, the paraphernalia of the table were proportionally simple; though everything had the appearance of comfort, and even of neatness, the walls being covered with green cloth formed into panels with red tape, and his bed festooned with curtains of yellow cotton-stuff. if, in speculating upon the abstract wants of man in such a state of exclusion, one were reduced to a single book, the sacred volume--whether considered for the striking diversity of its story, the morality of its doctrine, or the important truths of its gospel--would have proved by far the greatest treasure. monday, nd july. in walking over the workyard at arbroath this morning, the writer found that the stones of the course immediately under the cornice were all in hand, and that a week's work would now finish the whole, while the intermediate courses lay ready numbered and marked for shipping to the rock. among other subjects which had occupied his attention to-day was a visit from some of the relations of george dall, a young man who had been impressed near dundee in the month of february last; a dispute had arisen between the magistrates of that burgh and the regulating officer as to his right of impressing dall, who was _bonâ fide_ one of the protected seamen in the bell rock service. in the meantime, the poor lad was detained, and ultimately committed to the prison of dundee, to remain until the question should be tried before the court of session. his friends were naturally very desirous to have him relieved upon bail. but, as this was only to be done by the judgment of the court, all that could be said was that his pay and allowances should be continued in the same manner as if he had been upon the sick-list. the circumstances of dall's case were briefly these:--he had gone to see some of his friends in the neighbourhood of dundee, in winter, while the works were suspended, having got leave of absence from mr. taylor, who commanded the bell rock tender, and had in his possession one of the protection medals. unfortunately, however, for dall, the regulating officer thought proper to disregard these documents, as, according to the strict and literal interpretation of the admiralty regulations, a seaman does not stand protected unless he is actually on board of his ship, or in a boat belonging to her, or has the admiralty protection in his possession. this order of the board, however, cannot be rigidly followed in practice; and therefore, when the matter is satisfactorily stated to the regulating officer, the impressed man is generally liberated. but in dall's case this was peremptorily refused, and he was retained at the instance of the magistrates. the writer having brought the matter under the consideration of the commissioners of the northern lighthouses, they authorised it to be tried on the part of the lighthouse board, as one of extreme hardship. the court, upon the first hearing, ordered dall to be liberated from prison; and the proceedings never went further. wednesday, th july. being now within twelve courses of being ready for building the cornice, measures were taken for getting the stones of it and the parapet-wall of the light-room brought from edinburgh, where, as before noticed, they had been prepared and were in readiness for shipping. the honour of conveying the upper part of the lighthouse, and of landing the last stone of the building on the rock, was considered to belong to captain pool of the _smeaton_, who had been longer in the service than the master of the _patriot_. the _smeaton_ was, therefore, now partly loaded with old iron, consisting of broken railways and other lumber which had been lying about the rock. after landing these at arbroath, she took on board james craw, with his horse and cart, which could now be spared at the workyard, to be employed in carting the stones from edinburgh to leith. alexander davidson and william kennedy, two careful masons, were also sent to take charge of the loading of the stones at greenside, and stowing them on board of the vessel at leith. the writer also went on board, with a view to call at the bell rock and to take his passage up the firth of forth. the wind, however, coming to blow very fresh from the eastward, with thick and foggy weather, it became necessary to reef the mainsail and set the second jib. when in the act of making a tack towards the tender, the sailors who worked the head-sheets were, all of a sudden, alarmed with the sound of the smith's hammer and anvil on the beacon, and had just time to put the ship about to save her from running ashore on the north-western point of the rock, marked "james craw's horse." on looking towards the direction from whence the sound came, the building and beacon-house were seen, with consternation, while the ship was hailed by those on the rock, who were no less confounded at seeing the near approach of the _smeaton_; and, just as the vessel cleared the danger, the smith and those in the mortar gallery made signs in token of their happiness at our fortunate escape. from this occurrence the writer had an experimental proof of the utility of the large bells which were in preparation to be rung by the machinery of the revolving light; for, had it not been for the sound of the smith's anvil, the _smeaton_, in all probability, would have been wrecked upon the rock. in case the vessel had struck, those on board might have been safe, having now the beacon-house as a place of refuge; but the vessel, which was going at a great velocity, must have suffered severely, and it was more than probable that the horse would have been drowned, there being no means of getting him out of the vessel. of this valuable animal and his master we shall take an opportunity of saying more in another place. thursday, th july. the weather cleared up in the course of the night, but the wind shifted to the n.e. and blew very fresh. from the force of the wind, being now the period of spring-tides, a very heavy swell was experienced at the rock. at two o'clock on the following morning the people on the beacon were in a state of great alarm about their safety, as the sea had broke up part of the floor of the mortar gallery, which was thus cleared of the lime-casks and other buoyant articles; and, the alarm-bell being rung, all hands were called to render what assistance was in their power for the safety of themselves and the materials. at this time some would willingly have left the beacon and gone into the building; the sea, however, ran so high that there was no passage along the bridge of communication, and, when the interior of the lighthouse came to be examined in the morning, it appeared that great quantities of water had come over the walls--now eighty feet in height--and had run down through the several apartments and out at the entrance door. the upper course of the lighthouse at the workyard of arbroath was completed on the th, and the whole of the stones were, therefore, now ready for being shipped to the rock. from the present state of the works it was impossible that the two squads of artificers at arbroath and the bell rock could meet together at this period; and as in public works of this kind, which had continued for a series of years, it is not customary to allow the men to separate without what is termed a "finishing-pint," five guineas were for this purpose placed at the disposal of mr. david logan, clerk of works. with this sum the stone-cutters at arbroath had a merry meeting in their barrack, collected their sweethearts and friends, and concluded their labours with a dance. it was remarked, however, that their happiness on this occasion was not without alloy. the consideration of parting and leaving a steady and regular employment, to go in quest of work and mix with other society, after having been harmoniously lodged for years together in one large "guildhall or barrack," was rather painful. friday, th july. while the writer was at edinburgh he was fortunate enough to meet with mrs. dickson, only daughter of the late celebrated mr. smeaton, whose works at the eddystone lighthouse had been of such essential consequence to the operations at the bell rock. even her own elegant accomplishments are identified with her father's work, she having herself made the drawing of the vignette on the title-page of the "narrative of the eddystone lighthouse." every admirer of the works of that singularly eminent man must also feel an obligation to her for the very comprehensive and distinct account given of his life, which is attached to his reports, published, in three volumes quarto, by the society of civil engineers. mrs. dickson, being at this time returning from a tour to the hebrides and western highlands of scotland, had heard of the bell rock works, and from their similarity to those of the eddystone, was strongly impressed with a desire of visiting the spot. but on inquiring for the writer at edinburgh, and finding from him that the upper part of the lighthouse, consisting of nine courses, might be seen in the immediate vicinity, and also that one of the vessels, which, in compliment to her father's memory, had been named the _smeaton_, might also now be seen in leith, she considered herself extremely fortunate; and having first visited the works at greenside, she afterwards went to leith to see the _smeaton_, then loading for the bell rock. on stepping on board, mrs. dickson seemed to be quite overcome with so many concurrent circumstances, tending in a peculiar manner to revive and enliven the memory of her departed father, and, on leaving the vessel, she would not be restrained from presenting the crew with a piece of money. the _smeaton_ had been named spontaneously, from a sense of the obligation which a public work of the description of the bell rock owed to the labours and abilities of mr. smeaton. the writer certainly never could have anticipated the satisfaction which he this day felt in witnessing the pleasure it afforded to the only representative of this great man's family. friday, th july. the gale from the n.e. still continued so strong, accompanied with a heavy sea, that the _patriot_ could not approach her moorings; although the tender still kept her station, no landing was made to-day at the rock. at high-water it was remarked that the spray rose to the height of about sixty feet upon the building. the _smeaton_ now lay in leith loaded, but, the wind and weather being so unfavourable for her getting down the firth, she did not sail till this afternoon. it may be here proper to notice that the loading of the centre of the light-room floor, or last principal stone of the building, did not fail, when put on board, to excite an interest among those connected with the work. when the stone was laid upon the cart to be conveyed to leith, the seamen fixed an ensign-staff and flag into the circular hole in the centre of the stone, and decorated their own hats, and that of james craw, the bell rock carter, with ribbons; even his faithful and trusty horse brassey was ornamented with bows and streamers of various colours. the masons also provided themselves with new aprons, and in this manner the cart was attended in its progress to the ship. when the cart came opposite the trinity house of leith, the officer of that corporation made his appearance dressed in his uniform, with his staff of office; and when it reached the harbour, the shipping in the different tiers where the _smeaton_ lay hoisted their colours, manifesting by these trifling ceremonies the interest with which the progress of this work was regarded by the public, as ultimately tending to afford safety and protection to the mariner. the wind had fortunately shifted to the s.w., and about five o'clock this afternoon the smeaton reached the bell rock. friday, th july. the artificers had finished the laying of the balcony course, excepting the centre-stone of the light-room floor, which, like the centres of the other floors, could not be laid in its place till after the removal of the foot and shaft of the balance-crane. during the dinner-hour, when the men were off work, the writer generally took some exercise by walking round the walls when the rock was under water; but to-day his boundary was greatly enlarged, for, instead of the narrow wall as a path, he felt no small degree of pleasure in walking round the balcony and passing out and in at the space allotted for the light-room door. in the labours of this day both the artificers and seamen felt their work to be extremely easy compared with what it had been for some days past. sunday, th july. captain wilson and his crew had made preparations for landing the last stone, and, as may well be supposed, this was a day of great interest at the bell rock. "that it might lose none of its honours," as he expressed himself, the _hedderwick_ praam-boat, with which the first stone of the building had been landed, was appointed also to carry the last. at seven o'clock this evening the seamen hoisted three flags upon the _hedderwick_, when the colours of the _dickie_ praam-boat, tender, _smeaton_, floating light, beacon-house, and lighthouse were also displayed; and, the weather being remarkably fine, the whole presented a very gay appearance, and, in connection with the associations excited, the effect was very pleasing. the praam which carried the stone was towed by the seamen in gallant style to the rock, and, on its arrival, cheers were given as a finale to the landing department. monday, th july. the ninetieth or last course of the building having been laid to-day, which brought the masonry to the height of one hundred and two feet six inches, the lintel of the light-room door, being the finishing-stone of the exterior walls, was laid with due formality by the writer, who, at the same time, pronounced the following benediction: "may the great architect of the universe, under whose blessing this perilous work has prospered, preserve it as a guide to the mariner." friday, rd aug. at three p.m., the necessary preparations having been made, the artificers commenced the completing of the floors of the several apartments, and at seven o'clock the centre-stone of the light-room floor was laid, which may be held as finishing the masonry of this important national edifice. after going through the usual ceremonies observed by the brotherhood on occasions of this kind, the writer, addressing himself to the artificers and seamen who were present, briefly alluded to the utility of the undertaking as a monument of the wealth of british commerce, erected through the spirited measures of the commissioners of the northern lighthouses by means of the able assistance of those who now surrounded him. he then took an opportunity of stating that toward those connected with this arduous work he would ever retain the most heartfelt regard in all their interests. saturday, th aug. when the bell was rung as usual on the beacon this morning, every one seemed as if he were at a loss what to make of himself. at this period the artificers at the rock consisted of eighteen masons, two joiners, one millwright, one smith, and one mortar-maker, besides messrs. peter logan and francis watt, foremen, counting in all twenty-five; and matters were arranged for proceeding to arbroath this afternoon with all hands. the _sir joseph banks_ tender had by this time been afloat, with little intermission, for six months, during greater part of which the artificers had been almost constantly off at the rock, and were now much in want of necessaries of almost every description. not a few had lost different articles of clothing, which had dropped into the sea from the beacon and building. some wanted jackets; others, from want of hats, wore nightcaps; each was, in fact, more or less curtailed in his wardrobe, and it must be confessed that at best the party were but in a very tattered condition. this morning was occupied in removing the artificers and their bedding on board of the tender; and, although their personal luggage was easily shifted, the boats had, nevertheless, many articles to remove from the beacon-house, and were consequently employed in this service till eleven a.m. all hands being collected, and just ready to embark, as the water had nearly overflowed the rock, the writer, in taking leave, after alluding to the harmony which had ever marked the conduct of those employed on the bell rock, took occasion to compliment the great zeal, attention, and abilities of mr. peter logan and mr. francis watt, foremen; captain james wilson, landing-master; and captain david taylor, commander of the tender, who, in their several departments, had so faithfully discharged the duties assigned to them, often under circumstances the most difficult and trying. the health of these gentlemen was drunk with much warmth of feeling by the artificers and seamen, who severally expressed the satisfaction they had experienced in acting under them; after which the whole party left the rock. in sailing past the floating light, mutual compliments were made by a display of flags between that vessel and the tender; and at five p.m. the latter vessel entered the harbour of arbroath, where the party were heartily welcomed by a numerous company of spectators, who had collected to see the artificers arrive after so long an absence from the port. in the evening the writer invited the foremen and captains of the service, together with mr. david logan, clerk of works at arbroath, and mr. lachlan kennedy, engineer's clerk and bookkeeper, and some of their friends, to the principal inn, where the evening was spent very happily; and after "his majesty's health" and "the commissioners of the northern lighthouses" had been given, "stability to the bell rock lighthouse" was hailed as a standing toast in the lighthouse service. sunday, th aug. the author has formerly noticed the uniformly decent and orderly deportment of the artificers who were employed at the bell rock lighthouse, and to-day, it is believed, they very generally attended church, no doubt with grateful hearts for the narrow escapes from personal danger which all of them had more or less experienced during their residence at the rock. tuesday, th aug. the _smeaton_ sailed to-day at one p.m., having on board sixteen artificers, with mr. peter logan, together with a supply of provisions and necessaries, who left the harbour pleased and happy to find themselves once more afloat in the bell rock service. at seven o'clock the tender was made fast to her moorings, when the artificers landed on the rock and took possession of their old quarters in the beacon-house, with feelings very different from those of , when the works commenced. the barometer for some days past had been falling from . , and to-day it was . , with the wind at n.e., which, in the course of this day, increased to a strong gale accompanied with a sea which broke with great violence upon the rock. at twelve noon the tender rode very heavily at her moorings, when her chain broke at about ten fathoms from the ship's bows. the kedge-anchor was immediately let go, to hold her till the floating buoy and broken chain should be got on board. but while this was in operation the hawser of the kedge was chafed through on the rocky bottom and parted, when the vessel was again adrift. most fortunately, however, she cast off with her head from the rock, and narrowly cleared it, when she sailed up the firth of forth to wait the return of better weather. the artificers were thus left upon the rock with so heavy a sea running that it was ascertained to have risen to the height of eighty feet on the building. under such perilous circumstances it would be difficult to describe the feelings of those who, at this time, were cooped up in the beacon in so forlorn a situation, with the sea not only raging under them, but occasionally falling from a great height upon the roof of their temporary lodging, without even the attending vessel in view to afford the least gleam of hope in the event of any accident. it is true that they had now the masonry of the lighthouse to resort to, which, no doubt, lessened the actual danger of their situation; but the building was still without a roof, and the deadlights, or storm-shutters, not being yet fitted, the windows of the lower story were stove in and broken, and at high-water the sea ran in considerable quantities out at the entrance door. thursday, th aug. the gale continues with unabated violence to-day, and the sprays rise to a still greater height, having been carried over the masonry the building, or about ninety feet above the level of the sea. at four o'clock this morning it was breaking into the cook's berth, when he rang the alarm-bell, and all hands turned out to attend to their personal safety. the floor of the smith's, or mortar gallery, was now completely burst up by the force of the sea, when the whole of the deals and the remaining articles upon the floor were swept away, such as the cast-iron mortar-tubs, the iron hearth of the forge, the smith's bellows, and even his anvil were thrown down upon the rock. before the tide rose to its full height to-day some of the artificers passed along the bridge into the lighthouse, to observe the effects of the sea upon it, and they reported that they had felt a slight tremulous motion in the building when great seas struck it in a certain direction, about high-water mark. on this occasion the sprays were again observed to wet the balcony, and even to come over the parapet wall into the interior of the light-room. thursday, rd aug. the wind being at w.s.w., and the weather more moderate, both the tender and the _smeaton_ got to their moorings on the rd, when hands were employed in transporting the sash-frames from on board of the _smeaton_ to the rock. in the act of setting up one of these frames upon the bridge, it was unguardedly suffered to lose its balance, and in saving it from damage, captain wilson met with a severe bruise in the groin, on the seat of a gun-shot wound received in the early part of his life. this accident laid him aside for several days. monday, th aug. the sash-frames of the light-room, eight in number, and weighing each pounds, having been got safely up to the top of the building were ranged on the balcony in the order in which they were numbered for their places on the top of the parapet-wall; and the balance-crane, that useful machine having now lifted all the heavier articles, was unscrewed and lowered, to use the landing-master's phrase, "in mournful silence." sunday, nd sept. the steps of the stair being landed, and all the weightier articles of the light-room got up to the balcony, the wooden bridge was now to be removed, as it had a very powerful effect upon the beacon when a heavy sea struck it, and could not possibly have withstood the storms of a winter. everything having been cleared from the bridge, and nothing left but the two principal beams with their horizontal braces, james glen, at high-water, proceeded with a saw to cut through the beams at the end next the beacon, which likewise disengaged their opposite extremity, inserted a few inches into the building. the frame was then gently lowered into the water, and floated off to the _smeaton_ to be towed to arbroath, to be applied as part of the materials in the erection of the lightkeepers' houses. after the removal of the bridge, the aspect of things at the rock was much altered. the beacon-house and building had both a naked look to those accustomed to their former appearance; a curious optical deception was also remarked, by which the lighthouse seemed to incline from the perpendicular towards the beacon. the horizontal rope-ladder before noticed was again stretched to preserve the communication, and the artificers were once more obliged to practise the awkward and straddling manner of their passage between them during . at twelve noon the bell rung for prayers, after which the artificers went to dinner, when the writer passed along the rope-ladder to the lighthouse, and went through the several apartments, which were now cleared of lumber. in the afternoon all hands were summoned to the interior of the house, when he had the satisfaction of laying the upper step of the stair, or last stone of the building. this ceremony concluded with three cheers, the sound of which had a very loud and strange effect within the walls of the lighthouse. at six o'clock mr. peter logan and eleven of the artificers embarked with the writer for arbroath, leaving mr. james glen with the special charge of the beacon and railways, mr. robert selkirk with the building, with a few artificers to fit the temporary windows to render the house habitable. sunday, th oct. on returning from his voyage to the northern lighthouses, the writer landed at the bell rock on sunday, the th of october, and had the pleasure to find, from the very favourable state of the weather, that the artificers had been enabled to make great progress with the fitting-up of the light-room. friday, th oct. the light-room work had proceeded, as usual, to-day under the direction of mr. dove, assisted in the plumber-work by mr. john gibson, and in the brazier-work by mr. joseph fraser; while mr. james slight, with the joiners, were fitting up the storm-shutters of the windows. in these several departments the artificers were at work till seven o'clock p.m., and it being then dark, mr. dove gave orders to drop work in the light-room; and all hands proceeded from thence to the beacon-house, when charles henderson, smith, and henry dickson, brazier, left the work together. being both young men, who had been for several weeks upon the rock, they had become familiar, and even playful, on the most difficult parts about the beacon and building. this evening they were trying to outrun each other in descending from the light-room, when henderson led the way; but they were in conversation with each other till they came to the rope-ladder distended between the entrance-door of the lighthouse and the beacon. dickson, on reaching the cook-room, was surprised at not seeing his companion, and inquired hastily for henderson. upon which the cook replied, "was he before you upon the rope-ladder?" dickson answered, "yes; and i thought i heard something fall." upon this the alarm was given, and links were immediately lighted, with which the artificers descended on the legs of the beacon, as near the surface of the water as possible, it being then about full tide, and the sea breaking to a considerable height upon the building, with the wind at s.s.e. but, after watching till low-water, and searching in every direction upon the rock, it appeared that poor henderson must have unfortunately fallen through the rope-ladder and been washed into the deep water. the deceased had passed along this rope-ladder many hundred times, both by day and night, and the operations in which he was employed being nearly finished, he was about to leave the rock when this melancholy catastrophe took place. the unfortunate loss of henderson cast a deep gloom upon the minds of all who were at the rock, and it required some management on the part of those who had charge to induce the people to remain patiently at their work; as the weather now became more boisterous, and the nights long, they found their habitation extremely cheerless, while the winds were howling about their ears, and the waves lashing with fury against the beams of their insulated habitation. tuesday, rd oct. the wind had shifted in the night to n.w., and blew a fresh gale, while the sea broke with violence upon the rock. it was found impossible to land, but the writer, from the boat, hailed mr. dove, and directed the ball to be immediately fixed. the necessary preparations were accordingly made, while the vessel made short tacks on the southern side of the rock, in comparatively smooth water. at noon mr. dove, assisted by mr. james slight, mr. robert selkirk, mr. james glen, and mr. john gibson, plumber, with considerable difficulty, from the boisterous state of the weather, got the gilded ball screwed on, measuring two feet in diameter, and forming the principal ventilator at the upper extremity of the cupola of the lightroom. at mr. hamilton's desire, a salute of seven guns was fired on this occasion, and, all hands being called to the quarter-deck, "stability to the bell rock lighthouse" was not forgotten. tuesday, th oct. on reaching the rock it was found that a very heavy sea still ran upon it; but the writer having been disappointed on two former occasions, and, as the erection of the house might now be considered complete, there being nothing wanted externally, excepting some of the storm-shutters for the defence of the windows, he was the more anxious at this time to inspect it. two well-manned boats were therefore ordered to be in attendance; and, after some difficulty, the wind being at n.n.e., they got safely into the western creek, though not without encountering plentiful sprays. it would have been impossible to have attempted a landing to-day, under any other circumstances than with boats perfectly adapted to the purpose, and with seamen who knew every ledge of the rock, and even the length of the sea-weeds at each particular spot, so as to dip their oars into the water accordingly, and thereby prevent them from getting entangled. but what was of no less consequence to the safety of the party, captain wilson, who always steered the boat, had a perfect knowledge of the set of the different waves, while the crew never shifted their eyes from observing his motions, and the strictest silence was preserved by every individual except himself. on entering the house, the writer had the pleasure to find it in a somewhat habitable condition, the lower apartments being closed in with temporary windows, and fitted with proper storm-shutters. the lowest apartment at the head of the staircase was occupied with water, fuel, and provisions, put up in a temporary way until the house could be furnished with proper utensils. the second, or light-room store, was at present much encumbered with various tools and apparatus for the use of the workmen. the kitchen immediately over this had, as yet, been supplied only with a common ship's caboose and plate-iron funnel, while the necessary cooking utensils had been taken from the beacon. the bedroom was for the present used as the joiners' workshop, and the strangers' room, immediately under the light-room, was occupied by the artificers, the beds being ranged in tiers, as was done in the barrack of the beacon. the lightroom, though unprovided with its machinery, being now covered over with the cupola, glazed and painted, had a very complete and cleanly appearance. the balcony was only as yet fitted with a temporary rail, consisting of a few iron stanchions, connected with ropes; and in this state it was necessary to leave it during the winter. having gone over the whole of the low-water works on the rock, the beacon, and lighthouse, and being satisfied that only the most untoward accident in the landing of the machinery could prevent the exhibition of the light in the course of the winter, mr. john reid, formerly of the floating light, was now put in charge of the lighthouse as principal keeper; mr. james slight had charge of the operations of the artificers, while mr. james dove and the smiths, having finished the frame of the light-room, left the rock for the present. with these arrangements the writer bade adieu to the works for the season. at eleven a.m. the tide was far advanced; and there being now little or no shelter for the boats at the rock, they had to be pulled through the breach of sea, which came on board in great quantities, and it was with extreme difficulty that they could be kept in the proper direction of the landing-creek. on this occasion he may be permitted to look back with gratitude on the many escapes made in the course of this arduous undertaking, now brought so near to a successful conclusion. monday, th nov. on monday, the th, the yacht again visited the rock, when mr. slight and the artificers returned with her to the workyard, where a number of things were still to prepare connected with the temporary fitting up of the accommodation for the lightkeepers. mr. john reid and peter fortune were now the only inmates of the house. this was the smallest number of persons hitherto left in the lighthouse. as four lightkeepers were to be the complement, it was intended that three should always be at the rock. its present inmates, however, could hardly have been better selected for such a situation; mr. reid being a person possessed of the strictest notions of duty and habits of regularity from long service on board of a man-of-war, while mr. fortune had one of the most happy and contented dispositions imaginable. tuesday, th nov. from saturday the th till tuesday the th, the wind had been from n.e. blowing a heavy gale; but to-day, the weather having greatly moderated, captain taylor, who now commanded the _smeaton_, sailed at two o'clock a.m. for the bell rock. at five the floating light was hailed and found to be all well. being a fine moonlight morning, the seamen were changed from the one ship to the other. at eight, the _smeaton_ being off the rock, the boats were manned, and taking a supply of water, fuel, and other necessaries, landed at the western side, when mr. reid and mr. fortune were found in good health and spirits. mr. reid stated that during the late gales, particularly on friday, the th, the wind veering from s.e. to n.e., both he and mr. fortune sensibly felt the house tremble when particular seas struck, about the time of high-water; the former observing that it was a tremor of that sort which rather tended to convince him that everything about the building was sound, and reminded him of the effect produced when a good log of timber is struck sharply with a mallet; but, with every confidence in the stability of the building, he nevertheless confessed that, in so forlorn a situation, they were not insensible to those emotions which, he emphatically observed, "made a man look back upon his former life." friday, st feb. the day, long wished for, on which the mariner was to see a light exhibited on the bell rock at length arrived. captain wilson, as usual, hoisted the float's lanterns to the topmast on the evening of the st of february; but the moment that the light appeared on the rock, the crew, giving three cheers, lowered them, and finally extinguished the lights. footnotes: [ ] this is, of course, the tradition commemorated by southey in his ballad of "the inchcape bell." whether true or not, it points to the fact that from the infancy of scottish navigation, the seafaring mind had been fully alive to the perils of this reef. repeated attempts had been made to mark the place with beacons, but all efforts were unavailing (one such beacon having been carried away within eight days of its erection) until robert stevenson conceived and carried out the idea of the stone tower. [ ] the particular event which concentrated mr. stevenson's attention on the problem of the bell rock was the memorable gale of december , when, among many other vessels, h.m.s. _york,_ a seventy-four-gun ship, went down with all hands on board. shortly after this disaster mr. stevenson made a careful survey, and prepared his models for a stone tower, the idea of which was at first received with pretty general scepticism. smeaton's eddystone tower could not be cited as affording a parallel, for there the rock is not submerged even at high-water, while the problem of the bell rock was to build a tower of masonry on a sunken reef far distant from land, covered at every tide to a depth of twelve feet or more, and having thirty-two fathoms' depth of water within a mile of its eastern edge. [ ] the grounds for the rejection of the bill by the house of lords in - had been that the extent of coast over which dues were proposed to be levied would be too great. before going to parliament again, the board of northern lights, desiring to obtain support and corroboration for mr. stevenson's views, consulted first telford, who was unable to give the matter his attention, and then (on stevenson's suggestion) rennie, who concurred in affirming the practicability of a stone tower, and supported the bill when it came again before parliament in . rennie was afterwards appointed by the commissioners as advising engineer, whom stevenson might consult in cases of emergency. it seems certain that the title of chief engineer had in this instance no more meaning than the above. rennie, in point of fact, proposed certain modifications in stevenson's plans, which the latter did not accept; nevertheless rennie continued to take a kindly interest in the work, and the two engineers remained in friendly correspondence during its progress. the official view taken by the board as to the quarter in which lay both the merit and the responsibility of the work may be gathered from a minute of the commissioners at their first meeting held after stevenson died; in which they record their regret "at the death of this zealous, faithful, and able officer, _to whom is due the honour of conceiving and executing the bell rock lighthouse_." the matter is briefly summed up in the "life" of robert stevenson by his son david stevenson (a. & c. black, ), and fully discussed, on the basis of official facts and figures, by the same writer in a letter to the _civil engineers' and architects' journal_, . [ ] "nothing was said, but i was _looked out of countenance_," he says in a letter. [ ] ill-formed--ugly.--[r. l. s.] [ ] this is an incurable illusion of my grandfather's; he always writes "distended" for "extended." [r. l. s.] additional memories and portraits additional memories and portraits i random memories i. the coast of fife many writers have vigorously described the pains of the first day or the first night at school; to a boy of any enterprise, i believe, they are more often agreeably exciting. misery--or at least misery unrelieved--is confined to another period, to the days of suspense and the "dreadful looking-for" of departure; when the old life is running to an end, and the new life, with its new interests, not yet begun; and to the pain of an imminent parting, there is added the unrest of a state of conscious pre-existence. the area railings, the beloved shop-window, the smell of semi-suburban tanpits, the song of the church-bells upon a sunday, the thin, high voices of compatriot children in a playing-field--what a sudden, what an overpowering pathos breathes to him from each familiar circumstance! the assaults of sorrow come not from within, as it seems to him, but from without. i was proud and glad to go to school; had i been let alone, i could have borne up like any hero; but there was around me, in all my native town, a conspiracy of lamentation: "poor little boy, he is going away--unkind little boy, he is going to leave us"; so the unspoken burthen followed me as i went, with yearning and reproach. and at length, one melancholy afternoon in the early autumn, and at a place where it seems to me, looking back, it must be always autumn and generally sunday, there came suddenly upon the face of all i saw--the long empty road, the lines of the tall houses, the church upon the hill, the woody hillside garden--a look of such a piercing sadness that my heart died; and seating myself on a door-step, i shed tears of miserable sympathy. a benevolent cat cumbered me the while with consolations--we two were alone in all that was visible of the london road: two poor waifs who had each tasted sorrow--and she fawned upon the weeper, and gambolled for his entertainment, watching the effect, it seemed, with motherly eyes. for the sake of the cat, god bless her! i confessed at home the story of my weakness; and so it comes about that i owed a certain journey, and the reader owes the present paper, to a cat in the london road. it was judged, if i had thus brimmed over on the public highway, some change of scene was (in the medical sense) indicated; my father at the time was visiting the harbour lights of scotland; and it was decided that he should take me along with him around a portion of the shores of fife; my first professional tour, my first journey in the complete character of man, without the help of petticoats. the kingdom of fife (that royal province) may be observed by the curious on the map, occupying a tongue of land between the firths of forth and tay. it may be continually seen from many parts of edinburgh (among the rest, from the windows of my father's house) dying away into the distance and the easterly _haar_ with one smoky seaside town beyond another, or in winter printing on the grey heaven some glittering hill-tops. it has no beauty to recommend it, being a low, sea-salted, wind-vexed promontory; trees very rare, except (as common on the east coast) along the dens of rivers; the fields well cultivated, i understand, but not lovely to the eye. it is of the coast i speak: the interior may be the garden of eden. history broods over that part of the world like the easterly haar. even on the map, its long row of gaelic place-names bear testimony to an old and settled race. of these little towns, posted along the shore as close as sedges, each with its bit of harbour, its old weather-beaten church or public building, its flavour of decayed prosperity and decaying fish, not one but has its legend, quaint or tragic: dunfermline, in whose royal towers the king may be still observed (in the ballad) drinking the blood-red wine; somnolent inverkeithing, once the quarantine of leith; aberdour, hard by the monastic islet of inchcolm, hard by donibristle where the "bonny face was spoiled": burntisland, where, when paul jones was off the coast, the reverend mr. shirra had a table carried between tide-marks, and publicly prayed against the rover at the pitch of his voice and his broad lowland dialect; kinghorn, where alexander "brak's neck-bane" and left scotland to the english wars; kirkcaldy, where the witches once prevailed extremely and sank tall ships and honest mariners in the north sea; dysart, famous--well, famous at least to me for the dutch ships that lay in its harbour, painted like toys and with pots of flowers and cages of song-birds in the cabin-windows, and for one particular dutch skipper who would sit all day in slippers on the break of the poop, smoking a long german pipe; wemyss (pronounced weems) with its bat-haunted caves, where the chevalier johnstone, on his flight from culloden, passed a night of superstitious terrors; leven, a bald, quite modern place, sacred to summer visitors, whence there has gone but yesterday the tall figure and the white locks of the last englishman in delhi, my uncle dr. balfour, who was still walking his hospital rounds, while the troopers from meerut clattered and cried "deen deen" along the streets of the imperial city, and willoughby mustered his handful of heroes at the magazine, and the nameless brave one in the telegraph office was perhaps already fingering his last despatch; and just a little beyond leven, largo law and the smoke of largo town mounting about its feet, the town of alexander selkirk, better known under the name of robinson crusoe. so on the list might be pursued (only for private reasons, which the reader will shortly have an opportunity to guess) by st. monans, and pittenweem, and the two anstruthers, and cellardyke, and crail, where primate sharpe was once a humble and innocent country minister: on to the heel of the land, to fife ness, overlooked by a sea-wood of matted elders and the quaint old mansion of balcomie, itself overlooking but the breach or the quiescence of the deep--the carr rock beacon rising close in front, and as night draws in, the star of the inchcape reef springing up on the one hand, and the star of the may island on the other, and farther off yet a third and a greater on the craggy foreland of st. abb's. and but a little way round the corner of the land, imminent itself above the sea, stands the gem of the province and the light of mediæval scotland, st. andrews, where the great cardinal beaton held garrison against the world, and the second of the name and title perished (as you may read in knox's jeering narrative) under the knives of true-blue protestants, and to this day (after so many centuries) the current voice of the professor is not hushed. here it was that my first tour of inspection began, early on a bleak easterly morning. there was a crashing run of sea upon the shore, i recollect, and my father and the man of the harbour light must sometimes raise their voices to be audible. perhaps it is from this circumstance, that i always imagine st. andrews to be an ineffectual seat of learning, and the sound of the east wind and the bursting surf to linger in its drowsy class-rooms and confound the utterance of the professor, until teacher and taught are alike drowned in oblivion, and only the sea-gull beats on the windows and the draught of the sea-air rustles in the pages of the open lecture. but upon all this, and the romance of st. andrews in general, the reader must consult the works of mr. andrew lang; who has written of it but the other day in his dainty prose and with his incommunicable humour, and long ago, in one of his best poems, with grace and local truth and a note of unaffected pathos. mr. lang knows all about the romance, i say, and the educational advantages, but i doubt if he had turned his attention to the harbour lights; and it may be news even to him, that in the year their case was pitiable. hanging about with the east wind humming in my teeth, and my hands (i make no doubt) in my pockets, i looked for the first time upon that tragi-comedy of the visiting engineer which i have seen so often re-enacted on a more important stage. eighty years ago, i find my grandfather writing: "it is the most painful thing that can occur to me to have a correspondence of this kind with any of the keepers, and when i come to the light house, instead of having the satisfaction to meet them with approbation and welcome their family, it is distressing when one is obliged to put on a most angry countenance and demeanour." this painful obligation has been hereditary in my race. i have myself, on a perfectly amateur and unauthorised inspection of turnberry point, bent my brows upon the keeper on the question of storm-panes; and felt a keen pang of self-reproach, when we went downstairs again and i found he was making a coffin for his infant child; and then regained my equanimity with the thought that i had done the man a service, and when the proper inspector came, he would be readier with his panes. the human race is perhaps credited with more duplicity than it deserves. the visitation of a lighthouse at least is a business of the most transparent nature. as soon as the boat grates on the shore, and the keepers step forward in their uniformed coats, the very slouch of the fellows' shoulders tells their story, and the engineer may begin at once to assume his "angry countenance." certainly the brass of the handrail will be clouded; and if the brass be not immaculate, certainly all will be to match--the reflectors scratched, the spare lamp unready, the storm-panes in the storehouse. if a light is not rather more than middling good, it will be radically bad. mediocrity (except in literature) appears to be unattainable by man. but of course the unfortunate of st. andrews was only an amateur, he was not in the service, he had no uniform coat, he was, i believe, a plumber by his trade, and stood (in the mediæval phrase) quite out of the danger of my father; but he had a painful interview for all that, and perspired extremely. from st. andrews we drove over magus muir. my father had announced we were "to post," and the phrase called up in my hopeful mind visions of top-boots and the pictures in rowlandson's "dance of death"; but it was only a jingling cab that came to the inn door, such as i had driven in a thousand times at the low price of one shilling on the streets of edinburgh. beyond this disappointment, i remember nothing of that drive. it is a road i have often travelled, and of not one of these journeys do i remember any single trait. the fact has not been suffered to encroach on the truth of the imagination. i still see magus muir two hundred years ago: a desert place, quite unenclosed; in the midst, the primate's carriage fleeing at the gallop; the assassins loose-reined in pursuit, burley balfour, pistol in hand, among the first. no scene of history has ever written itself so deeply on my mind; not because balfour, that questionable zealot, was an ancestral cousin of my own; not because of the pleadings of the victim and his daughter; not even because of the live bum-bee that flew out of sharpe's 'bacco-box, thus clearly indicating his complicity with satan; nor merely because, as it was after all a crime of a fine religious flavour, it figured in sunday books and afforded a grateful relief from "ministering children" or the "memoirs of mrs. katherine winslowe." the figure that always fixed my attention is that of hackston of rathillet, sitting in the saddle with his cloak about his mouth, and through all that long, bungling, vociferous hurly-burly, revolving privately a case of conscience. he would take no hand in the deed, because he had a private spite against the victim, and "that action" must be sullied with no suggestion of a worldly motive; on the other hand, "that action" in itself was highly justified, he had cast in his lot with "the actors," and he must stay there, inactive, but publicly sharing the responsibility. "you are a gentleman--you will protect me!" cried the wounded old man, crawling towards him. "i will never lay a hand on you," said hackston, and put his cloak about his mouth. it is an old temptation with me to pluck away that cloak and see the face--to open that bosom and to read the heart. with incomplete romances about hackston, the drawers of my youth were lumbered. i read him up in every printed book that i could lay my hands on. i even dug among the wodrow manuscripts, sitting shame-faced in the very room where my hero had been tortured two centuries before, and keenly conscious of my youth in the midst of other and (as i fondly thought) more gifted students. all was vain: that he had passed a riotous nonage, that he was a zealot, that he twice displayed (compared with his grotesque companions) some tincture of soldierly resolution and even of military common sense, and that he figured memorably in the scene on magus muir, so much and no more could i make out. but whenever i cast my eyes backward, it is to see him like a landmark on the plains of history, sitting with his cloak about his mouth, inscrutable. how small a thing creates an immortality! i do not think he can have been a man entirely commonplace; but had he not thrown his cloak about his mouth, or had the witnesses forgot to chronicle the action, he would not thus have haunted the imagination of my boyhood, and to-day he would scarce delay me for a paragraph. an incident, at once romantic and dramatic, which at once awakes the judgment and makes a picture for the eye, how little do we realise its perdurable power! perhaps no one does so but the author, just as none but he appreciates the influence of jingling words; so that he looks on upon life, with something of a covert smile, seeing people led by what they fancy to be thoughts and what are really the accustomed artifices of his own trade, or roused by what they take to be principles and are really picturesque effects. in a pleasant book about a school-class club, colonel fergusson has recently told a little anecdote. a "philosophical society" was formed by some academy boys--among them, colonel fergusson himself, fleeming jenkin, and andrew wilson, the christian buddhist and author of "the abode of snow." before these learned pundits, one member laid the following ingenious problem: "what would be the result of putting a pound of potassium in a pot of porter?" "i should think there would be a number of interesting bi-products," said a smatterer at my elbow; but for me the tale itself has a bi-product, and stands as a type of much that is most human. for this inquirer, who conceived himself to burn with a zeal entirely chemical, was really immersed in a design of a quite different nature: unconsciously to his own recently breeched intelligence, he was engaged in literature. putting, pound, potassium, pot, porter; initial p, mediant t--that was his idea, poor little boy! so with politics and that which excites men in the present, so with history and that which rouses them in the past: there lie, at the root of what appears, most serious unsuspected elements. the triple town of anstruther wester, anstruther easter, and cellardyke, all three royal burghs--or two royal burghs and a less distinguished suburb, i forget which--lies continuously along the seaside, and boasts of either two or three separate parish churches, and either two or three separate harbours. these ambiguities are painful; but the fact is (although it argues me uncultured), i am but poorly posted up on cellardyke. my business lay in the two anstruthers. a tricklet of a stream divides them, spanned by a bridge; and over the bridge at the time of my knowledge, the celebrated shell house stood outpost on the west. this had been the residence of an agreeable eccentric; during his fond tenancy he had illustrated the outer walls, as high (if i remember rightly) as the roof, with elaborate patterns and pictures, and snatches of verse in the vein of _exegi monumentum_; shells and pebbles, artfully contrasted and conjoined, had been his medium; and i like to think of him standing back upon the bridge, when all was finished, drinking in the general effect, and (like gibbon) already lamenting his employment. the same bridge saw another sight in the seventeenth century. mr. thomson, the "curat" of anstruther easter, was a man highly obnoxious to the devout: in the first place, because he was a "curat"; in the second place, because he was a person of irregular and scandalous life; and in the third place, because he was generally suspected of dealings with the enemy of man. these three disqualifications, in the popular literature of the time, go hand in hand; but the end of mr. thomson was a thing quite by itself, and, in the proper phrase, a manifest judgment. he had been at a friend's house in anstruther wester, where (and elsewhere, i suspect) he had partaken of the bottle; indeed, to put the thing in our cold modern way, the reverend gentleman was on the brink of _delirium tremens_. it was a dark night, it seems; a little lassie came carrying a lantern to fetch the curate home; and away they went down the street of anstruther wester, the lantern swinging a bit in the child's hand, the barred lustre tossing up and down along the front of slumbering houses, and mr. thomson not altogether steady on his legs nor (to all appearance) easy in his mind. the pair had reached the middle of the bridge when (as i conceive the scene) the poor tippler started in some baseless fear and looked behind him; the child, already shaken by the minister's strange behaviour, started also; in so doing she would jerk the lantern; and for the space of a moment the lights and the shadows would be all confounded. then it was that to the unhinged toper and the twittering child, a huge bulk of blackness seemed to sweep down, to pass them close by as they stood upon the bridge, and to vanish on the farther side in the general darkness of the night. "plainly the devil come for mr. thomson!" thought the child. what mr. thomson thought himself, we have no ground of knowledge; but he fell upon his knees in the midst of the bridge like a man praying. on the rest of the journey to the manse, history is silent; but when they came to the door, the poor caitiff, taking the lantern from the child, looked upon her with so lost a countenance that her little courage died within her, and she fled home screaming to her parents. not a soul would venture out; all that night the minister dwelt alone with his terrors in the manse; and when the day dawned, and men made bold to go about the streets, they found the devil had come indeed for mr. thomson. this manse of anstruther easter has another and a more cheerful association. it was early in the morning, about a century before the days of mr. thomson, that his predecessor was called out of bed to welcome a grandee of spain, the duke of medina sidonia, just landed in the harbour underneath. but sure there was never seen a more decayed grandee; sure there was never a duke welcomed from a stranger place of exile. half-way between orkney and shetland there lies a certain isle; on the one hand the atlantic, on the other the north sea, bombard its pillared cliffs; sore-eyed, short-living, inbred fishers and their families herd in its few huts; in the graveyard pieces of wreck-wood stand for monuments; there is nowhere a more inhospitable spot. _belle-isle-en-mer_--fair-isle-at-sea--that is a name that has always rung in my mind's ear like music; but the only "fair isle" on which i ever set my foot was this unhomely, rugged turret-top of submarine sierras. here, when his ship was broken, my lord duke joyfully got ashore; here for long months he and certain of his men were harboured; and it was from this durance that he landed at last to be welcomed (as well as such a papist deserved, no doubt) by the godly incumbent of anstruther easter; and after the fair isle, what a fine city must that have appeared! and after the island diet, what a hospitable spot the minister's table! and yet he must have lived on friendly terms with his outlandish hosts. for to this day there still survives a relic of the long winter evenings when the sailors of the great armada crouched about the hearths of the fair-islanders, the planks of their own lost galleon perhaps lighting up the scene, and the gale and the surf that beat about the coast contributing their melancholy voices. all the folk of the north isles are great artificers of knitting: the fair-islanders alone dye their fabrics in the spanish manner. to this day, gloves and nightcaps, innocently decorated, may be seen for sale in the shetland warehouse at edinburgh, or on the fair isle itself in the catechist's house; and to this day, they tell the story of the duke of medina sidonia's adventure. it would seem as if the fair isle had some attraction for "persons of quality." when i landed there myself, an elderly gentleman, unshaved, poorly attired, his shoulders wrapped in a plaid, was seen walking to and fro, with a book in his hand, upon the beach. he paid no heed to our arrival, which we thought a strange thing in itself; but when one of the officers of the _pharos_, passing narrowly by him, observed his book to be a greek testament, our wonder and interest took a higher flight. the catechist was cross-examined; he said the gentleman had been put across some time before in mr. bruce of sumburgh's schooner, the only link between the fair isle and the rest of the world; and that he held services and was doing "good." so much came glibly enough; but when pressed a little further, the catechist displayed embarrassment. a singular diffidence appeared upon his face: "they tell me," said he, in low tones, "that he's a lord." and a lord he was; a peer of the realm pacing that inhospitable beach with his greek testament, and his plaid about his shoulders, set upon doing good, as he understood it, worthy man! and his grandson, a good-looking little boy, much better dressed than the lordly evangelist, and speaking with a silken english accent very foreign to the scene, accompanied me for a while in my exploration of the island. i suppose this little fellow is now my lord, and wonder how much he remembers of the fair isle. perhaps not much; for he seemed to accept very quietly his savage situation; and under such guidance, it is like that this was not his first nor yet his last adventure. ii random memories ii. the education of an engineer anstruther is a place sacred to the muse; she inspired (really to a considerable extent) tennant's vernacular poem "anster fair"; and i have there waited upon her myself with much devotion. this was when i came as a young man to glean engineering experience from the building of the breakwater. what i gleaned, i am sure i do not know; but indeed i had already my own private determination to be an author; i loved the art of words and the appearances of life; and _travellers_, and _headers_, and _rubble_, and _polished ashlar_, and _pierres perdues_, and even the thrilling question of the _string-course_, interested me only (if they interested me at all) as properties for some possible romance or as words to add to my vocabulary. to grow a little catholic is the compensation of years; youth is one-eyed; and in those days, though i haunted the breakwater by day, and even loved the place for the sake of the sunshine, the thrilling seaside air, the wash of waves on the sea-face, the green glimmer of the divers' helmets far below, and the musical chinking of the masons, my one genuine pre-occupation lay elsewhere, and my only industry was in the hours when i was not on duty. i lodged with a certain bailie brown, a carpenter by trade; and there, as soon as dinner was despatched, in a chamber scented with dry rose-leaves, drew in my chair to the table and proceeded to pour forth literature, at such a speed, and with such intimations of early death and immortality, as i now look back upon with wonder. then it was that i wrote "voces fidelium," a series of dramatic monologues in verse; then that i indited the bulk of a covenanting novel--like so many others, never finished. late i sat into the night, toiling (as i thought) under the very dart of death, toiling to leave a memory behind me. i feel moved to thrust aside the curtain of the years, to hail that poor feverish idiot, to bid him go to bed and clap "voces fidelium" on the fire before he goes; so clear does he appear before me, sitting there between his candles in the rose-scented room and the late night; so ridiculous a picture (to my elderly wisdom) does the fool present! but he was driven to his bed at last without miraculous intervention; and the manner of his driving sets the last touch upon this eminently youthful business. the weather was then so warm that i must keep the windows open; the night without was populous with moths. as the late darkness deepened, my literary tapers beaconed forth more brightly; thicker and thicker came the dusty night-fliers, to gyrate for one brilliant instant round the flame and fall in agonies upon my paper. flesh and blood could not endure the spectacle; to capture immortality was doubtless a noble enterprise, but not to capture it at such a cost of suffering; and out would go the candles, and off would i go to bed in the darkness, raging to think that the blow might fall on the morrow, and there was "voces fidelium" still incomplete. well, the moths are all gone, and "voces fidelium" along with them; only the fool is still on hand and practises new follies. only one thing in connection with the harbour tempted me, and that was the diving, an experience i burned to taste of. but this was not to be, at least in anstruther; and the subject involves a change of scene to the sub-arctic town of wick. you can never have dwelt in a country more unsightly than that part of caithness, the land faintly swelling, faintly falling, not a tree, not a hedgerow, the fields divided by single slate stones set upon their edge, the wind always singing in your ears and (down the long road that led nowhere) thrumming in the telegraph wires. only as you approached the coast was there anything to stir the heart. the plateau broke down to the north sea in formidable cliffs, the tall out-stacks rose like pillars ringed about with surf, the coves were over-brimmed with clamorous froth, the sea-birds screamed, the wind sang in the thyme on the cliff's edge; here and there, small ancient castles toppled on the brim; here and there, it was possible to dip into a dell of shelter, where you might lie and tell yourself you were a little warm, and hear (near at hand) the whin-pods bursting in the afternoon sun, and (farther off) the rumour of the turbulent sea. as for wick itself, it is one of the meanest of man's towns, and situate certainly on the baldest of god's bays. it lives for herring, and a strange sight it is to see (of an afternoon) the heights of pulteney blackened by seaward-looking fishers, as when a city crowds to a review--or, as when bees have swarmed, the ground is horrible with lumps and clusters; and a strange sight, and a beautiful, to see the fleet put silently out against a rising moon, the sea-line rough as a wood with sails, and ever and again and one after another, a boat flitting swiftly by the silver disk. this mass of fishers, this great fleet of boats, is out of all proportion to the town itself; and the oars are manned and the nets hauled by immigrants from the long island (as we call the outer hebrides), who come for that season only, and depart again, if "the take" be poor, leaving debts behind them. in a bad year, the end of the herring-fishery is therefore an exciting time; fights are common, riots often possible; an apple knocked from a child's hand was once the signal for something like a war; and even when i was there, a gunboat lay in the bay to assist the authorities. to contrary interests, it should be observed, the curse of babel is here added; the lews men are gaelic speakers, those of caithness have adopted english; an odd circumstance, if you reflect that both must be largely norsemen by descent. i remember seeing one of the strongest instances of this division: a thing like a punch-and-judy box erected on the flat gravestones of the churchyard; from the hutch or proscenium--i know not what to call it--an eldritch-looking preacher laying down the law in gaelic about some one of the name of _powl_, whom i at last divined to be the apostle to the gentiles; a large congregation of the lews men very devoutly listening; and on the outskirts of the crowd, some of the town's children (to whom the whole affair was greek and hebrew) profanely playing tigg. the same descent, the same country, the same narrow sect of the same religion, and all these bonds made very largely nugatory by an accidental difference of dialect! into the bay of wick stretched the dark length of the unfinished breakwater, in its cage of open staging; the travellers (like frames of churches) over-plumbing all; and away at the extreme end, the divers toiling unseen on the foundation. on a platform of loose planks, the assistants turned their air-mills; a stone might be swinging between wind and water; underneath the swell ran gaily; and from time to time, a mailed dragon with a window-glass snout came dripping up the ladder. youth is a blessed season after all; my stay at wick was in the year of "voces fidelium" and the rose-leaf room at bailie brown's; and already i did not care two straws for literary glory. posthumous ambition perhaps requires an atmosphere of roses; and the more rugged excitant of wick east winds had made another boy of me. to go down in the diving-dress, that was my absorbing fancy; and with the countenance of a certain handsome scamp of a diver, bob bain by name, i gratified the whim. it was grey, harsh, easterly weather, the swell ran pretty high, and out in the open there were "skipper's daughters," when i found myself at last on the diver's platform, twenty pounds of lead upon each foot and my whole person swollen with ply and ply of woollen underclothing. one moment, the salt wind was whistling round my night-capped head; the next, i was crushed almost double under the weight of the helmet. as that intolerable burthen was laid upon me, i could have found it in my heart (only for shame's sake) to cry off from the whole enterprise. but it was too late. the attendants began to turn the hurdy-gurdy, and the air to whistle through the tube; some one screwed in the barred window of the vizor; and i was cut off in a moment from my fellow-men; standing there in their midst, but quite divorced from intercourse: a creature deaf and dumb, pathetically looking forth upon them from a climate of his own. except that i could move and feel, i was like a man fallen in a catalepsy. but time was scarce given me to realise my isolation; the weights were hung upon my back and breast, the signal-rope was thrust into my unresisting hand; and setting a twenty-pound foot upon the ladder, i began ponderously to descend. some twenty rounds below the platform, twilight fell. looking up, i saw a low green heaven mottled with vanishing bells of white; looking around, except for the weedy spokes and shafts of the ladder, nothing but a green gloaming, somewhat opaque but very restful and delicious. thirty rounds lower, i stepped off on the _pierres perdues_ of the foundation; a dumb helmeted figure took me by the hand, and made a gesture (as i read it) of encouragement; and looking in at the creature's window, i beheld the face of bain. there we were, hand to hand and (when it pleased us) eye to eye; and either might have burst himself with shouting, and not a whisper come to his companion's hearing. each, in his own little world of air, stood incommunicably separate. bob had told me ere this a little tale, a five minutes' drama at the bottom of the sea, which at that moment possibly shot across my mind. he was down with another, settling a stone of the sea-wall. they had it well adjusted, bob gave the signal, the scissors were slipped, the stone set home; and it was time to turn to something else. but still his companion remained bowed over the block like a mourner on a tomb, or only raised himself to make absurd contortions and mysterious signs unknown to the vocabulary of the diver. there, then, these two stood for a while, like the dead and the living; till there flashed a fortunate thought into bob's mind, and he stooped, peered through the window of that other world, and beheld the face of its inhabitant wet with streaming tears. ah! the man was in pain! and bob, glancing downward, saw what was the trouble: the block had been lowered on the foot of that unfortunate--he was caught alive at the bottom of the sea under fifteen tons of rock. that two men should handle a stone so heavy, even swinging in the scissors, may appear strange to the inexpert. these must bear in mind the great density of the water of the sea, and the surprising results of transplantation to that medium. to understand a little what these are, and how a man's weight, so far from being an encumbrance, is the very ground of his agility, was the chief lesson of my submarine experience. the knowledge came upon me by degrees. as i began to go forward with the hand of my estranged companion, a world of tumbled stones was visible, pillared with the weedy uprights of the staging: overhead, a flat roof of green: a little in front, the sea-wall, like an unfinished rampart. and presently in our upward progress, bob motioned me to leap upon a stone; i looked to see if he were possibly in earnest, and he only signed to me the more imperiously. now the block stood six feet high; it would have been quite a leap to me unencumbered; with the breast and back weights, and the twenty pounds upon each foot, and the staggering load of the helmet, the thing was out of reason. i laughed aloud in my tomb; and to prove to bob how far he was astray, i gave a little impulse from my toes. up i soared like a bird, my companion soaring at my side. as high as to the stone, and then higher, i pursued my impotent and empty flight. even when the strong arm of bob had checked my shoulders, my heels continued their ascent; so that i blew out side-ways like an autumn leaf, and must be hauled in, hand over hand, as sailors haul in the slack of a sail, and propped upon my feet again like an intoxicated sparrow. yet a little higher on the foundation, and we began to be affected by the bottom of the swell, running there like a strong breeze of wind. or so i must suppose; for, safe in my cushion of air, i was conscious of no impact; only swayed idly like a weed, and was now borne helplessly abroad, and now swiftly--and yet with dream-like gentleness--impelled against my guide. so does a child's balloon divagate upon the currents of the air, and touch and slide off again from every obstacle. so must have ineffectually swung, so resented their inefficiency, those light crowds that followed the star of hades, and uttered exiguous voices in the land beyond cocytus. there was something strangely exasperating, as well as strangely wearying, in these uncommanded evolutions. it is bitter to return to infancy, to be supported, and directed, and perpetually set upon your feet, by the hand of some one else. the air besides, as it is supplied to you by the busy millers on the platform, closes the eustachian tubes and keeps the neophyte perpetually swallowing, till his throat is grown so dry that he can swallow no longer. and for all these reasons--although i had a fine, dizzy, muddle-headed joy in my surroundings, and longed, and tried, and always failed, to lay hands on the fish that darted here and there about me, swift as humming-birds--yet i fancy i was rather relieved than otherwise when bain brought me back to the ladder and signed to me to mount. and there was one more experience before me even then. of a sudden, my ascending head passed into the trough of a swell. out of the green, i shot at once into a glory of rosy, almost of sanguine light--the multitudinous seas incarnadined, the heaven above a vault of crimson. and then the glory faded into the hard, ugly daylight of a caithness autumn, with a low sky, a grey sea, and a whistling wind. bob bain had five shillings for his trouble, and i had done what i desired. it was one of the best things i got from my education as an engineer: of which, however, as a way of life, i wish to speak with sympathy. it takes a man into the open air; it keeps him hanging about harbour-sides, which is the richest form of idling; it carries him to wild islands; it gives him a taste of the genial dangers of the sea; it supplies him with dexterities to exercise; it makes demands upon his ingenuity; it will go far to cure him of any taste (if ever he had one) for the miserable life of cities. and when it has done so, it carries him back and shuts him in an office! from the roaring skerry and the wet thwart of the tossing boat, he passes to the stool and desk, and with a memory full of ships, and seas, and perilous headlands, and the shining pharos, he must apply his long-sighted eyes to the pretty niceties of drawing, or measure his inaccurate mind with several pages of consecutive figures. he is a wise youth, to be sure, who can balance one part of genuine life against two parts of drudgery between four walls, and for the sake of the one, manfully accept the other. wick was scarce an eligible place of stay. but how much better it was to hang in the cold wind upon the pier, to go down with bob bain among the roots of the staging, to be all day in a boat coiling a wet rope and shouting orders--not always very wise--than to be warm and dry, and dull, and dead-alive, in the most comfortable office. and wick itself had in those days a note of originality. it may have still, but i misdoubt it much. the old minister of keiss would not preach, in these degenerate times, for an hour and a half upon the clock. the gipsies must be gone from their cavern; where you might see, from the mouth, the women tending their fire, like meg merrilies, and the men sleeping off their coarse potations; and where in winter gales, the surf would beleaguer them closely, bursting in their very door. a traveller to-day upon the thurso coach would scarce observe a little cloud of smoke among the moorlands, and be told, quite openly, it marked a private still. he would not indeed make that journey, for there is now no thurso coach. and even if he could, one little thing that happened to me could never happen to him, or not with the same trenchancy of contrast. we had been upon the road all evening; the coach-top was crowded with lews fishers going home, scarce anything but gaelic had sounded in my ears; and our way had lain throughout over a moorish country very northern to behold. latish at night, though it was still broad day in our sub-arctic latitude, we came down upon the shores of the roaring pentland firth, that grave of mariners; on one hand, the cliffs of dunnet head ran seaward; in front was the little bare white town of castleton, its streets full of blowing sand; nothing beyond, but the north islands, the great deep, and the perennial ice-fields of the pole. and here, in the last imaginable place, there sprang up young outlandish voices and a chatter of some foreign speech; and i saw, pursuing the coach with its load of hebridean fishers--as they had pursued _vetturini_ up the passes of the apennines or perhaps along the grotto under virgil's tomb--two little dark-eyed, white-toothed italian vagabonds, of twelve to fourteen years of age, one with a hurdy-gurdy, the other with a cage of white mice. the coach passed on, and their small italian chatter died in the distance; and i was left to marvel how they had wandered into that country, and how they fared in it, and what they thought of it, and when (if ever) they should see again the silver wind-breaks run among the olives, and the stone-pine stand guard upon etruscan sepulchres. upon any american, the strangeness of this incident is somewhat lost. for as far back as he goes in his own land, he will find some alien camping there; the cornish miner, the french or mexican half-blood, the negro in the south, these are deep in the woods and far among the mountains. but in an old, cold, and rugged country such as mine, the days of immigration are long at an end; and away up there, which was at that time far beyond the northernmost extreme of railways, hard upon the shore of that ill-omened strait of whirlpools, in a land of moors where no stranger came, unless it should be a sportsman to shoot grouse or an antiquary to decipher runes, the presence of these small pedestrians struck the mind as though a bird-of-paradise had risen from the heather or an albatross come fishing in the bay of wick. they were as strange to their surroundings as my lordly evangelist or the old spanish grandee on the fair isle. iii a chapter on dreams the past is all of one texture--whether feigned or suffered--whether acted out in three dimensions, or only witnessed in that small theatre of the brain which we keep brightly lighted all night long, after the jets are down, and darkness and sleep reign undisturbed in the remainder of the body. there is no distinction on the face of our experiences; one is vivid indeed, and one dull, and one pleasant, and another agonising to remember; but which of them is what we call true, and which a dream, there is not one hair to prove. the past stands on a precarious footing; another straw split in the field of metaphysic, and behold us robbed of it. there is scarce a family that can count four generations but lays a claim to some dormant title or some castle and estate: a claim not prosecutable in any court of law, but flattering to the fancy and a great alleviation of idle hours. a man's claim to his own past is yet less valid. a paper might turn up (in proper story-book fashion) in the secret drawer of an old ebony secretary, and restore your family to its ancient honours and reinstate mine in a certain west indian islet (not far from st. kitt's, as beloved tradition hummed in my young ears) which was once ours, and is now unjustly some one else's, and for that matter (in the state of the sugar trade) is not worth anything to anybody. i do not say that these revolutions are likely; only no man can deny that they are possible; and the past, on the other hand, is lost for ever: our old days and deeds, our old selves, too, and the very world in which these scenes were acted, all brought down to the same faint residuum as a last night's dream, to some incontinuous images, and an echo in the chambers of the brain. not an hour, not a mood, not a glance of the eye, can we revoke; it is all gone, past conjuring. and yet conceive us robbed of it, conceive that little thread of memory that we trail behind us broken at the pocket's edge; and in what naked nullity should we be left! for we only guide ourselves, and only know ourselves, by these air-painted pictures of the past. upon these grounds, there are some among us who claim to have lived longer and more richly than their neighbours; when they lay asleep they claim they were still active; and among the treasures of memory that all men review for their amusement, these count in no second place the harvests of their dreams. there is one of this kind whom i have in my eye, and whose case is perhaps unusual enough to be described. he was from a child an ardent and uncomfortable dreamer. when he had a touch of fever at night, and the room swelled and shrank, and his clothes, hanging on a nail, now loomed up instant to the bigness of a church, and now drew away into a horror of infinite distance and infinite littleness, the poor soul was very well aware of what must follow, and struggled hard against the approaches of that slumber which was the beginning of sorrows. but his struggles were in vain; sooner or later the night-hag would have him by the throat, and pluck him, strangling and screaming, from his sleep. his dreams were at times commonplace enough, at times very strange: at times they were almost formless, he would be haunted, for instance, by nothing more definite than a certain hue of brown, which he did not mind in the least while he was awake, but feared and loathed while he was dreaming; at times, again, they took on every detail of circumstance, as when once he supposed he must swallow the populous world, and awoke screaming with the horror of the thought. the two chief troubles of his very narrow existence--the practical and everyday trouble of school tasks and the ultimate and airy one of hell and judgment--were often confounded together into one appalling nightmare. he seemed to himself to stand before the great white throne; he was called on, poor little devil, to recite some form of words, on which his destiny depended; his tongue stuck, his memory was blank, hell gaped for him; and he would awake, clinging to the curtain-rod with his knees to his chin. these were extremely poor experiences, on the whole; and at that time of life my dreamer would have very willingly parted with his power of dreams. but presently, in the course of his growth, the cries and physical contortions passed away, seemingly for ever; his visions were still for the most part miserable, but they were more constantly supported; and he would awake with no more extreme symptom than a flying heart, a freezing scalp, cold sweats, and the speechless midnight fear. his dreams, too, as befitted a mind better stocked with particulars, became more circumstantial, and had more the air and continuity of life. the look of the world beginning to take hold on his attention, scenery came to play a part in his sleeping as well as in his waking thoughts, so that he would take long, uneventful journeys and see strange towns and beautiful places as he lay in bed. and, what is more significant, an odd taste that he had for the georgian costume and for stories laid in that period of english history, began to rule the features of his dreams; so that he masqueraded there in a three-cornered hat, and was much engaged with jacobite conspiracy between the hour for bed and that for breakfast. about the same time, he began to read in his dreams--tales, for the most part, and for the most part after the manner of g. p. r. james, but so incredibly more vivid and moving than any printed book, that he has ever since been malcontent with literature. and then, while he was yet a student, there came to him a dream-adventure which he has no anxiety to repeat; he began, that is to say, to dream in sequence and thus to lead a double life--one of the day, one of the night--one that he had every reason to believe was the true one, another that he had no means of proving to be false. i should have said he studied, or was by way of studying, at edinburgh college, which (it may be supposed) was how i came to know him. well, in his dream-life he passed a long day in the surgical theatre, his heart in his mouth, his teeth on edge, seeing monstrous malformations and the abhorred dexterity of surgeons. in a heavy, rainy, foggy evening he came forth into the south bridge, turned up the high street, and entered the door of a tall _land_, at the top of which he supposed himself to lodge. all night long, in his wet clothes, he climbed the stairs, stair after stair in endless series, and at every second flight a flaring lamp with a reflector. all night long he brushed by single persons passing downward--beggarly women of the street, great, weary, muddy labourers, poor scarecrows of men, pale parodies of women--but all drowsy and weary like himself, and all single, and all brushing against him as they passed. in the end, out of a northern window, he would see day beginning to whiten over the firth, give up the ascent, turn to descend, and in a breath be back again upon the streets, in his wet clothes, in the wet, haggard dawn, trudging to another day of monstrosities and operations. time went, quicker in the life of dreams, some seven hours (as near as he can guess) to one; and it went, besides, more intensely, so that the gloom of these fancied experiences clouded the day, and he had not shaken off their shadow ere it was time to lie down and to renew them. i cannot tell how long it was that he endured this discipline; but it was long enough to leave a great black blot upon his memory, long enough to send him, trembling for his reason, to the doors of a certain doctor; whereupon with a simple draught he was restored to the common lot of man. the poor gentleman has since been troubled by nothing of the sort; indeed, his nights were for some while like other men's, now blank, now chequered with dreams, and these sometimes charming, sometimes appalling, but except for an occasional vividness, of no extraordinary kind. i will just note one of these occasions, ere i pass on to what makes my dreamer truly interesting. it seemed to him that he was in the first floor of a rough hill-farm. the room showed some poor efforts at gentility, a carpet on the floor, a piano, i think, against the wall; but, for all these refinements, there was no mistaking he was in a moorland place, among hillside people, and set in miles of heather. he looked down from the window upon a bare farmyard, that seemed to have been long disused. a great, uneasy stillness lay upon the world. there was no sign of the farm-folk or of any live stock, save for an old, brown, curly dog of the retriever breed, who sat close in against the wall of the house and seemed to be dozing. something about this dog disquieted the dreamer; it was quite a nameless feeling, for the beast looked right enough--indeed, he was so old and dull and dusty and broken-down, that he should rather have awakened pity; and yet the conviction came and grew upon the dreamer that this was no proper dog at all, but something hellish. a great many dozing summer flies hummed about the yard; and presently the dog thrust forth his paw, caught a fly in his open palm, carried it to his mouth like an ape, and looking suddenly up at the dreamer in the window, winked to him with one eye. the dream went on, it matters not how it went; it was a good dream as dreams go; but there was nothing in the sequel worthy of that devilish brown dog. and the point of interest for me lies partly in that very fact: that having found so singular an incident, my imperfect dreamer should prove unable to carry the tale to a fit end and fall back on indescribable noises and indiscriminate horrors. it would be different now; he knows his business better! for, to approach at last the point: this honest fellow had long been in the custom of setting himself to sleep with tales, and so had his father before him; but these were irresponsible inventions, told for the teller's pleasure, with no eye to the crass public or the thwart reviewer: tales where a thread might be dropped, or one adventure quitted for another, on fancy's least suggestion. so that the little people who manage man's internal theatre had not as yet received a very rigorous training; and played upon their stage like children who should have slipped into the house and found it empty, rather than like drilled actors performing a set piece to a huge hall of faces. but presently my dreamer began to turn his former amusement of story-telling to (what is called) account; by which i mean that he began to write and sell his tales. here was he, and here were the little people who did that part of his business, in quite new conditions. the stories must now be trimmed and pared and set upon all-fours, they must run from a beginning to an end and fit (after a manner) with the laws of life; the pleasure, in one word, had become a business; and that not only for the dreamer, but for the little people of his theatre. these understood the change as well as he. when he lay down to prepare himself for sleep, he no longer sought amusement, but printable and profitable tales; and after he had dozed off in his box-seat, his little people continued their evolutions with the same mercantile designs. all other forms of dream deserted him but two: he still occasionally reads the most delightful books, he still visits at times the most delightful places; and it is perhaps worthy of note that to these same places, and to one in particular, he returns at intervals of months and years, finding new field-paths, visiting new neighbours, beholding that happy valley under new effects of noon and dawn and sunset. but all the rest of the family of visions is quite lost to him: the common, mangled version of yesterday's affairs, the raw-head-and-bloody-bones nightmare, rumoured to be the child of toasted cheese--these and their like are gone; and, for the most part, whether awake or asleep, he is simply occupied--he or his little people--in consciously making stories for the market. this dreamer (like many other persons) has encountered some trifling vicissitudes of fortune. when the bank begins to send letters and the butcher to linger at the back gate, he sets to belabouring his brains after a story, for that is his readiest money-winner; and, behold! at once the little people begin to bestir themselves in the same quest, and labour all night long, and all night long set before him truncheons of tales upon their lighted theatre. no fear of his being frightened now; the flying heart and the frozen scalp are things bygone; applause, growing applause, growing interest, growing exultation in his own cleverness (for he takes all the credit), and at last a jubilant leap to wakefulness, with the cry, "i have it, that'll do!" upon his lips: with such and similar emotions he sits at these nocturnal dramas, with such outbreaks, like claudius in the play, he scatters the performance in the midst. often enough the waking is a disappointment: he has been too deep asleep, as i explain the thing; drowsiness has gained his little people, they have gone stumbling and maundering through their parts; and the play, to the awakened mind, is seen to be a tissue of absurdities. and yet how often have these sleepless brownies done him honest service, and given him, as he sat idly taking his pleasure in the boxes, better tales than he could fashion for himself. here is one, exactly as it came to him. it seemed he was the son of a very rich and wicked man, the owner of broad acres and a most damnable temper. the dreamer (and that was the son) had lived much abroad, on purpose to avoid his parent; and when at length he returned to england, it was to find him married again to a young wife, who was supposed to suffer cruelly and to loathe her yoke. because of this marriage (as the dreamer indistinctly understood) it was desirable for father and son to have a meeting; and yet both being proud and both angry, neither would condescend upon a visit. meet they did accordingly, in a desolate, sandy country by the sea; and there they quarrelled, and the son, stung by some intolerable insult, struck down the father dead. no suspicion was aroused; the dead man was found and buried, and the dreamer succeeded to the broad estates, and found himself installed under the same roof with his father's widow, for whom no provision had been made. these two lived very much alone, as people may after a bereavement, sat down to table together, shared the long evenings, and grew daily better friends; until it seemed to him of a sudden that she was prying about dangerous matters, that she had conceived a notion of his guilt, that she watched him and tried him with questions. he drew back from her company as men draw back from a precipice suddenly discovered; and yet so strong was the attraction that he would drift again and again into the old intimacy, and again and again be startled back by some suggestive question or some inexplicable meaning in her eye. so they lived at cross purposes, a life full of broken dialogue, challenging glances, and suppressed passion; until, one day, he saw the woman slipping from the house in a veil, followed her to the station, followed her in the train to the seaside country, and out over the sandhills to the very place where the murder was done. there she began to grope among the bents, he watching her, flat upon his face; and presently she had something in her hand--i cannot remember what it was, but it was deadly evidence against the dreamer--and as she held it up to look at it, perhaps from the shock of the discovery, her foot slipped, and she hung at some peril on the brink of the tall sand-wreaths. he had no thought but to spring up and rescue her; and there they stood face to face, she with that deadly matter openly in her hand--his very presence on the spot another link of proof. it was plain she was about to speak, but this was more than he could bear--he could bear to be lost, but not to talk of it with his destroyer; and he cut her short with trivial conversation. arm in arm, they returned together to the train, talking he knew not what, made the journey back in the same carriage, sat down to dinner, and passed the evening in the drawing-room as in the past. but suspense and fear drummed in the dreamer's bosom. "she has not denounced me yet"--so his thoughts ran: "when will she denounce me? will it be to-morrow?" and it was not to-morrow, nor the next day, nor the next; and their life settled back on the old terms, only that she seemed kinder than before, and that, as for him, the burthen of his suspense and wonder grew daily more unbearable, so that he wasted away like a man with a disease. once, indeed, he broke all bounds of decency, seized an occasion when she was abroad, ransacked her room, and at last, hidden away among her jewels, found the damning evidence. there he stood, holding this thing, which was his life, in the hollow of his hand, and marvelling at her inconsequent behaviour, that she should seek, and keep, and yet not use it; and then the door opened, and behold herself. so, once more, they stood, eye to eye, with the evidence between them; and once more she raised to him a face brimming with some communication; and once more he shied away from speech and cut her off. but before he left the room, which he had turned upside down, he laid back his death-warrant where he had found it; and at that, her face lighted up. the next thing he heard, she was explaining to her maid, with some ingenious falsehood, the disorder of her things. flesh and blood could bear the strain no longer; and i think it was the next morning (though chronology is always hazy in the theatre of the mind) that he burst from his reserve. they had been breakfasting together in one corner of a great, parqueted, sparely-furnished room of many windows; all the time of the meal she had tortured him with sly allusions; and no sooner were the servants gone, and these two protagonists alone together, than he leaped to his feet. she too sprang up, with a pale face; with a pale face, she heard him as he raved out his complaint: why did she torture him so? she knew all, she knew he was no enemy to her; why did she not denounce him at once? what signified her whole behaviour? why did she torture him? and yet again, why did she torture him? and when he had done, she fell upon her knees, and with outstretched hands: "do you not understand?" she cried. "i love you!" hereupon, with a pang of wonder and mercantile delight the dreamer awoke. his mercantile delight was not of long endurance; for it soon became plain that in this spirited tale there were unmarketable elements; which is just the reason why you have it here so briefly told. but his wonder has still kept growing; and i think the reader's will also, if he consider it ripely. for now he sees why i speak of the little people as of substantive inventors and performers. to the end they had kept their secret. i will go bail for the dreamer (having excellent grounds for valuing his candour) that he had no guess whatever at the motive of the woman--the hinge of the whole well-invented plot--until the instant of that highly dramatic declaration. it was not his tale; it was the little people's! and observe: not only was the secret kept, the story was told with really guileful craftsmanship. the conduct of both actors is (in the cant phrase) psychologically correct, and the emotion aptly graduated up to the surprising climax. i am awake now, and i know this trade; and yet i cannot better it. i am awake, and i live by this business; and yet i could not outdo--could not perhaps equal--that crafty artifice (as of some old, experienced carpenter of plays, some dennery or sardou) by which the same situation is twice presented and the two actors twice brought face to face over the evidence, only once it is in her hand, once in his--and these in their due order, the least dramatic first. the more i think of it, the more i am moved to press upon the world my question: who are the little people? they are near connections of the dreamer's, beyond doubt; they share in his financial worries and have an eye to the bank-book; they share plainly in his training; they have plainly learned like him to build the scheme of a considerate story and to arrange emotion in progressive order; only i think they have more talent; and one thing is beyond doubt, they can tell him a story piece by piece, like a serial, and keep him all the while in ignorance of where they aim. who are they, then? and who is the dreamer? well, as regards the dreamer, i can answer that, for he is no less a person than myself;--as i might have told you from the beginning, only that the critics murmur over my consistent egotism;--and as i am positively forced to tell you now, or i could advance but little further with my story. and for the little people, what shall i say they are but just my brownies, god bless them! who do one-half my work for me while i am fast asleep, and in all human likelihood, do the rest for me as well, when i am wide awake and fondly suppose i do it for myself. that part which is done while i am sleeping is the brownies' part beyond contention; but that which is done when i am up and about is by no means necessarily mine, since all goes to show the brownies have a hand in it even then. here is a doubt that much concerns my conscience. for myself--what i call i, my conscious ego, the denizen of the pineal gland unless he has changed his residence since descartes, the man with the conscience and the variable bank-account, the man with the hat and the boots, and the privilege of voting and not carrying his candidate at the general elections--i am sometimes tempted to suppose is no story-teller at all, but a creature as matter of fact as any cheesemonger or any cheese, and a realist bemired up to the ears in actuality; so that, by that account, the whole of my published fiction should be the single-handed product of some brownie, some familiar, some unseen collaborator, whom i keep locked in a back garret, while i get all the praise and he but a share (which i cannot prevent him getting) of the pudding. i am an excellent adviser, something like molière's servant. i pull back and i cut down; and i dress the whole in the best words and sentences that i can find and make; i hold the pen, too; and i do the sitting at the table, which is about the worst of it; and when all is done, i make up the manuscript and pay for the registration; so that, on the whole, i have some claim to share, though not so largely as i do, in the profits of our common enterprise. i can but give an instance or so of what part is done sleeping and what part awake, and leave the reader to share what laurels there are, at his own nod, between myself and my collaborators; and to do this i will first take a book that a number of persons have been polite enough to read, "the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde." i had long been trying to write a story on this subject, to find a body, a vehicle, for that strong sense of man's double being which must at times come in upon and overwhelm the mind of every thinking creature. i had even written one, "the travelling companion," which was returned by an editor on the plea that it was a work of genius and indecent, and which i burned the other day on the ground that it was not a work of genius, and that "jekyll" had supplanted it. then came one of those financial fluctuations to which (with an elegant modesty) i have hitherto referred in the third person. for two days i went about racking my brains for a plot of any sort; and on the second night i dreamed the scene at the window, and a scene afterward split in two, in which hyde, pursued for some crime, took the powder and underwent the change in the presence of his pursuers. all the rest was made awake, and consciously, although i think i can trace in much of it the manner of my brownies. the meaning of the tale is therefore mine, and had long pre-existed in my garden of adonis, and tried one body after another in vain; indeed, i do most of the morality, worse luck! and my brownies have not a rudiment of what we call a conscience. mine, too, is the setting, mine the characters. all that was given me was the matter of three scenes, and the central idea of a voluntary change becoming involuntary. will it be thought ungenerous, after i have been so liberally ladling out praise to my unseen collaborators, if i here toss them over, bound hand and foot, into the arena of the critics? for the business of the powders, which so many have censured, is, i am relieved to say, not mine at all, but the brownies'. of another tale, in case the reader should have glanced at it, i may say a word: the not very defensible story of "olalla." here the court, the mother, the mother's niche, olalla, olalla's chamber, the meetings on the stair, the broken window, the ugly scene of the bite, were all given me in bulk and detail as i have tried to write them; to this i added only the external scenery (for in my dream i never was beyond the court), the portrait, the characters of felipe and the priest, the moral, such as it is, and the last pages, such as, alas! they are. and i may even say that in this case the moral itself was given me; for it arose immediately on a comparison of the mother and the daughter, and from the hideous trick of atavism in the first. sometimes a parabolic sense is still more undeniably present in a dream; sometimes i cannot but suppose my brownies have been aping bunyan, and yet in no case with what would possibly be called a moral in a tract; never with the ethical narrowness; conveying hints instead of life's larger limitations and that sort of sense which we seem to perceive in the arabesque of time and space. for the most part, it will be seen, my brownies are somewhat fantastic, like their stories hot and hot, full of passion and the picturesque, alive with animating incident; and they have no prejudice against the supernatural. but the other day they gave me a surprise, entertaining me with a love-story, a little april comedy, which i ought certainly to hand over to the author of "a chance acquaintance," for he could write it as it should be written, and i am sure (although i mean to try) that i cannot.--but who would have supposed that a brownie of mine should invent a tale for mr. howells? iv beggars i in a pleasant, airy, up-hill country, it was my fortune when i was young to make the acquaintance of a certain beggar. i call him beggar, though he usually allowed his coat and his shoes (which were open-mouthed, indeed) to beg for him. he was the wreck of an athletic man, tall, gaunt, and bronzed; far gone in consumption, with that disquieting smile of the mortally stricken on his face; but still active afoot, still with the brisk military carriage, the ready military salute. three ways led through this piece of country; and as i was inconstant in my choice, i believe he must often have awaited me in vain. but often enough, he caught me; often enough, from some place of ambush by the roadside, he would spring suddenly forth in the regulation attitude, and launching at once into his inconsequential talk, fall into step with me upon my farther course. "a fine morning, sir, though perhaps a trifle inclining to rain. i hope i see you well, sir. why, no, sir, i don't feel as hearty myself as i could wish, but i am keeping about my ordinary. i am pleased to meet you on the road, sir. i assure you i quite look forward to one of our little conversations." he loved the sound of his own voice inordinately, and though (with something too off-hand to call servility) he would always hasten to agree with anything you said, yet he could never suffer you to say it to an end. by what transition he slid to his favourite subject i have no memory; but we had never been long together on the way before he was dealing, in a very military manner, with the english poets. "shelley was a fine poet, sir, though a trifle atheistical in his opinions. his 'queen mab,' sir, is quite an atheistical work. scott, sir, is not so poetical a writer. with the works of shakespeare i am not so well acquainted, but he was a fine poet. keats--john keats, sir--he was a very fine poet." with such references, such trivial criticism, such loving parade of his own knowledge, he would beguile the road, striding forward up-hill, his staff now clapped to the ribs of his deep, resonant chest, now swinging in the air with the remembered jauntiness of the private soldier; and all the while his toes looking out of his boots, and his shirt looking out of his elbows, and death looking out of his smile, and his big, crazy frame shaken by accesses of cough. he would often go the whole way home with me: often to borrow a book, and that book always a poet. off he would march, to continue his mendicant rounds, with the volume slipped into the pocket of his ragged coat; and although he would sometimes keep it quite a while, yet it came always back again at last, not much the worse for its travels into beggardom. and in this way, doubtless, his knowledge grew and his glib, random criticism took a wider range. but my library was not the first he had drawn upon: at our first encounter, he was already brimful of shelley and the atheistical "queen mab," and "keats--john keats, sir." and i have often wondered how he came by these acquirements, just as i often wondered how he fell to be a beggar. he had served through the mutiny--of which (like so many people) he could tell practically nothing beyond the names of places, and that it was "difficult work, sir," and very hot, or that so-and-so was "a very fine commander, sir." he was far too smart a man to have remained a private; in the nature of things, he must have won his stripes. and yet here he was, without a pension. when i touched on this problem, he would content himself with diffidently offering me advice. "a man should be very careful when he is young, sir. if you'll excuse me saying so, a spirited young gentleman like yourself, sir, should be very careful. i was perhaps a trifle inclined to atheistical opinions myself." for (perhaps with a deeper wisdom than we are inclined in these days to admit) he plainly bracketed agnosticism with beer and skittles. keats--john keats, sir--and shelley were his favourite bards. i cannot remember if i tried him with rossetti; but i know his taste to a hair, and if ever i did, he must have doted on that author. what took him was a richness in the speech; he loved the exotic, the unexpected word; the moving cadence of a phrase; a vague sense of emotion (about nothing) in the very letters of the alphabet: the romance of language. his honest head was very nearly empty, his intellect like a child's; and when he read his favourite authors, he can almost never have understood what he was reading. yet the taste was not only genuine, it was exclusive; i tried in vain to offer him novels; he would none of them, he cared for nothing but romantic language that he could not understand. the case may be commoner than we suppose. i am reminded of a lad who was laid in the next cot to a friend of mine in a public hospital, and who was no sooner installed than he sent out (perhaps with his last pence) for a cheap shakespeare. my friend pricked up his ears; fell at once in talk with his new neighbour, and was ready, when the book arrived, to make a singular discovery. for this lover of great literature understood not one sentence out of twelve, and his favourite part was that of which he understood the least--the inimitable, mouth-filling rodomontade of the ghost in _hamlet_. it was a bright day in hospital when my friend expounded the sense of this beloved jargon: a task for which i am willing to believe my friend was very fit, though i can never regard it as an easy one. i know indeed a point or two, on which i would gladly question mr. shakespeare, that lover of big words, could he revisit the glimpses of the moon, or could i myself climb backward to the spacious days of elizabeth. but, in the second case, i should most likely pretermit these questionings, and take my place instead in the pit at the blackfriars, to hear the actor in his favourite part, playing up to mr. burbage, and rolling out--as i seem to hear him--with a ponderous gusto-- "unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd." what a pleasant chance, if we could go there in a party! and what a surprise for mr. burbage, when the ghost received the honours of the evening! as for my old soldier, like mr. burbage and mr. shakespeare, he is long since dead; and now lies buried, i suppose, and nameless and quite forgotten, in some poor city graveyard.--but not for me, you brave heart, have you been buried! for me, you are still afoot, tasting the sun and air, and striding southward. by the groves of comiston and beside the hermitage of braid, by the hunters' tryst, and where the curlews and plovers cry around fairmilehead, i see and hear you, stalwartly carrying your deadly sickness, cheerfully discoursing of uncomprehended poets. ii the thought of the old soldier recalls that of another tramp, his counterpart. this was a little, lean, and fiery man, with the eyes of a dog and the face of a gipsy; whom i found one morning encamped with his wife and children and his grinder's wheel, beside the burn of kinnaird. to this beloved dell i went, at that time, daily; and daily the knife-grinder and i (for as long as his tent continued pleasantly to interrupt my little wilderness) sat on two stones, and smoked, and plucked grass and talked to the tune of the brown water. his children were mere whelps, they fought and bit among the fern like vermin. his wife was a mere squaw; i saw her gather brush and tend the kettle, but she never ventured to address her lord while i was present. the tent was a mere gipsy hovel, like a sty for pigs. but the grinder himself had the fine self-sufficiency and grave politeness of the hunter and the savage; he did me the honours of this dell, which had been mine but the day before, took me far into the secrets of his life, and used me (i am proud to remember) as a friend. like my old soldier, he was far gone in the national complaint. unlike him, he had a vulgar taste in letters; scarce flying higher than the story papers; probably finding no difference, certainly seeking none, between tannahill and burns; his noblest thoughts, whether of poetry or music, adequately embodied in that somewhat obvious ditty, "will ye gang, lassie, gang to the braes o' balquhidder": --which is indeed apt to echo in the ears of scottish children, and to him, in view of his experience, must have found a special directness of address. but if he had no fine sense of poetry in letters, he felt with a deep joy the poetry of life. you should have heard him speak of what he loved; of the tent pitched beside the talking water; of the stars overhead at night; of the blest return of morning, the peep of day over the moors, the awaking birds among the birches; how he abhorred the long winter shut in cities; and with what delight, at the return of the spring, he once more pitched his camp in the living out-of-doors. but we were a pair of tramps; and to you, who are doubtless sedentary and a consistent first-class passenger in life, he would scarce have laid himself so open;--to you, he might have been content to tell his story of a ghost--that of a buccaneer with his pistols as he lived--whom he had once encountered in a seaside cave near buckie; and that would have been enough, for that would have shown you the mettle of the man. here was a piece of experience solidly and livingly built up in words, here was a story created, _teres atque rotundus_. and to think of the old soldier, that lover of the literary bards! he had visited stranger spots than any seaside cave; encountered men more terrible than any spirit; done and dared and suffered in that incredible, unsung epic of the mutiny war; played his part with the field force of delhi, beleaguering and beleaguered; shared in that enduring, savage anger and contempt of death and decency that, for long months together, bedevil'd and inspired the army; was hurled to and fro in the battle-smoke of the assault; was there, perhaps, where nicholson fell; was there when the attacking column, with hell upon every side, found the soldier's enemy--strong drink, and the lives of tens of thousands trembled in the scale, and the fate of the flag of england staggered. and of all this he had no more to say than "hot work, sir," or "the army suffered a great deal, sir," or, "i believe general wilson, sir, was not very highly thought of in the papers." his life was naught to him, the vivid pages of experience quite blank: in words his pleasure lay--melodious, agitated words--printed words, about that which he had never seen and was connatally incapable of comprehending. we have here two temperaments face to face; both untrained, unsophisticated, surprised (we may say) in the egg; both boldly charactered:--that of the artist, the lover and artificer of words; that of the maker, the seeër, the lover and forger of experience. if the one had a daughter and the other had a son, and these married, might not some illustrious writer count descent from the beggar-soldier and the needy knife-grinder? iii every one lives by selling something, whatever be his right to it. the burglar sells at the same time his own skill and courage and my silver plate (the whole at the most moderate figure) to a jew receiver. the bandit sells the traveller an article of prime necessity: that traveller's life. and as for the old soldier, who stands for central mark to my capricious figures of eight, he dealt in a specialty; for he was the only beggar in the world who ever gave me pleasure for my money. he had learned a school of manners in the barracks and had the sense to cling to it, accosting strangers with a regimental freedom, thanking patrons with a merely regimental difference, sparing you at once the tragedy of his position and the embarrassment of yours. there was not one hint about him of the beggar's emphasis, the outburst of revolting gratitude, the rant and cant, the "god bless you, kind, kind gentleman," which insults the smallness of your alms by disproportionate vehemence, which is so notably false, which would be so unbearable if it were true. i am sometimes tempted to suppose this reading of the beggar's part a survival of the old days when shakespeare was intoned upon the stage and mourners keened beside the death-bed; to think that we cannot now accept these strong emotions unless they be uttered in the just note of life; nor (save in the pulpit) endure these gross conventions. they wound us, i am tempted to say, like mockery; the high voice of keening (as it yet lingers on) strikes in the face of sorrow like a buffet; and the rant and cant of the staled beggar stirs in us a shudder of disgust. but the fact disproves these amateur opinions. the beggar lives by his knowledge of the average man. he knows what he is about when he bandages his head, and hires and drugs a babe, and poisons life with "poor mary ann" or "long, long ago"; he knows what he is about when he loads the critical ear and sickens the nice conscience with intolerable thanks; they know what they are about, he and his crew, when they pervade the slums of cities, ghastly parodies of suffering, hateful parodies of gratitude. this trade can scarce be called an imposition; it has been so blown upon with exposures; it flaunts its fraudulence so nakedly. we pay them as we pay those who show us, in huge exaggeration, the monsters of our drinking-water; or those who daily predict the fall of britain. we pay them for the pain they inflict, pay them, and wince, and hurry on. and truly there is nothing that can shake the conscience like a beggar's thanks; and that polity in which such protestations can be purchased for a shilling, seems no scene for an honest man. are there, then, we may be asked, no genuine beggars? and the answer is, not one. my old soldier was a humbug like the rest; his ragged boots were, in the stage phrase, properties; whole boots were given him again and again, and always gladly accepted; and the next day, there he was on the road as usual, with toes exposed. his boots were his method; they were the man's trade; without his boots he would have starved; he did not live by charity, but by appealing to a gross taste in the public, which loves the limelight on the actor's face, and the toes out of the beggar's boots. there is a true poverty, which no one sees: a false and merely mimetic poverty, which usurps its place and dress, and lives, and above all drinks, on the fruits of the usurpation. the true poverty does not go into the streets; the banker may rest assured, he has never put a penny in its hand. the self-respecting poor beg from each other; never from the rich. to live in the frock-coated ranks of life, to hear canting scenes of gratitude rehearsed for twopence, a man might suppose that giving was a thing gone out of fashion; yet it goes forward on a scale so great as to fill me with surprise. in the houses of the working classes, all day long there will be a foot upon the stair; all day long there will be a knocking at the doors; beggars come, beggars go, without stint, hardly with intermission, from morning till night; and meanwhile, in the same city and but a few streets off, the castles of the rich stand unsummoned. get the tale of any honest tramp, you will find it was always the poor who helped him; get the truth from any workman who has met misfortunes, it was always next door that he would go for help, or only with such exceptions as are said to prove a rule; look at the course of the mimetic beggar, it is through the poor quarters that he trails his passage, showing his bandages to every window, piercing even to the attics with his nasal song. here is a remarkable state of things in our christian commonwealths, that the poor only should be asked to give. iv there is a pleasant tale of some worthless, phrasing frenchman, who was taxed with ingratitude: "_il faut savoir garder l'indépendance du coeur_," cried he. i own i feel with him. gratitude without familiarity, gratitude otherwise than as a nameless element in a friendship, is a thing so near to hatred that i do not care to split the difference. until i find a man who is pleased to receive obligations, i shall continue to question the tact of those who are eager to confer them. what an art it is, to give, even to our nearest friends! and what a test of manners, to receive! how, upon either side, we smuggle away the obligation, blushing for each other; how bluff and dull we make the giver; how hasty, how falsely cheerful, the receiver! and yet an act of such difficulty and distress between near friends, it is supposed we can perform to a total stranger and leave the man transfixed with grateful emotions. the last thing you can do to a man is to burthen him with an obligation, and it is what we propose to begin with! but let us not be deceived: unless he is totally degraded to his trade, anger jars in his inside, and he grates his teeth at our gratuity. we should wipe two words from our vocabulary: gratitude and charity. in real life, help is given out of friendship, or it is not valued; it is received from the hand of friendship, or it is resented. we are all too proud to take a naked gift: we must seem to pay it, if in nothing else, then with the delights of our society. here, then, is the pitiful fix of the rich man; here is that needle's eye in which he stuck already in the days of christ, and still sticks to-day, firmer, if possible, than ever: that he has the money and lacks the love which should make his money acceptable. here and now, just as of old in palestine, he has the rich to dinner, it is with the rich that he takes his pleasure: and when his turn comes to be charitable, he looks in vain for a recipient. his friends are not poor, they do not want; the poor are not his friends, they will not take. to whom is he to give? where to find--note this phrase--the deserving poor? charity is (what they call) centralised; offices are hired; societies founded, with secretaries paid or unpaid: the hunt of the deserving poor goes merrily forward. i think it will take more than a merely human secretary to disinter that character. what! a class that is to be in want from no fault of its own, and yet greedily eager to receive from strangers; and to be quite respectable, and at the same time quite devoid of self-respect; and play the most delicate part of friendship, and yet never be seen; and wear the form of man, and yet fly in the face of all the laws of human nature:--and all this, in the hope of getting a belly-god burgess through a needle's eye! oh, let him stick, by all means: and let his polity tumble in the dust; and let his epitaph and all his literature (of which my own works begin to form no inconsiderable part) be abolished even from the history of man! for a fool of this monstrosity of dulness, there can be no salvation: and the fool who looked for the elixir of life was an angel of reason to the fool who looks for the deserving poor! v and yet there is one course which the unfortunate gentleman may take. he may subscribe to pay the taxes. there were the true charity, impartial and impersonal, cumbering none with obligation, helping all. there were a destination for loveless gifts; there were the way to reach the pocket of the deserving poor, and yet save the time of secretaries! but, alas! there is no colour of romance in such a course; and people nowhere demand the picturesque so much as in their virtues. v the lantern-bearers i these boys congregated every autumn about a certain easterly fisher-village, where they tasted in a high degree the glory of existence. the place was created seemingly on purpose for the diversion of young gentlemen. a street or two of houses, mostly red and many of them tiled; a number of fine trees clustered about the manse and the kirkyard, and turning the chief street into a shady alley; many little gardens more than usually bright with flowers; nets a-drying, and fisher-wives scolding in the backward parts; a smell of fish, a genial smell of seaweed; whiffs of blowing sand at the street-corners; shops with golf-balls and bottled lollipops; another shop with penny pickwicks (that remarkable cigar) and the _london journal_, dear to me for its startling pictures, and a few novels, dear for their suggestive names: such, as well as memory serves me, were the ingredients of the town. these, you are to conceive posted on a spit between two sandy bays, and sparsely flanked with villas--enough for the boys to lodge in with their subsidiary parents, not enough (not yet enough) to cocknify the scene: a haven in the rocks in front: in front of that, a file of grey islets: to the left, endless links and sand wreaths, a wilderness of hiding-holes, alive with popping rabbits and soaring gulls: to the right, a range of seaward crags, one rugged brow beyond another; the ruins of a mighty and ancient fortress on the brink of one; coves between--now charmed into sunshine quiet, now whistling with wind and clamorous with bursting surges; the dens and sheltered hollows redolent of thyme and southernwood, the air at the cliff's edge brisk and clean and pungent of the sea--in front of all, the bass rock, tilted seaward like a doubtful bather, the surf ringing it with white, the solan-geese hanging round its summit like a great and glittering smoke. this choice piece of seaboard was sacred, besides, to the wrecker; and the bass, in the eye of fancy, still flew the colours of king james; and in the ear of fancy the arches of tantallon still rang with horse-shoe iron, and echoed to the commands of bell-the-cat. there was nothing to mar your days, if you were a boy summering in that part, but the embarrassment of pleasure. you might golf if you wanted; but i seem to have been better employed. you might secrete yourself in the lady's walk, a certain sunless dingle of elders, all mossed over by the damp as green as grass, and dotted here and there by the stream-side with roofless walls, the cold homes of anchorites. to fit themselves for life, and with a special eye to acquire the art of smoking, it was even common for the boys to harbour there; and you might have seen a single penny pickwick, honestly shared in lengths with a blunt knife, bestrew the glen with these apprentices. again, you might join our fishing parties, where we sat perched as thick as solan-geese, a covey of little anglers, boy and girl, angling over each other's heads, to the much entanglement of lines and loss of podleys and consequent shrill recrimination--shrill as the geese themselves. indeed, had that been all, you might have done this often; but though fishing be a fine pastime, the podley is scarce to be regarded as a dainty for the table; and it was a point of honour that a boy should eat all that he had taken. or again, you might climb the law, where the whale's jawbone stood landmark in the buzzing wind, and behold the face of many counties, and the smoke and spires of many towns, and the sails of distant ships. you might bathe, now in the flaws of fine weather, that we pathetically call our summer, now in a gale of wind, with the sand scourging your bare hide, your clothes thrashing abroad from underneath their guardian stone, the froth of the great breakers casting you headlong ere it had drowned your knees. or you might explore the tidal rocks, above all in the ebb of springs, when the very roots of the hills were for the nonce discovered; following my leader from one group to another, groping in slippery tangle for the wreck of ships, wading in pools after the abominable creatures of the sea, and ever with an eye cast backward on the march of the tide and the menaced line of your retreat. and then you might go crusoeing, a word that covers all extempore eating in the open air: digging perhaps a house under the margin of the links, kindling a fire of the sea-ware, and cooking apples there--if they were truly apples, for i sometimes suppose the merchant must have played us off with some inferior and quite local fruit, capable of resolving, in the neighbourhood of fire, into mere sand and smoke and iodine; or perhaps pushing to tantallon, you might lunch on sandwiches and visions in the grassy court, while the wind hummed in the crumbling turrets; or clambering along the coast, eat geans[ ] (the worst, i must suppose, in christendom) from an adventurous gean tree that had taken root under a cliff, where it was shaken with an ague of east wind, and silvered after gales with salt, and grew so foreign among its bleak surroundings that to eat of its produce was an adventure in itself. there are mingled some dismal memories with so many that were joyous. of the fisher-wife, for instance, who had cut her throat at canty bay; and of how i ran with the other children to the top of the quadrant, and beheld a posse of silent people escorting a cart, and on the cart, bound in a chair, her throat bandaged, and the bandage all bloody--horror!--the fisher-wife herself, who continued thenceforth to hag-ride my thoughts, and even to-day (as i recall the scene) darkens daylight. she was lodged in the little old gaol in the chief street; but whether or no she died there, with a wise terror of the worst, i never inquired. she had been tippling; it was but a dingy tragedy; and it seems strange and hard that, after all these years, the poor crazy sinner should be still pilloried on her cart in the scrap-book of my memory. nor shall i readily forget a certain house in the quadrant where a visitor died, and a dark old woman continued to dwell alone with the dead body; nor how this old woman conceived a hatred to myself and one of my cousins, and in the dread hour of the dusk, as we were clambering on the garden-walls, opened a window in that house of mortality and cursed us in a shrill voice and with a marrowy choice of language. it was a pair of very colourless urchins that fled down the lane from this remarkable experience! but i recall with a more doubtful sentiment, compounded out of fear and exultation, the coil of equinoctial tempests; trumpeting squalls, scouring flaws of rain; the boats with their reefed lugsails scudding for the harbour mouth, where danger lay, for it was hard to make when the wind had any east in it; the wives clustered with blowing shawls at the pier-head, where (if fate was against them) they might see boat and husband and sons--their whole wealth and their whole family--engulfed under their eyes; and (what i saw but once) a troop of neighbours forcing such an unfortunate homeward, and she squalling and battling in their midst, a figure scarcely human, a tragic mænad. these are things that i recall with interest; but what my memory dwells upon the most, i have been all this while withholding. it was a sport peculiar to the place, and indeed to a week or so of our two months' holiday there. maybe it still flourishes in its native spot; for boys and their pastimes are swayed by periodic forces inscrutable to man; so that tops and marbles reappear in their due season, regular like the sun and moon; and the harmless art of knucklebones has seen the fall of the roman empire and the rise of the united states. it may still flourish in its native spot, but nowhere else, i am persuaded; for i tried myself to introduce it on tweedside, and was defeated lamentably; its charm being quite local, like a country wine that cannot be exported. the idle manner of it was this:-- toward the end of september, when school-time was drawing near and the nights were already black, we would begin to sally from our respective villas, each equipped with a tin bull's-eye lantern. the thing was so well known that it had worn a rut in the commerce of great britain; and the grocers, about the due time, began to garnish their windows with our particular brand of luminary. we wore them buckled to the waist upon a cricket belt, and over them, such was the rigour of the game, a buttoned top-coat. they smelled noisomely of blistered tin; they never burned aright, though they would always burn our fingers; their use was naught; the pleasure of them merely fanciful; and yet a boy with a bull's-eye under his top-coat asked for nothing more. the fishermen used lanterns about their boats, and it was from them, i suppose, that we had got the hint; but theirs were not bull's-eyes, nor did we ever play at being fishermen. the police carried them at their belts, and we had plainly copied them in that; yet we did not pretend to be policemen. burglars, indeed, we may have had some haunting thoughts of; and we had certainly an eye to past ages when lanterns were more common, and to certain story-books in which we had found them to figure very largely. but take it for all in all, the pleasure of the thing was substantive; and to be a boy with a bull's-eye under his top-coat was good enough for us. when two of these asses met, there would be an anxious "have you got your lantern?" and a gratified "yes!" that was the shibboleth, and very needful too; for, as it was the rule to keep our glory contained, none could recognise a lantern-bearer, unless (like the polecat) by the smell. four or five would sometimes climb into the belly of a ten-man lugger, with nothing but the thwarts above them--for the cabin was usually locked--or choose out some hollow of the links where the wind might whistle overhead. there the coats would be unbuttoned and the bull's-eyes discovered; and in the chequering glimmer, under the huge windy hall of the night, and cheered by a rich steam of toasting tinware, these fortunate young gentlemen would crouch together in the cold sand of the links or on the scaly bilges of the fishing-boat, and delight themselves with inappropriate talk. woe is me that i may not give some specimens--some of their foresights of life, or deep inquiries into the rudiments of man and nature, these were so fiery and so innocent, they were so richly silly, so romantically young. but the talk, at any rate, was but a condiment; and these gatherings themselves only accidents in the career of the lantern-bearer. the essence of this bliss was to walk by yourself in the black night; the slide shut; the top-coat buttoned; not a ray escaping, whether to conduct your footsteps or to make your glory public: a mere pillar of darkness in the dark; and all the while, deep down in the privacy of your fool's heart, to know you had a bull's-eye at your belt, and to exult and sing over the knowledge. ii it is said that a poet has died young in the breast of the most stolid. it may be contended, rather, that this (somewhat minor) bard in almost every case survives, and is the spice of life to his possessor. justice is not done to the versatility and the unplumbed childishness of man's imagination. his life from without may seem but a rude mound of mud; there will be some golden chamber at the heart of it, in which he dwells delighted; and for as dark as his pathway seems to the observer, he will have some kind of a bull's-eye at his belt. it would be hard to pick out a career more cheerless than that of dancer, the miser, as he figures in the "old bailey reports," a prey to the most sordid persecutions, the butt of his neighbourhood, betrayed by his hired man, his house beleaguered by the impish school-boy, and he himself grinding and fuming and impotently fleeing to the law against these pin-pricks. you marvel at first that any one should willingly prolong a life so destitute of charm and dignity; and then you call to memory that had he chosen, had he ceased to be a miser, he could have been freed at once from these trials, and might have built himself a castle and gone escorted by a squadron. for the love of more recondite joys, which we cannot estimate, which, it may be, we should envy, the man had willingly forgone both comfort and consideration. "his mind to him a kingdom was"; and sure enough, digging into that mind, which seems at first a dust-heap, we unearth some priceless jewels. for dancer must have had the love of power and the disdain of using it, a noble character in itself; disdain of many pleasures, a chief part of what is commonly called wisdom; disdain of the inevitable end, that finest trait of mankind; scorn of men's opinions, another element of virtue; and at the back of all, a conscience just like yours and mine, whining like a cur, swindling like a thimble-rigger, but still pointing (there or thereabout) to some conventional standard. here were a cabinet portrait to which hawthorne perhaps had done justice; and yet not hawthorne either, for he was mildly minded, and it lay not in him to create for us that throb of the miser's pulse, his fretful energy of gusto, his vast arms of ambition clutching in he knows not what: insatiable, insane, a god with a muck-rake. thus, at least, looking in the bosom of the miser, consideration detects the poet in the full tide of life, with more, indeed, of the poetic fire than usually goes to epics; and tracing that mean man about his cold hearth, and to and fro in his discomfortable house, spies within him a blazing bonfire of delight. and so with others, who do not live by bread alone, but by some cherished and perhaps fantastic pleasure; who are meat salesmen to the external eye, and possibly to themselves are shakespeares, napoleons, or beethovens; who have not one virtue to rub against another in the field of active life, and yet perhaps, in the life of contemplation, sit with the saints. we see them on the street, and we can count their buttons; but heaven knows in what they pride themselves! heaven knows where they have set their treasure! there is one fable that touches very near the quick of life: the fable of the monk who passed into the woods, heard a bird break into song, hearkened for a trill or two, and found himself on his return a stranger at his convent gates; for he had been absent fifty years, and of all his comrades there survived but one to recognise him. it is not only in the woods that this enchanter carols, though perhaps he is native there. he sings in the most doleful places. the miser hears him and chuckles, and the days are moments. with no more apparatus than an ill-smelling lantern i have evoked him on the naked links. all life that is not merely mechanical is spun out of two strands: seeking for that bird and hearing him. and it is just this that makes life so hard to value, and the delight of each so incommunicable; and just a knowledge of this, and a remembrance of those fortunate hours in which the bird has sung to us, that fills us with such wonder when we turn the pages of the realist. there, to be sure, we find a picture of life in so far as it consists of mud and of old iron, cheap desires and cheap fears, that which we are ashamed to remember and that which we are careless whether we forget; but of the note of that time-devouring nightingale we hear no news. the case of these writers of romance is most obscure. they have been boys and youths; they have lingered outside the window of the beloved, who was then most probably writing to some one else; they have sat before a sheet of paper, and felt themselves mere continents of congested poetry, not one line of which would flow; they have walked alone in the woods, they have walked in cities under the countless lamps; they have been to sea, they have hated, they have feared, they have longed to knife a man, and maybe done it; the wild taste of life has stung their palate. or, if you deny them all the rest, one pleasure at least they have tasted to the full--their books are there to prove it--the keen pleasure of successful literary composition. and yet they fill the globe with volumes, whose cleverness inspires me with despairing admiration, and whose consistent falsity to all i care to call existence, with despairing wrath. if i had no better hope than to continue to revolve among the dreary and petty businesses, and to be moved by the paltry hopes and fears with which they surround and animate their heroes, i declare i would die now. but there has never an hour of mine gone quite so dully yet; if it were spent waiting at a railway junction, i would have some scattering thoughts, i could count some grains of memory, compared to which the whole of one of these romances seems but dross. these writers would retort (if i take them properly) that this was very true; that it was the same with themselves and other persons of (what they call) the artistic temperament that in this we were exceptional, and should apparently be ashamed of ourselves; but that our works must deal exclusively with (what they call) the average man, who was a prodigious dull fellow, and quite dead to all but the paltriest considerations. i accept the issue. we can only know others by ourselves. the artistic temperament (a plague on the expression!) does not make us different from our fellow-men, or it would make us incapable of writing novels; and the average man (a murrain on the word!) is just like you and me, or he would not be average. it was whitman who stamped a kind of birmingham sacredness upon the latter phrase; but whitman knew very well, and showed very nobly, that the average man was full of joys and full of poetry of his own. and this harping on life's dulness and man's meanness is a loud profession of incompetence; it is one of two things: the cry of the blind eye, _i cannot see_, or the complaint of the dumb tongue, _i cannot utter_. to draw a life without delights is to prove i have not realised it. to picture a man without some sort of poetry--well, it goes near to prove my case, for it shows an author may have little enough. to see dancer only as a dirty, old, small-minded, impotently fuming man, in a dirty house, besieged by harrow boys, and probably beset by small attorneys, is to show myself as keen an observer as ... the harrow boys. but these young gentlemen (with a more becoming modesty) were content to pluck dancer by the coat-tails; they did not suppose they had surprised his secret or could put him living in a book: and it is there my error would have lain. or say that in the same romance--i continue to call these books romances, in the hope of giving pain--say that in the same romance, which now begins really to take shape, i should leave to speak of dancer, and follow instead the harrow boys; and say that i came on some such business as that of my lantern-bearers on the links; and described the boys as very cold, spat upon by flurries of rain, and drearily surrounded, all of which they were; and their talk as silly and indecent, which it certainly was. i might upon these lines, and had i zola's genius, turn out, in a page or so, a gem of literary art, render the lantern-light with the touches of a master, and lay on the indecency with the ungrudging hand of love; and when all was done, what a triumph would my picture be of shallowness and dulness! how it would have missed the point! how it would have belied the boys! to the ear of the stenographer, the talk is merely silly and indecent; but ask the boys themselves, and they are discussing (as it is highly proper they should) the possibilities of existence. to the eye of the observer they are wet and cold and drearily surrounded; but ask themselves, and they are in the heaven of a recondite pleasure, the ground of which is an ill-smelling lantern. iii for, to repeat, the ground of a man's joy is often hard to hit. it may hinge at times upon a mere accessory, like the lantern; it may reside, like dancer's, in the mysterious inwards of psychology. it may consist with perpetual failure, and find exercise in the continued chase. it has so little bond with externals (such as the observer scribbles in his note-book) that it may even touch them not; and the man's true life, for which he consents to live, lie altogether in the field of fancy. the clergyman, in his spare hours, may be winning battles, the farmer sailing ships, the banker reaping triumph in the arts: all leading another life, plying another trade from that they chose; like the poet's housebuilder, who, after all, is cased in stone, "by his fireside, as impotent fancy prompts, rebuilds it to his liking." in such a case the poetry runs underground. the observer (poor soul, with his documents!) is all abroad. for to look at the man is but to court deception. we shall see the trunk from which he draws his nourishment; but he himself is above and abroad in the green dome of foliage, hummed through by winds and nested in by nightingales. and the true realism were that of the poets, to climb up after him like a squirrel, and catch some glimpse of the heaven for which he lives. and the true realism, always and everywhere, is that of the poets: to find out where joy resides, and give it a voice far beyond singing. for to miss the joy is to miss all. in the joy of the actors lies the sense of any action. that is the explanation, that the excuse. to one who has not the secret of the lanterns, the scene upon the links is meaningless. and hence the haunting and truly spectral unreality of realistic books. hence, when we read the english realists, the incredulous wonder with which we observe the hero's constancy under the submerging tide of dulness, and how he bears up with his jibbing sweetheart, and endures the chatter of idiot girls, and stands by his whole unfeatured wilderness of an existence, instead of seeking relief in drink or foreign travel. hence in the french, in that meat-market of middle-aged sensuality, the disgusted surprise with which we see the hero drift sidelong, and practically quite untempted, into every description of misconduct and dishonour. in each, we miss the personal poetry, the enchanted atmosphere, that rainbow work of fancy that clothes what is naked and seems to ennoble what is base; in each, life falls dead like dough, instead of soaring away like a balloon into the colours of the sunset; each is true, each inconceivable; for no man lives in external truth, among salts and acids, but in the warm, phantasmagoric chamber of his brain, with the painted windows and the storied walls. of this falsity we have had a recent example from a man who knows far better--tolstoi's "powers of darkness." here is a piece full of force and truth, yet quite untrue. for before mikita was led into so dire a situation he was tempted, and temptations are beautiful at least in part; and a work which dwells on the ugliness of crime and gives no hint of any loveliness in the temptation, sins against the modesty of life, and, even when tolstoi writes it, sinks to melodrama. the peasants are not understood; they saw their life in fairer colours; even the deaf girl was clothed in poetry for mikita, or he had never fallen. and so, once again, even an old bailey melodrama, without some brightness of poetry and lustre of existence, falls into the inconceivable and ranks with fairy tales. iv in nobler books we are moved with something like the emotions of life; and this emotion is very variously provoked. we are so moved when levine labours on the field, when andré sinks beyond emotion, when richard feverel and lucy desborough meet beside the river, when antony, "not cowardly, puts off his helmet," when kent has infinite pity on the dying lear, when, in dostoieffsky's "despised and rejected," the uncomplaining hero drains his cup of suffering and virtue. these are notes that please the great heart of man. not only love, and the fields, and the bright face of danger, but sacrifice and death and unmerited suffering humbly supported, touch in us the vein of the poetic. we love to think of them, we long to try them, we are humbly hopeful that we may prove heroes also. we have heard, perhaps, too much of lesser matters. here is the door, here is the open air. _itur in antiquam silvam._ footnote: [ ] wild cherries. later essays later essays i fontainebleau village communities of painters i the charm of fontainebleau is a thing apart. it is a place that people love even more than they admire. the vigorous forest air, the silence, the majestic avenues of highway, the wilderness of tumbled boulders, the great age and dignity of certain groves--these are but ingredients, they are not the secret of the philtre. the place is sanative; the air, the light, the perfumes, and the shapes of things concord in happy harmony. the artist may be idle and not fear the "blues." he may dally with his life. mirth, lyric mirth, and a vivacious classical contentment are of the very essence of the better kind of art; and these, in that most smiling forest, he has the chance to learn or to remember. even on the plain of bière, where the angelus of millet still tolls upon the ear of fancy, a larger air, a higher heaven, something ancient and healthy in the face of nature, purify the mind alike from dulness and hysteria. there is no place where the young are more gladly conscious of their youth, or the old better contented with their age. the fact of its great and special beauty further recommends this country to the artist. the field was chosen by men in whose blood there still raced some of the gleeful or solemn exultation of great art--millet who loved dignity like michelangelo, rousseau whose modern brush was dipped in the glamour of the ancients. it was chosen before the day of that strange turn in the history of art, of which we now perceive the culmination in impressionistic tales and pictures--that voluntary aversion of the eye from all speciously strong and beautiful effects--that disinterested love of dulness which has set so many peter bells to paint the river-side primrose. it was then chosen for its proximity to paris. and for the same cause, and by the force of tradition, the painter of to-day continues to inhabit and to paint it. there is in france scenery incomparable for romance and harmony. provence, and the valley of the rhone from vienne to tarascon, are one succession of masterpieces waiting for the brush. the beauty is not merely beauty; it tells, besides, a tale to the imagination, and surprises while it charms. here you shall see castellated towns that would befit the scenery of dreamland; streets that glow with colour like cathedral windows; hills of the most exquisite proportions; flowers of every precious colour, growing thick like grass. all these, by the grace of railway travel, are brought to the very door of the modern painter; yet he does not seek them; he remains faithful to fontainebleau, to the eternal bridge of grez, to the watering-pot cascade in cernay valley. even fontainebleau was chosen for him; even in fontainebleau he shrinks from what is sharply charactered. but one thing, at least, is certain: whatever he may choose to paint and in whatever manner, it is good for the artist to dwell among graceful shapes. fontainebleau, if it be but quiet scenery, is classically graceful; and though the student may look for different qualities, this quality, silently present, will educate his hand and eye. but, before all its other advantages--charm, loveliness, or proximity to paris--comes the great fact that it is already colonised. the institution of a painters' colony is a work of time and tact. the population must be conquered. the innkeeper has to be taught, and he soon learns, the lesson of unlimited credit; he must be taught to welcome as a favoured guest a young gentleman in a very greasy coat, and with little baggage beyond a box of colours and a canvas; and he must learn to preserve his faith in customers who will eat heartily and drink of the best, borrow money to buy tobacco, and perhaps not pay a stiver for a year. a colour merchant has next to be attracted. a certain vogue must be given to the place, lest the painter, most gregarious of animals, should find himself alone. and no sooner are these first difficulties overcome than fresh perils spring up upon the other side; and the bourgeois and the tourist are knocking at the gate. this is the crucial moment for the colony. if these intruders gain a footing, they not only banish freedom and amenity; pretty soon, by means of their long purses, they will have undone the education of the innkeeper; prices will rise and credit shorten; and the poor painter must fare farther on and find another hamlet. "not here, o apollo!" will become his song. thus trouville and, the other day, st. raphael were lost to the arts. curious and not always edifying are the shifts that the french student uses to defend his lair; like the cuttlefish, he must sometimes blacken the waters of his chosen pool; but at such a time and for so practical a purpose mrs. grundy must allow him licence. where his own purse and credit are not threatened, he will do the honours of his village generously. any artist is made welcome, through whatever medium he may seek expression; science is respected; even the idler, if he prove, as he so rarely does, a gentleman, will soon begin to find himself at home. and when that essentially modern creature, the english or american girl-student, began to walk calmly into his favourite inns as if into a drawing-room at home, the french painter owned himself defenceless; he submitted or he fled. his french respectability, quite as precise as ours, though covering different provinces of life, recoiled aghast before the innovation. but the girls were painters; there was nothing to be done; and barbizon, when i last saw it and for the time at least, was practically ceded to the fair invader. paterfamilias, on the other hand, the common tourist, the holiday shopman, and the cheap young gentleman upon the spree, he hounded from his villages with every circumstance of contumely. this purely artistic society is excellent for the young artist. the lads are mostly fools; they hold the latest orthodoxy in its crudeness; they are at that stage of education, for the most part, when a man is too much occupied with style to be aware of the necessity for any matter; and this, above all for the englishman, is excellent. to work grossly at the trade, to forget sentiment, to think of his material and nothing else, is, for a while at least, the king's highway of progress. here, in england, too many painters and writers dwell dispersed, unshielded, among the intelligent bourgeois. these, when they are not merely indifferent, prate to him about the lofty aims and moral influence of art. and this is the lad's ruin. for art is, first of all and last of all, a trade. the love of words and not a desire to publish new discoveries, the love of form and not a novel reading of historical events, mark the vocation of the writer and the painter. the arabesque, properly speaking, and even in literature, is the first fancy of the artist; he first plays with his material as a child plays with a kaleidoscope; and he is already in a second stage when he begins to use his pretty counters for the end of representation. in that, he must pause long and toil faithfully; that is his apprenticeship; and it is only the few who will really grow beyond it, and go forward, fully equipped, to do the business of real art--to give life to abstractions and significance and charm to facts. in the meanwhile, let him dwell much among his fellow-craftsmen. they alone can take a serious interest in the childish tasks and pitiful successes of these years. they alone can behold with equanimity this fingering of the dumb keyboard, this polishing of empty sentences, this dull and literal painting of dull and insignificant subjects. outsiders will spur him on. they will say, "why do you not write a great book? paint a great picture?" if his guardian angel fail him, they may even persuade him to the attempt, and, ten to one, his hand is coarsened and his style falsified for life. and this brings me to a warning. the life of the apprentice to any art is both unstrained and pleasing; it is strewn with small successes in the midst of a career of failure, patiently supported; the heaviest scholar is conscious of a certain progress; and if he come not appreciably nearer to the art of shakespeare, grows letter-perfect in the domain of a-b, ab. but the time comes when a man should cease prelusory gymnastic, stand up, put a violence upon his will, and, for better or worse, begin the business of creation. this evil day there is a tendency continually to postpone: above all with painters. they have made so many studies that it has become a habit; they make more, the walls of exhibitions blush with them; and death finds these aged students still busy with their horn-book. this class of man finds a congenial home in artist villages; in the slang of the english colony at barbizon we used to call them "snoozers." continual returns to the city, the society of men further advanced, the study of great works, a sense of humour or, if such a thing is to be had, a little religion or philosophy, are the means of treatment. it will be time enough to think of curing the malady after it has been caught; for to catch it is the very thing for which you seek that dream-land of the painters' village. "snoozing" is a part of the artistic education; and the rudiments must be learned stupidly, all else being forgotten, as if they were an object in themselves. lastly, there is something, or there seems to be something, in the very air of france that communicates the love of style. precision, clarity, the cleanly and crafty employment of material, a grace in the handling, apart from any value in the thought, seem to be acquired by the mere residence; or, if not acquired, become at least the more appreciated. the air of paris is alive with this technical inspiration. and to leave that airy city and awake next day upon the borders of the forest is but to change externals. the same spirit of dexterity and finish breathes from the long alleys and the lofty groves, from the wildernesses that are still pretty in their confusion, and the great plain that contrives to be decorative in its emptiness. ii in spite of its really considerable extent, the forest of fontainebleau is hardly anywhere tedious. i know the whole western side of it with what, i suppose, i may call thoroughness; well enough at least to testify that there is no square mile without some special character and charm. such quarters, for instance, as the long rocher, the bas-bréau, and the reine blanche might be a hundred miles apart; they have scarce a point in common beyond the silence of the birds. the two last are really conterminous; and in both are tall and ancient trees that have outlived a thousand political vicissitudes. but in the one the great oaks prosper placidly upon an even floor; they beshadow a great field; and the air and the light are very free below their stretching boughs. in the other the trees find difficult footing; castles of white rock lie tumbled one upon another, the foot slips, the crooked viper slumbers, the moss clings in the crevice; and above it all the great beech goes spiring and casting forth her arms, and, with a grace beyond church architecture, canopies this rugged chaos. meanwhile, dividing the two cantons, the broad white causeway of the paris road runs in an avenue; a road conceived for pageantry and for triumphal marches, an avenue for an army; but, its days of glory over, it now lies grilling in the sun between cool groves, and only at intervals the vehicle of the cruising tourist is seen far away and faintly audible along its ample sweep. a little upon one side, and you find a district of sand and birch and boulder; a little upon the other lies the valley of apremont, all juniper and heather; and close beyond that you may walk into a zone of pine trees. so artfully are the ingredients mingled. nor must it be forgotten that, in all this part, you come continually forth upon a hill-top, and behold the plain, northward and westward, like an unrefulgent sea; nor that all day long the shadows keep changing; and at last, to the red fires of sunset, night succeeds, and with the night a new forest, full of whisper, gloom, and fragrance. there are few things more renovating than to leave paris, the lamplit arches of the carrousel, and the long alignment of the glittering streets, and to bathe the senses in this fragrant darkness of the wood. in this continual variety the mind is kept vividly alive. it is a changeful place to paint, a stirring place to live in. as fast as your foot carries you, you pass from scene to scene, each vigorously painted in the colours of the sun, each endeared by that hereditary spell of forests on the mind of man, who still remembers and salutes the ancient refuge of his race. and yet the forest has been civilised throughout. the most savage corners bear a name, and have been cherished like antiquities; in the most remote, nature has prepared and balanced her effects as if with conscious art; and man, with his guiding arrows of blue paint, has countersigned the picture. after your farthest wandering, you are never surprised to come forth upon the vast avenue of highway, to strike the centre point of branching alleys, or to find the aqueduct trailing, thousand-footed, through the brush. it is not a wilderness; it is rather a preserve. and, fitly enough, the centre of the maze is not a hermit's cavern. in the midst, a little mirthful town lies sunlit, humming with the business of pleasure; and the palace, breathing distinction and peopled by historic names, stands smokeless among gardens. perhaps the last attempt at savage life was that of the harmless humbug who called himself the hermit. in a great tree, close by the highroad, he had built himself a little cabin after the manner of the swiss family robinson; thither he mounted at night, by the romantic aid of a rope ladder; and if dirt be any proof of sincerity, the man was savage as a sioux. i had the pleasure of his acquaintance; he appeared grossly stupid, not in his perfect wits, and interested in nothing but small change; for that he had a great avidity. in the course of time he proved to be a chicken-stealer, and vanished from his perch; and perhaps from the first he was no true votary of forest freedom, but an ingenious, theatrically-minded beggar, and his cabin in the tree was only stock-in-trade to beg withal. the choice of his position would seem to indicate so much; for if in the forest there are no places still to be discovered, there are many that have been forgotten, and that lie unvisited. there, to be sure, are the blue arrows waiting to reconduct you, now blazed upon a tree, now posted in the corner of a rock. but your security from interruption is complete; you might camp for weeks, if there were only water, and not a soul suspect your presence; and if i may suppose the reader to have committed some great crime and come to me for aid, i think i could still find my way to a small cavern, fitted with a hearth and chimney, where he might lie perfectly concealed. a confederate landscape-painter might daily supply him with food; for water, he would have to make a nightly tramp as far as to the nearest pond; and at last, when the hue and cry began to blow over, he might get gently on the train at some side station, work round by a series of junctions, and be quietly captured at the frontier. thus fontainebleau, although it is truly but a pleasure-ground, and although, in favourable weather, and in the more celebrated quarters, it literally buzzes with the tourist, yet has some of the immunities and offers some of the repose of natural forests. and the solitary, although he must return at night to his frequented inn, may yet pass the day with his own thoughts in the companionable silence of the trees. the demands of the imagination vary; some can be alone in a back garden looked upon by windows; others, like the ostrich, are content with a solitude that meets the eye; and others, again, expand in fancy to the very borders of their desert, and are irritably conscious of a hunter's camp in an adjacent county. to these last, of course, fontainebleau will seem but an extended tea-garden: a rosherville on a by-day. but to the plain man it offers solitude: an excellent thing in itself, and a good whet for company. iii i was for some time a consistent barbizonian; _et ego in arcadia vixi_; it was a pleasant season; and that noiseless hamlet lying close among the borders of the wood is for me, as for so many others, a green spot in memory. the great millet was just dead, the green shutters of his modest house were closed; his daughters were in mourning. the date of my first visit was thus an epoch in the history of art: in a lesser way, it was an epoch in the history of the latin quarter. the _petit cénacle_ was dead and buried; murger and his crew of sponging vagabonds were all at rest from their expedients; the tradition of their real life was nearly lost; and the petrified legend of the _vie de bohême_ had become a sort of gospel, and still gave the cue to zealous imitators. but if the book be written in rose-water, the imitation was still further expurgated; honesty was the rule; the innkeepers gave, as i have said, almost unlimited credit; they suffered the seediest painter to depart, to take all his belongings, and to leave his bill unpaid; and if they sometimes lost, it was by english and americans alone. at the same time, the great influx of anglo-saxons had begun to affect the life of the studious. there had been disputes; and, in one instance at least, the english and the americans had made common cause to prevent a cruel pleasantry. it would be well if nations and races could communicate their qualities; but in practice when they look upon each other, they have an eye to nothing but defects. the anglo-saxon is essentially dishonest; the french is devoid by nature of the principle that we call "fair play." the frenchman marvelled at the scruples of his guest, and, when that defender of innocence retired overseas and left his bills unpaid, he marvelled once again; the good and evil were, in his eyes, part and parcel of the same eccentricity; a shrug expressed his judgment upon both. at barbizon there was no master, no pontiff in the arts. palizzi bore rule at grez--urbane, superior rule--his memory rich in anecdotes of the great men of yore, his mind fertile in theories; sceptical, composed, and venerable to the eye; and yet beneath these outworks, all twittering with italian superstition, his eye scouting for omens, and the whole fabric of his manners giving way on the appearance of a hunchback. cernay had pelouse, the admirable, placid pelouse, smilingly critical of youth, who, when a full-blown commercial traveller suddenly threw down his samples, bought a colour-box, and became the master whom we have all admired. marlotte, for a central figure, boasted olivier de penne. only barbizon, since the death of millet, was a headless commonwealth. even its secondary lights, and those who in my day made the stranger welcome, have since deserted it. the good lachèvre has departed, carrying his household gods; and long before that gaston lafenestre was taken from our midst by an untimely death. he died before he had deserved success; it may be, he would never have deserved it; but his kind, comely, modest countenance still haunts the memory of all who knew him. another--whom i will not name--has moved farther on, pursuing the strange odyssey of his decadence. his days of royal favour had departed even then; but he still retained, in his narrower life at barbizon, a certain stamp of conscious importance, hearty, friendly, filling the room, the occupant of several chairs; nor had he yet ceased his losing battle, still labouring upon great canvases that none would buy, still waiting the return of fortune. but these days also were too good to last; and the former favourite of two sovereigns fled, if i heard the truth, by night. there was a time when he was counted a great man, and millet but a dauber; behold, how the whirligig of time brings in his revenges! to pity millet is a piece of arrogance; if life be hard for such resolute and pious spirits, it is harder still for us, had we the wit to understand it; but we may pity his unhappier rival, who, for no apparent merit, was raised to opulence and momentary fame, and, through no apparent fault, was suffered step by step to sink again to nothing. no misfortune can exceed the bitterness of such back-foremost progress, even bravely supported as it was; but to those also who were taken early from the easel, a regret is due. from all the young men of this period, one stood out by the vigour of his promise; he was in the age of fermentation, enamoured of eccentricities. "_il faut faire de la peinture nouvelle_," was his watchword; but if time and experience had continued his education, if he had been granted health to return from these excursions to the steady and the central, i must believe that the name of hills had become famous. siron's inn, that excellent artists' barrack, was managed upon easy principles. at any hour of the night, when you returned from wandering in the forest, you went to the billiard-room and helped yourself to liquors, or descended to the cellar and returned laden with beer or wine. the sirons were all locked in slumber; there was none to check your inroads; only at the week's end a computation was made, the gross sum was divided, and a varying share set down to every lodger's name under the rubric: _estrats_. upon the more long-suffering the larger tax was levied; and your bill lengthened in a direct proportion to the easiness of your disposition. at any hour of the morning, again, you could get your coffee or cold milk, and set forth into the forest. the doves had perhaps wakened you, fluttering into your chamber; and on the threshold of the inn you were met by the aroma of the forest. close by were the great aisles, the mossy boulders, the interminable field of forest shadow. there you were free to dream and wander. and at noon, and again at six o'clock, a good meal awaited you on siron's table. the whole of your accommodation, set aside that varying item of the _estrats_, cost you five francs a day; your bill was never offered you until you asked it; and if you were out of luck's way, you might depart for where you pleased and leave it pending. iv theoretically, the house was open to all comers; practically, it was a kind of club. the guests protected themselves, and, in so doing, they protected siron. formal manners being laid aside, essential courtesy was the more rigidly exacted; the new arrival had to feel the pulse of the society; and a breach of its undefined observances was promptly punished. a man might be as plain, as dull, as slovenly, as free of speech as he desired; but to a touch of presumption or a word of hectoring these free barbizonians were as sensitive as a tea-party of maiden ladies. i have seen people driven forth from barbizon; it would be difficult to say in words what they had done, but they deserved their fate. they had shown themselves unworthy to enjoy these corporate freedoms; they had pushed themselves; they had "made their head"; they wanted tact to appreciate the "fine shades" of barbizonian etiquette. and, once they were condemned, the process of extrusion was ruthless in its cruelty; after one evening with the formidable bodmer, the bailly of our commonwealth, the erring stranger was beheld no more; he rose exceeding early the next day, and the first coach conveyed him from the scene of his discomfiture. these sentences of banishment were never, in my knowledge, delivered against an artist; such would, i believe, have been illegal; but the odd and pleasant fact is this, that they were never needed. painters, sculptors, writers, singers, i have seen all of these in barbizon; and some were sulky, and some blatant and inane; but one and all entered at once into the spirit of the association. this singular society is purely french, a creature of french virtues, and possibly of french defects. it cannot be imitated by the english. the roughness, the impatience, the more obvious selfishness, and even the more ardent friendships of the anglo-saxon, speedily dismember such a commonwealth. but this random gathering of young french painters, with neither apparatus nor parade of government, yet kept the life of the place upon a certain footing, insensibly imposed their etiquette upon the docile, and by caustic speech enforced their edicts against the unwelcome. to think of it is to wonder the more at the strange failure of their race upon the larger theatre. this inbred civility--to use the word in its completest meaning--this natural and facile adjustment of contending liberties, seems all that is required to make a governable nation and a just and prosperous country. our society, thus purged and guarded, was full of high spirits, of laughter, and of the initiative of youth. the few elder men who joined us were still young at heart, and took the key from their companions. we returned from long stations in the fortifying air, our blood renewed by the sunshine, our spirits refreshed by the silence of the forest; the babel of loud voices sounded good; we fell to eat and play like the natural man; and in the high inn chamber, panelled with indifferent pictures and lit by candles guttering in the night air, the talk and laughter sounded far into the night. it was a good place and a good life for any naturally-minded youth; better yet for the student of painting, and perhaps best of all for the student of letters. he, too, was saturated in this atmosphere of style; he was shut out from the disturbing currents of the world, he might forget that there existed other and more pressing interests than that of art. but, in such a place, it was hardly possible to write; he could not drug his conscience, like the painter, by the production of listless studies; he saw himself idle among many who were apparently, and some who were really, employed; and what with the impulse of increasing health and the continual provocation of romantic scenes, he became tormented with the desire to work. he enjoyed a strenuous idleness, full of visions, hearty meals, long, sweltering walks, mirth among companions; and, still floating like music through his brain, foresights of great works that shakespeare might be proud to have conceived, headless epics, glorious torsos of dramas, and words that were alive with import. so in youth, like moses from the mountain, we have sights of that house beautiful of art which we shall never enter. they are dreams and unsubstantial; visions of style that repose upon no base of human meaning; the last heart-throbs of that excited amateur who has to die in all of us before the artist can be born. but they come to us in such a rainbow of glory that all subsequent achievement appears dull and earthly in comparison. we were all artists; almost all in the age of illusion, cultivating an imaginary genius, and walking to the strains of some deceiving ariel; small wonder, indeed, if we were happy! but art, of whatever nature, is a kind mistress; and though these dreams of youth fall by their own baselessness, others succeed, graver and more substantial; the symptoms change, the amiable malady endures; and still, at an equal distance, the house beautiful shines upon its hill-top. v grez lies out of the forest, down by the bright river. it boasts a mill, an ancient church, a castle, and a bridge of many sterlings. and the bridge is a piece of public property; anonymously famous; beaming on the incurious dilettante from the walls of a hundred exhibitions. i have seen it in the salon; i have seen it in the academy; i have seen it in the last french exposition, excellently done by bloomer; in a black-and-white by mr. a. henley, it once adorned this essay in the pages of the _magazine of art_. long-suffering bridge! and if you visit grez to-morrow, you shall find another generation, camped at the bottom of chevillon's garden under their white umbrellas, and doggedly painting it again. the bridge taken for granted, grez is a less inspiring place than barbizon. i give it the palm over cernay. there is something ghastly in the great empty village square of cernay, with the inn tables standing in one corner, as though the stage were set for rustic opera, and in the early morning all the painters breaking their fast upon white wine under the windows of the villagers. it is vastly different to awake in grez, to go down the green inn-garden, to find the river streaming through the bridge, and to see the dawn begin across the poplared level. the meals are laid in the cool arbour, under fluttering leaves. the splash of oars and bathers, the bathing costumes out to dry, the trim canoes beside the jetty, tell of a society that has an eye to pleasure. there is "something to do" at grez. perhaps, for that very reason, i can recall no such enduring ardours, no such glories of exhilaration, as among the solemn groves and uneventful hours of barbizon. this "something to do" is a great enemy to joy; it is a way out of it; you wreak your high spirits on some cut-and-dry employment, and behold them gone! but grez is a merry place after its kind: pretty to see, merry to inhabit. the course of its pellucid river, whether up or down, is full of gentle attractions for the navigator: islanded reed-mazes where, in autumn, the red berries cluster; the mirrored and inverted images of trees; lilies, and mills, and the foam and thunder of weirs. and of all noble sweeps of roadway, none is nobler, on a windy dusk, than the highroad to nemours between its lines of talking poplar. but even grez is changed. the old inn, long shored and trussed and buttressed, fell at length under the mere weight of years, and the place as it was is but a fading image in the memory of former guests. they, indeed, recall the ancient wooden stair; they recall the rainy evening, the wide hearth, the blaze of the twig fire, and the company that gathered round the pillar in the kitchen. but the material fabric is now dust; soon, with the last of its inhabitants, its very memory shall follow; and they, in their turn, shall suffer the same law, and, both in name and lineament, vanish from the world of men. "for remembrance of the old house' sake," as pepys once quaintly put it, let me tell one story. when the tide of invasion swept over france, two foreign painters were left stranded and penniless in grez; and there, until the war was over, the chevillons ungrudgingly harboured them. it was difficult to obtain supplies; but the two waifs were still welcome to the best, sat down daily with the family to table, and at the due intervals were supplied with clean napkins, which they scrupled to employ. madame chevillon observed the fact and reprimanded them. but they stood firm; eat they must, but having no money they would soil no napkins. vi nemours and moret, for all they are so picturesque, have been little visited by painters. they are, indeed, too populous; they have manners of their own, and might resist the drastic process of colonisation. montigny has been somewhat strangely neglected; i never knew it inhabited but once, when will h. low installed himself there with a barrel of _piquette_, and entertained his friends in a leafy trellis above the weir, in sight of the green country and to the music of the falling water. it was a most airy, quaint, and pleasant place of residence, just too rustic to be stagey; and from my memories of the place in general, and that garden trellis in particular--at morning, visited by birds, or at night, when the dew fell and the stars were of the party--i am inclined to think perhaps too favourably of the future of montigny. chailly-en-bière has outlived all things, and lies dustily slumbering in the plain--the cemetery of itself. the great road remains to testify of its former bustle of postilions and carriage bells; and, like memorial tablets, there still hang in the inn room the paintings of a former generation, dead or decorated long ago. in my time, one man only, greatly daring, dwelt there. from time to time he would walk over to barbizon, like a shade revisiting the glimpses of the moon, and after some communication with flesh and blood return to his austere hermitage. but even he, when i last revisited the forest, had come to barbizon for good, and closed the roll of the chaillyites. it may revive--but i much doubt it. achères and recloses still wait a pioneer; bourron is out of the question, being merely grez over again, without the river, the bridge, or the beauty; and of all the possible places on the western side, marlotte alone remains to be discussed. i scarcely know marlotte, and, very likely for that reason, am not much in love with it. it seems a glaring and unsightly hamlet. the inn of mother antonie is unattractive; and its more reputable rival, though comfortable enough, is commonplace. marlotte has a name; it is famous; if i were the young painter i would leave it alone in its glory. vii these are the words of an old stager; and though time is a good conservative in forest places, much may be untrue to-day. many of us have passed arcadian days there and moved on, but yet left a portion of our souls behind us buried in the woods. i would not dig for these reliquiæ; they are incommunicable treasures that will not enrich the finder; and yet there may lie, interred below great oaks or scattered along forest paths, stores of youth's dynamite and dear remembrances. and as one generation passes on and renovates the field of tillage for the next, i entertain a fancy that when the young men of to-day go forth into the forest they shall find the air still vitalised by the spirits of their predecessors, and, like those "unheard melodies" that are the sweetest of all, the memory of our laughter shall still haunt the field of trees. those merry voices that in woods call the wanderer farther, those thrilling silences and whispers of the groves, surely in fontainebleau they must be vocal of me and my companions? we are not content to pass away entirely from the scenes of our delight; we would leave, if but in gratitude, a pillar and a legend. one generation after another fall like honey-bees upon this memorable forest, rifle its sweets, pack themselves with vital memories, and when the theft is consummated depart again into life richer, but poorer also. the forest, indeed, they have possessed, from that day forward it is theirs indissolubly, and they will return to walk in it at night in the fondest of their dreams, and use it for ever in their books and pictures. yet when they made their packets, and put up their notes and sketches, something, it should seem, had been forgotten. a projection of themselves shall appear to haunt unfriended these scenes of happiness, a natural child of fancy, begotten and forgotten unawares. over the whole field of our wanderings such fetches are still travelling like indefatigable bagmen; but the imps of fontainebleau, as of all beloved spots, are very long of life, and memory is piously unwilling to forget their orphanage. if anywhere about that wood you meet my airy bantling, greet him with tenderness. he was a pleasant lad, though now abandoned. and when it comes to your own turn to quit the forest, may you leave behind you such another; no antony or werther, let us hope, no tearful whipster, but, as becomes this not uncheerful and most active age in which we figure, the child of happy hours. no art, it may be said, was ever perfect, and not many noble, that has not been mirthfully conceived. and no man, it may be added, was ever anything but a wet blanket and a cross to his companions who boasted not a copious spirit of enjoyment. whether as man or artist, let the youth make haste to fontainebleau, and once there let him address himself to the spirit of the place; he will learn more from exercise than from studies, although both are necessary; and if he can get into his heart the gaiety and inspiration of the woods he will have gone far to undo the evil of his sketches. a spirit once well strung up to the concert-pitch of the primeval out-of-doors will hardly dare to finish a study and magniloquently ticket it a picture. the incommunicable thrill of things, that is the tuning-fork by which we test the flatness of our art. here it is that nature teaches and condemns, and still spurs up to further effort and new failure. thus it is that she sets us blushing at our ignorant and tepid works; and the more we find of these inspiring shocks the less shall we be apt to love the literal in our productions. in all sciences and senses the letter kills; and to-day, when cackling human geese express their ignorant condemnation of all studio pictures, it is a lesson most useful to be learnt. let the young painter go to fontainebleau, and while he stupefies himself with studies that teach him the mechanical side of his trade, let him walk in the great air, and be a servant of mirth, and not pick and botanise, but wait upon the moods of nature. so he will learn--or learn not to forget--the poetry of life and earth, which, when he has acquired his track, will save him from joyless reproduction. ii a note on realism style is the invariable mark of any master; and for the student who does not aspire so high as to be numbered with the giants, it is still the one quality in which he may improve himself at will. passion, wisdom, creative force, the power of mystery or colour, are allotted in the hour of birth, and can be neither learned nor simulated. but the just and dexterous use of what qualities we have, the proportion of one part to another and to the whole, the elision of the useless, the accentuation of the important, and the preservation of a uniform character from end to end--these, which taken together constitute technical perfection, are to some degree within the reach of industry and intellectual courage. what to put in and what to leave out; whether some particular fact be organically necessary or purely ornamental; whether, if it be purely ornamental, it may not weaken or obscure the general design; and finally, whether, if we decide to use it, we should do so grossly and notably, or in some conventional disguise: are questions of plastic style continually re-arising. and the sphinx that patrols the highways of executive art has no more unanswerable riddle to propound. in literature (from which i must draw my instances) the great change of the past century has been effected by the admission of detail. it was inaugurated by the romantic scott; and at length, by the semi-romantic balzac and his more or less wholly unromantic followers, bound like a duty on the novelist. for some time it signified and expressed a more ample contemplation of the conditions of man's life; but it has recently (at least in france) fallen into a merely technical and decorative stage, which it is, perhaps, still too harsh to call survival. with a movement of alarm, the wiser or more timid begin to fall a little back from these extremities; they begin to aspire after a more naked, narrative articulation; after the succinct, the dignified, and the poetic; and as a means to this, after a general lightening of this baggage of detail. after scott we beheld the starveling story--once, in the hands of voltaire, as abstract as a parable--begin to be pampered upon facts. the introduction of these details developed a particular ability of hand; and that ability, childishly indulged, has led to the works that now amaze us on a railway journey. a man of the unquestionable force of m. zola spends himself on technical successes. to afford a popular flavour and attract the mob, he adds a steady current of what i may be allowed to call the rancid. that is exciting to the moralist; but what more particularly interests the artist is this tendency of the extreme of detail, when followed as a principle, to degenerate into mere _feux-de-joie_ of literary tricking. the other day even m. daudet was to be heard babbling of audible colours and visible sounds. this odd suicide of one branch of the realists may serve to remind us of the fact which underlies a very dusty conflict of the critics. all representative art, which can be said to live, is both realistic and ideal; and the realism about which we quarrel is a matter purely of externals. it is no especial cultus of nature and veracity, but a mere whim of veering fashion, that has made us turn our back upon the larger, more various, and more romantic art of yore. a photographic exactitude in dialogue is now the exclusive fashion; but even in the ablest hands it tells us no more--i think it even tells us less--than molière, wielding his artificial medium, has told to us and to all time of alceste or orgon, dorine or chrysale. the historical novel is forgotten. yet truth to the conditions of man's nature and the conditions of man's life, the truth of literary art, is free of the ages. it may be told us in a carpet comedy, in a novel of adventure, or a fairy tale. the scene may be pitched in london, on the sea-coast of bohemia, or away on the mountains of beulah. and by an odd and luminous accident, if there is any page of literature calculated to awake the envy of m. zola, it must be that "troilus and cressida" which shakespeare, in a spasm of unmanly anger with the world, grafted on the heroic story of the siege of troy. this question of realism, let it then be clearly understood, regards not in the least degree the fundamental truth, but only the technical method, of a work of art. be as ideal or as abstract as you please, you will be none the less veracious; but if you be weak, you run the risk of being tedious and inexpressive; and if you be very strong and honest, you may chance upon a masterpiece. a work of art is first cloudily conceived in the mind; during the period of gestation it stands more clearly forward from these swaddling mists, puts on expressive lineaments, and becomes at length that most faultless, but also, alas! that incommunicable product of the human mind, a perfected design. on the approach to execution all is changed. the artist must now step down, don his working clothes, and become the artisan. he now resolutely commits his airy conception, his delicate ariel, to the touch of matter; he must decide, almost in a breath, the scale, the style, the spirit, and the particularity of execution of his whole design. the engendering idea of some works is stylistic; a technical pre-occupation stands them instead of some robuster principle of life. and with these the execution is but play; for the stylistic problem is resolved beforehand, and all large originality of treatment wilfully foregone. such are the verses, intricately designed, which we have learnt to admire, with a certain smiling admiration, at the hands of mr. lang and mr. dobson; such, too, are those canvases where dexterity or even breadth of plastic style takes the place of pictorial nobility of design. so, it may be remarked, it was easier to begin to write "esmond" than "vanity fair," since, in the first, the style was dictated by the nature of the plan; and thackeray, a man probably of some indolence of mind, enjoyed and got good profit of this economy of effort. but the case is exceptional. usually in all works of art that have been conceived from within outwards, and generously nourished from the author's mind, the moment in which he begins to execute is one of extreme perplexity and strain. artists of indifferent energy and an imperfect devotion to their own ideal make this ungrateful effort once for all; and, having formed a style, adhere to it through life. but those of a higher order cannot rest content with a process which, as they continue to employ it, must infallibly degenerate towards the academic and the cut-and-dried. every fresh work in which they embark is the signal for a fresh engagement of the whole forces of their mind; and the changing views which accompany the growth of their experience are marked by still more sweeping alterations in the manner of their art. so that criticism loves to dwell upon and distinguish the varying periods of a raphael, a shakespeare, or a beethoven. it is, then, first of all, at this initial and decisive moment when execution is begun, and thenceforth only in a less degree, that the ideal and the real do indeed, like good and evil angels, contend for the direction of the work. marble, paint, and language, the pen, the needle, and the brush, all have their grossnesses, their ineffable impotences, their hours, if i may so express myself, of insubordination. it is the work and it is a great part of the delight of any artist to contend with these unruly tools, and now by brute energy, now by witty expedient, to drive and coax them to effect his will. given these means, so laughably inadequate, and given the interest, the intensity, and the multiplicity of the actual sensation whose effect he is to render with their aid, the artist has one main and necessary resource which he must, in every case and upon any theory, employ. he must, that is, suppress much and omit more. he must omit what is tedious or irrelevant, and suppress what is tedious and necessary. but such facts as, in regard to the main design, subserve a variety of purposes, he will perforce and eagerly retain. and it is the mark of the very highest order of creative art to be woven exclusively of such. there, any fact that is registered is contrived a double or a treble debt to pay, and is at once an ornament in its place and a pillar in the main design. nothing would find room in such a picture that did not serve, at once, to complete the composition, to accentuate the scheme of colour, to distinguish the planes of distance, and to strike the note of the selected sentiment; nothing would be allowed in such a story that did not, at the same time, expedite the progress of the fable, build up the characters, and strike home the moral or the philosophical design. but this is unattainable. as a rule, so far from building the fabric of our works exclusively with these, we are thrown into a rapture if we think we can muster a dozen or a score of them, to be the plums of our confection. and hence, in order that the canvas may be filled or the story proceed from point to point, other details must be admitted. they must be admitted, alas! upon a doubtful title; many without marriage robes. thus any work of art, as it proceeds towards completion, too often--i had almost written always--loses in force and poignancy of main design. our little air is swamped and dwarfed among hardly relevant orchestration; our little passionate story drowns in a deep sea of descriptive eloquence or slipshod talk. but again, we are rather more tempted to admit those particulars which we know we can describe; and hence those most of all which, having been described very often, have grown to be conventionally treated in the practice of our art. these we choose, as the mason chooses the acanthus to adorn his capital, because they come naturally to the accustomed hand. the old stock incidents and accessories, tricks of workmanship and schemes of composition (all being admirably good, or they would long have been forgotten) haunt and tempt our fancy; offer us ready-made but not perfectly appropriate solutions for any problem that arises; and wean us from the study of nature and the uncompromising practice of art. to struggle, to face nature, to find fresh solutions, and give expression to facts which have not yet been adequately or not yet elegantly expressed, is to run a little upon the danger of extreme self-love. difficulty sets a high price upon achievement; and the artist may easily fall into the error of the french naturalists, and consider any fact as welcome to admission if it be the ground of brilliant handiwork; or, again, into the error of the modern landscape-painter, who is apt to think that difficulty overcome and science well displayed can take the place of what is, after all, the one excuse and breath of art--charm. a little further, and he will regard charm in the light of an unworthy sacrifice to prettiness, and the omission of a tedious passage as an infidelity to art. we have now the matter of this difference before us. the idealist, his eye singly fixed upon the greater outlines, loves rather to fill up the interval with detail of the conventional order, briefly touched, soberly suppressed in tone, courting neglect. but the realist, with a fine intemperance, will not suffer the presence of anything so dead as a convention; he shall have all fiery, all hot-pressed from nature, all charactered and notable, seizing the eye. the style that befits either of these extremes, once chosen, brings with it its necessary disabilities and dangers. the immediate danger of the realist is to sacrifice the beauty and significance of the whole to local dexterity, or, in the insane pursuit of completion, to immolate his readers under facts; but he comes in the last resort, and as his energy declines, to discard all design, abjure all choice, and, with scientific thoroughness, steadily to communicate matter which is not worth learning. the danger of the idealist is, of course, to become merely null and lose all grip of fact, particularity, or passion. we talk of bad and good. everything, indeed, is good which is conceived with honesty and executed with communicative ardour. but though on neither side is dogmatism fitting, and though in every case the artist must decide for himself, and decide afresh and yet afresh for each succeeding work and new creation; yet one thing may be generally said, that we of the last quarter of the nineteenth century, breathing as we do the intellectual atmosphere of our age, are more apt to err upon the side of realism than to sin in quest of the ideal. upon that theory it may be well to watch and correct our own decisions, always holding back the hand from the least appearance of irrelevant dexterity, and resolutely fixed to begin no work that is not philosophical, passionate, dignified, happily mirthful, or at the last and least, romantic in design. iii on some technical elements of style in literature there is nothing more disenchanting to man than to be shown the springs and mechanism of any art. all our arts and occupations lie wholly on the surface; it is on the surface that we perceive their beauty, fitness, and significance; and to pry below is to be appalled by their emptiness and shocked by the coarseness of the strings and pulleys. in a similar way, psychology itself, when pushed to any nicety, discovers an abhorrent baldness, but rather from the fault of our analysis than from any poverty native to the mind. and perhaps in æsthetics the reason is the same: those disclosures which seem fatal to the dignity of art seem so perhaps only in the proportion of our ignorance; and those conscious and unconscious artifices which it seems unworthy of the serious artist to employ were yet, if we had the power to trace them to their springs, indications of a delicacy of the sense finer than we conceive, and hints of ancient harmonies in nature. this ignorance at least is largely irremediable. we shall never learn the affinities of beauty, for they lie too deep in nature and too far back in the mysterious history of man. the amateur, in consequence, will always grudgingly receive details of method, which can be stated but can never wholly be explained; nay, on the principle laid down in hudibras, that "still the less they understand, the more they admire the sleight-of-hand," many are conscious at each new disclosure of a diminution in the ardour of their pleasure. i must therefore warn that well-known character, the general reader, that i am here embarked upon a most distasteful business: taking down the picture from the wall and looking on the back; and, like the inquiring child, pulling the musical cart to pieces. . _choice of words_.--the art of literature stands apart from among its sisters, because the material in which the literary artist works is the dialect of life; hence, on the one hand, a strange freshness and immediacy of address to the public mind, which is ready prepared to understand it; but hence, on the other, a singular limitation. the sister arts enjoy the use of a plastic and ductile material, like the modeller's clay; literature alone is condemned to work in mosaic with finite and quite rigid words. you have seen these blocks, dear to the nursery: this one a pillar, that a pediment, a third a window or a vase. it is with blocks of just such arbitrary size and figure that the literary architect is condemned to design the palace of his art. nor is this all; for since these blocks, or words, are the acknowledged currency of our daily affairs, there are here possible none of those suppressions by which other arts obtain relief, continuity and vigour; no hieroglyphic touch, no smoothed impasto, no inscrutable shadow, as in painting; no blank wall, as in architecture; but every word, phrase, sentence, and paragraph must move in a logical progression, and convey a definite conventional import. now, the first merit which attracts in the pages of a good writer, or the talk of a brilliant conversationalist, is the apt choice and contrast of the words employed. it is, indeed, a strange art to take these blocks, rudely conceived for the purpose of the market or the bar, and by tact of application touch them to the finest meanings and distinctions, restore to them their primal energy, wittily shift them to another issue, or make of them a drum to rouse the passions. but though this form of merit is without doubt the most sensible and seizing, it is far from being equally present in all writers. the effect of words in shakespeare, their singular justice, significance, and poetic charm, is different, indeed, from the effect of words in addison or fielding. or, to take an example nearer home, the words in carlyle seem electrified into an energy of lineament, like the faces of men furiously moved; whilst the words in macaulay, apt enough to convey his meaning, harmonious enough in sound, yet glide from the memory like undistinguished elements in a general effect. but the first class of writers have no monopoly of literary merit. there is a sense in which addison is superior to carlyle; a sense in which cicero is better than tacitus, in which voltaire excels montaigne: it certainly lies not in the choice of words; it lies not in the interest or value of the matter; it lies not in force of intellect, of poetry, or of humour. the three first are but infants to the three second; and yet each, in a particular point of literary art, excels his superior in the whole. what is that point? . _the web_.--literature, although it stands apart by reason of the great destiny and general use of its medium in the affairs of men, is yet an art like other arts. of these we may distinguish two great classes: those arts, like sculpture, painting, acting, which are representative, or, as used to be said very clumsily, imitative; and those, like architecture, music, and the dance, which are self-sufficient, and merely presentative. each class, in right of this distinction, obeys principles apart; yet both may claim a common ground of existence, and it may be said with sufficient justice that the motive and end of any art whatever is to make a pattern; a pattern, it may be, of colours, of sounds, of changing attitudes, geometrical figures, or imitative lines; but still a pattern. that is the plane on which these sisters meet; it is by this that they are arts; and if it be well they should at times forget their childish origin, addressing their intelligence to virile tasks, and performing unconsciously that necessary function of their life, to make a pattern, it is still imperative that the pattern shall be made. music and literature, the two temporal arts, contrive their pattern of sounds in time; or, in other words, of sounds and pauses. communication may be made in broken words, the business of life be carried on with substantives alone; but that is not what we call literature; and the true business of the literary artist is to plait or weave his meaning, involving it around itself; so that each sentence, by successive phrases, shall first come into a kind of knot, and then, after a moment of suspended meaning, solve and clear itself. in every properly constructed sentence there should be observed this knot or hitch; so that (however delicately) we are led to foresee, to expect, and then to welcome the successive phrases. the pleasure may be heightened by an element of surprise, as, very grossly, in the common figure of the antithesis, or, with much greater subtlety, where an antithesis is first suggested and then deftly evaded. each phrase, besides, is to be comely in itself; and between the implication and the evolution of the sentence there should be a satisfying equipoise of sound; for nothing more often disappoints the ear than a sentence solemnly and sonorously prepared, and hastily and weakly finished. nor should the balance be too striking and exact, for the one rule is to be infinitely various; to interest, to disappoint, to surprise, and yet still to gratify; to be ever changing, as it were, the stitch, and yet still to give the effect of an ingenious neatness. the conjurer juggles with two oranges, and our pleasure in beholding him springs from this, that neither is for an instant overlooked or sacrificed. so with the writer. his pattern, which is to please the supersensual ear, is yet addressed, throughout and first of all, to the demands of logic. whatever be the obscurities, whatever the intricacies of the argument, the neatness of the fabric must not suffer, or the artist has been proved unequal to his design. and, on the other hand, no form of words must be selected, no knot must be tied among the phrases, unless knot and word be precisely what is wanted to forward and illuminate the argument; for to fail in this is to swindle in the game. the genius of prose rejects the _cheville_ no less emphatically than the laws of verse; and the _cheville_, i should perhaps explain to some of my readers, is any meaningless or very watered phrase employed to strike a balance in the sound. pattern and argument live in each other; and it is by the brevity, clearness, charm, or emphasis of the second, that we judge the strength and fitness of the first. style is synthetic; and the artist, seeking, so to speak, a peg to plait about, takes up at once two or more elements or two or more views of the subject in hand; combines, implicates, and contrasts them; and while, in one sense, he was merely seeking an occasion for the necessary knot, he will be found, in the other, to have greatly enriched the meaning, or to have transacted the work of two sentences in the space of one. in the change from the successive shallow statements of the old chronicler to the dense and luminous flow of highly synthetic narrative, there is implied a vast amount of both philosophy and wit. the philosophy we clearly see, recognising in the synthetic writer a far more deep and stimulating view of life, and a far keener sense of the generation and affinity of events. the wit we might imagine to be lost; but it is not so, for it is just that wit, these perpetual nice contrivances, these difficulties overcome, this double purpose attained, these two oranges kept simultaneously dancing in the air, that, consciously or not, afford the reader his delight. nay, and this wit, so little recognised, is the necessary organ of that philosophy which we so much admire. that style is therefore the most perfect, not, as fools say, which is the most natural, for the most natural is the disjointed babble of the chronicler; but which attains the highest degree of elegant and pregnant implication unobtrusively; or if obtrusively, then with the greatest gain to sense and vigour. even the derangement of the phrases from their (so-called) natural order is luminous for the mind; and it is by the means of such designed reversal that the elements of a judgment may be most pertinently marshalled, or the stages of a complicated action most perspicuously bound into one. the web, then, or the pattern: a web at once sensuous and logical, an elegant and pregnant texture: that is style, that is the foundation of the art of literature. books indeed continue to be read, for the interest of the fact or fable, in which this quality is poorly represented, but still it will be there. and, on the other hand, how many do we continue to peruse and reperuse with pleasure whose only merit is the elegance of texture? i am tempted to mention cicero; and since mr. anthony trollope is dead, i will. it is a poor diet for the mind, a very colourless and toothless "criticism of life"; but we enjoy the pleasure of a most intricate and dexterous pattern, every stitch a model at once of elegance and of good sense; and the two oranges, even if one of them be rotten, kept dancing with inimitable grace. up to this moment i have had my eye mainly upon prose; for though in verse also the implication of the logical texture is a crowning beauty, yet in verse it may be dispensed with. you would think that here was a death-blow to all i have been saying; and far from that, it is but a new illustration of the principle involved. for if the versifier is not bound to weave a pattern of his own, it is because another pattern has been formally imposed upon him by the laws of verse. for that is the essence of a prosody. verse may be rhythmical; it may be merely alliterative; it may, like the french, depend wholly on the (quasi) regular recurrence of the rhyme; or, like the hebrew, it may consist in the strangely fanciful device of repeating the same idea. it does not matter on what principle the law is based, so it be a law. it may be pure convention; it may have no inherent beauty; all that we have a right to ask of any prosody is, that it shall lay down a pattern for the writer, and that what it lays down shall be neither too easy nor too hard. hence it comes that it is much easier for men of equal facility to write fairly pleasing verse than reasonably interesting prose; for in prose the pattern itself has to be invented, and the difficulties first created before they can be solved. hence, again, there follows the peculiar greatness of the true versifier: such as shakespeare, milton, and victor hugo, whom i place beside them as versifier merely, not as poet. these not only knit and knot the logical texture of the style with all the dexterity and strength of prose; they not only fill up the pattern of the verse with infinite variety and sober wit; but they give us, besides, a rare and special pleasure, by the art, comparable to that of counterpoint, with which they follow at the same time, and now contrast, and now combine, the double pattern of the texture and the verse. here the sounding line concludes; a little further on, the well-knit sentence; and yet a little further, and both will reach their solution on the same ringing syllable. the best that can be offered by the best writer of prose is to show us the development of the idea and the stylistic pattern proceed hand in hand, sometimes by an obvious and triumphant effort, sometimes with a great air of ease and nature. the writer of verse, by virtue of conquering another difficulty, delights us with a new series of triumphs. he follows three purposes where his rival followed only two; and the change is of precisely the same nature as that from melody to harmony. or if you prefer to return to the juggler, behold him now, to the vastly increased enthusiasm of the spectators, juggling with three oranges instead of two. thus it is: added difficulty, added beauty; and the pattern, with every fresh element, becoming more interesting in itself. yet it must not be thought that verse is simply an addition; something is lost as well as something gained; and there remains plainly traceable, in comparing the best prose with the best verse, a certain broad distinction of method in the web. tight as the versifier may draw the knot of logic, yet for the ear he still leaves the tissue of the sentence floating somewhat loose. in prose, the sentence turns upon a pivot, nicely balanced, and fits into itself with an obtrusive neatness like a puzzle. the ear remarks and is singly gratified by this return and balance; while in verse it is all diverted to the measure. to find comparable passages is hard; for either the versifier is hugely the superior of the rival, or, if he be not, and still persist in his more delicate enterprise, he falls to be as widely his inferior. but let us select them from the pages of the same writer, one who was ambidexter; let us take, for instance, rumour's prologue to the second part of _henry iv._, a fine flourish of eloquence in shakespeare's second manner, and set it side by side with falstaff's praise of sherris, act iv., scene ; or let us compare the beautiful prose spoken throughout by rosalind and orlando, compare, for example, the first speech of all, orlando's speech to adam, with what passage it shall please you to select--the seven ages from the same play, or even such a stave of nobility as othello's farewell to war; and still you will be able to perceive, if you have any ear for that class of music, a certain superior degree of organisation in the prose; a compacter fitting of the parts; a balance in the swing and the return as of a throbbing pendulum. we must not, in things temporal, take from those who have little, the little that they have; the merits of prose are inferior, but they are not the same; it is a little kingdom, but an independent. . _rhythm of the phrase._--some way back, i used a word which still awaits an application. each phrase, i said, was to be comely; but what is a comely phrase? in all ideal and material points, literature, being a representative art, must look for analogies to painting and the like; but in what is technical and executive, being a temporal art, it must seek for them in music. each phrase of each sentence, like an air or a recitative in music, should be so artfully compounded out of long and short, out of accented and unaccented, as to gratify the sensual ear. and of this the ear is the sole judge. it is impossible to lay down laws. even in our accentual and rhythmic language no analysis can find the secret of the beauty of a verse; how much less, then, of those phrases, such as prose is built of, which obey no law but to be lawless and yet to please? the little that we know of verse (and for my part i owe it all to my friend professor fleeming jenkin) is, however, particularly interesting in the present connection. we have been accustomed to describe the heroic line as five iambic feet, and to be filled with pain and confusion whenever, as by the conscientious schoolboy, we have heard our own description put in practice. "all nìght | the dreàd | less àn | gel ùn | pursùed,"[ ] goes the schoolboy; but though we close our ears, we cling to our definition, in spite of its proved and naked insufficiency. mr. jenkin was not so easily pleased, and readily discovered that the heroic line consists of four groups, or, if you prefer the phrase, contains four pauses: "all night | the dreadless | angel | unpursued." four groups, each practically uttered as one word: the first, in this case, an iamb; the second, an amphibrachys; the third, a trochee; and the fourth an amphimacer; and yet our schoolboy, with no other liberty but that of inflicting pain, had triumphantly scanned it as five iambs. perceive, now, this fresh richness of intricacy in the web; this fourth orange, hitherto unremarked, but still kept flying with the others. what had seemed to be one thing it now appears is two; and, like some puzzle in arithmetic, the verse is made at the same time to read in fives and to read in fours. but again, four is not necessary. we do not, indeed, find verses in six groups, because there is not room for six in the ten syllables; and we do not find verses of two, because one of the main distinctions of verse from prose resides in the comparative shortness of the group; but it is even common to find verses of three. five is the one forbidden number; because five is the number of the feet; and if five were chosen, the two patterns would coincide, and that opposition which is the life of verse would instantly be lost. we have here a clue to the effect of polysyllables, above all in latin, where they are so common and make so brave an architecture in the verse; for the polysyllable is a group of nature's making. if but some roman would return from hades (martial, for choice), and tell me by what conduct of the voice these thundering verses should be uttered--"_aut lacedæmonium tarentum_," for a case in point--i feel as if i should enter at last into the full enjoyment of the best of human verses. but, again, the five feet are all iambic, or supposed to be; by the mere count of syllables the four groups cannot be all iambic; as a question of elegance, i doubt if any one of them requires to be so; and i am certain that for choice no two of them should scan the same. the singular beauty of the verse analysed above is due, so far as analysis can carry us, part, indeed, to the clever repetition of l, d and n, but part to this variety of scansion in the groups. the groups which, like the bar in music, break up the verse for utterance, fall uniambically; and in declaiming a so-called iambic verse, it may so happen that we never utter one iambic foot. and yet to this neglect of the original beat there is a limit. "athens, the eye of greece, mother of arts,"[ ] is, with all its eccentricities, a good heroic line; for though it scarcely can be said to indicate the beat of the iamb, it certainly suggests no other measure to the ear. but begin "mother athens, eye of greece," or merely "mother athens," and the game is up, for the trochaic beat has been suggested. the eccentric scansion of the groups is an adornment; but as soon as the original beat has been forgotten, they cease implicitly to be eccentric. variety is what is sought; but if we destroy the original mould, one of the terms of this variety is lost, and we fall back on sameness. thus, both as to the arithmetical measure of the verse, and the degree of regularity in scansion, we see the laws of prosody to have one common purpose: to keep alive the opposition of two schemes simultaneously followed; to keep them notably apart, though still coincident; and to balance them with such judicial nicety before the reader, that neither shall be unperceived and neither signally prevail. the rule of rhythm in prose is not so intricate. here, too, we write in groups, or phrases, as i prefer to call them, for the prose phrase is greatly longer and is much more nonchalantly uttered than the group in verse; so that not only is there a greater interval of continuous sound between the pauses, but, for that very reason, word is linked more readily to word by a more summary enunciation. still, the phrase is the strict analogue of the group, and successive phrases, like successive groups, must differ openly in length and rhythm. the rule of scansion in verse is to suggest no measure but the one in hand; in prose, to suggest no measure at all. prose must be rhythmical, and it may be as much so as you will; but it must not be metrical. it may be anything, but it must not be verse. a single heroic line may very well pass and not disturb the somewhat larger stride of the prose style; but one following another will produce an instant impression of poverty, flatness, and disenchantment. the same lines delivered with the measured utterance of verse would perhaps seem rich in variety. by the more summary enunciation proper to prose, as to a more distant vision, these niceties of difference are lost. a whole verse is uttered as one phrase; and the ear is soon wearied by a succession of groups identical in length. the prose writer, in fact, since he is allowed to be so much less harmonious, is condemned to a perpetually fresh variety of movement on a larger scale, and must never disappoint the ear by the trot of an accepted metre. and this obligation is the third orange with which he has to juggle, the third quality which the prose writer must work into his pattern of words. it may be thought perhaps that this is a quality of ease rather than a fresh difficulty; but such is the inherently rhythmical strain of the english language, that the bad writer--and must i take for example that admired friend of my boyhood, captain reid?--the inexperienced writer, as dickens in his earlier attempts to be impressive, and the jaded writer, as any one may see for himself, all tend to fall at once into the production of bad blank verse. and here it may be pertinently asked, why bad? and i suppose it might be enough to answer that no man ever made good verse by accident, and that no verse can ever sound otherwise than trivial when uttered with the delivery of prose. but we can go beyond such answers. the weak side of verse is the regularity of the beat, which in itself is decidedly less impressive than the movement of the nobler prose; and it is just into this weak side, and this alone, that our careless writer falls. a peculiar density and mass, consequent on the nearness of the pauses, is one of the chief good qualities of verse; but this our accidental versifier, still following after the swift gait and large gestures of prose, does not so much as aspire to imitate. lastly, since he remains unconscious that he is making verse at all, it can never occur to him to extract those effects of counterpoint and opposition which i have referred to as the final grace and justification of verse, and, i may add, of blank verse in particular. . _contents of the phrase._--here is a great deal of talk about rhythm--and naturally; for in our canorous language rhythm is always at the door. but it must not be forgotten that in some languages this element is almost, if not quite, extinct, and that in our own it is probably decaying. the even speech of many educated americans sounds the note of danger. i should see it go with something as bitter as despair, but i should not be desperate. as in verse no element, not even rhythm, is necessary; so, in prose also, other sorts of beauty will arise and take the place and play the part of those that we outlive. the beauty of the expected beat in verse, the beauty in prose of its larger and more lawless melody, patent as they are to english hearing, are already silent in the ears of our next neighbours; for in france the oratorical accent and the pattern of the web have almost or altogether succeeded to their places; and the french prose writer would be astounded at the labours of his brother across the channel, and how a good quarter of his toil, above all _invita minerva_, is to avoid writing verse. so wonderfully far apart have races wandered in spirit, and so hard it is to understand the literature next door! yet french prose is distinctly better than english; and french verse, above all while hugo lives, it will not do to place upon one side. what is more to our purpose, a phrase or a verse in french is easily distinguishable as comely or uncomely. there is then another element of comeliness hitherto overlooked in this analysis: the contents of the phrase. each phrase in literature is built of sounds, as each phrase in music consists of notes. one sound suggests, echoes, demands, and harmonises with another; and the art of rightly using these concordances is the final art in literature. it used to be a piece of good advice to all young writers to avoid alliteration; and the advice was sound, in so far as it prevented daubing. none the less for that, was it abominable nonsense, and the mere raving of those blindest of the blind who will not see? the beauty of the contents of a phrase, or of a sentence, depends implicitly upon alliteration and upon assonance. the vowel demands to be repeated; the consonant demands to be repeated; and both cry aloud to be perpetually varied. you may follow the adventures of a letter through any passage that has particularly pleased you; find it, perhaps, denied a while, to tantalise the ear; find it fired again at you in a whole broadside; or find it pass into congenerous sounds, one liquid or labial melting away into another. and you will find another and much stranger circumstance. literature is written by and for two senses: a sort of internal ear, quick to perceive "unheard melodies"; and the eye, which directs the pen and deciphers the printed phrase. well, even as there are rhymes for the eye, so you will find that there are assonances and alliterations; that where an author is running the open a, deceived by the eye and our strange english spelling, he will often show a tenderness for the flat a; and that where he is running a particular consonant, he will not improbably rejoice to write it down even when it is mute or bears a different value. here, then, we have a fresh pattern--a pattern, to speak grossly, of letters--which makes the fourth preoccupation of the prose writer, and the fifth of the versifier. at times it is very delicate and hard to perceive, and then perhaps most excellent and winning (i say perhaps); but at times again the elements of this literal melody stand more boldly forward and usurp the ear. it becomes, therefore, somewhat a matter of conscience to select examples; and as i cannot very well ask the reader to help me, i shall do the next best by giving him the reason or the history of each selection. the two first, one in prose, one in verse, i chose without previous analysis, simply as engaging passages that had long re-echoed in my ear. "i cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and unbreathed, that never sallies out and sees her adversary, but slinks out of the race where that immortal garland is to be run for, not without dust and heat."[ ] down to "virtue," the current s and r are both announced and repeated unobtrusively, and by way of a grace-note that almost inseparable group pvf is given entire.[ ] the next phrase is a period of repose, almost ugly in itself, both s and r still audible, and b given as the last fulfilment of pvf. in the next four phrases, from "that never" down to "run for," the mask is thrown off, and, but for a slight repetition of the f and v, the whole matter turns, almost too obtrusively, on s and r; first s coming to the front, and then r. in the concluding phrase all these favourite letters, and even the flat a, a timid preference for which is just perceptible, are discarded at a blow and in a bundle; and to make the break more obvious, every word ends with a dental, and all but one with t, for which we have been cautiously prepared since the beginning. the singular dignity of the first clause, and this hammer-stroke of the last, go far to make the charm of this exquisite sentence. but it is fair to own that s and r are used a little coarsely. "in xanadu did kubla khan (kandl) a stately pleasure dome decree, (kdlsr) where alph the sacred river ran, (kandlsr) through caverns measureless to man, (kanlsr) down to a sunless sea."[ ] (ndls) here i have put the analysis of the main group alongside the lines; and the more it is looked at, the more interesting it will seem. but there are further niceties. in lines two and four, the current s is most delicately varied with z. in line three, the current flat a is twice varied with the open a, already suggested in line two, and both times ("where" and "sacred") in conjunction with the current r. in the same line f and v (a harmony in themselves, even when shorn of their comrade p) are admirably contrasted. and in line four there is a marked subsidiary m, which again was announced in line two. i stop from weariness, for more might yet be said. my next example was recently quoted from shakespeare as an example of the poet's colour sense. now, i do not think literature has anything to do with colour, or poets anyway the better of such a sense; and i instantly attacked this passage, since "purple" was the word that had so pleased the writer of the article, to see if there might not be some literary reason for its use. it will be seen that i succeeded amply; and i am bound to say i think the passage exceptional in shakespeare--exceptional, indeed, in literature; but it was not i who chose it. "the barge she sat in, like a burnished throne burnt on the water: the poop was beaten gold, purple the sails and so pur*fumèd that *per the winds were lovesick with them."[ ] it may be asked why i have put the f of perfumèd in capitals; and i reply, because this change from p to f is the completion of that from b to p, already so adroitly carried out. indeed, the whole passage is a monument of curious ingenuity; and it seems scarce worth while to indicate the subsidiary s, l and w. in the same article, a second passage from shakespeare was quoted, once again as an example of his colour sense: "a mole cinque-spotted like the crimson drops i' the bottom of a cowslip."[ ] it is very curious, very artificial, and not worth while to analyse at length: i leave it to the reader. but before i turn my back on shakespeare, i should like to quote a passage, for my own pleasure, and for a very model of every technical art:-- "but in the wind and tempest of her frown, w. p. v. f. (st) (ow)[ ] distinction with a loud and powerful fan, w. p. f. (st) (ow) l puffing at all, winnowes the light away; w. p. f. l and what hath mass and matter by itself w. f. l. m. a. lies rich in virtue and unmingled."[ ] v. l. m. from these delicate and choice writers i turned with some curiosity to a player of the big drum--macaulay. i had in hand the two-volume edition, and i opened at the beginning of the second volume. here was what i read:-- "the violence of revolutions is generally proportioned to the degree of the maladministration which has produced them. it is therefore not strange that the government of scotland, having been during many years greatly more corrupt than the government of england, should have fallen with a far heavier ruin. the movement against the last king of the house of stuart was in england conservative, in scotland destructive. the english complained not of the law, but of the violation of the law." this was plain-sailing enough; it was our old friend pvf, floated by the liquids in a body; but as i read on, and turned the page, and still found pvf with his attendant liquids, i confess my mind misgave me utterly. this could be no trick of macaulay's; it must be the nature of the english tongue. in a kind of despair, i turned half-way through the volume; and coming upon his lordship dealing with general cannon, and fresh from claverhouse and killiekrankie, here, with elucidative spelling, was my reward:-- "meanwhile the disorders of kannon's kamp went on inkreasing. he kalled a kouncil of war to konsider what kourse it would be advisable to take. but as soon as the kouncil had met a preliminary kuestion was raised. the army was almost eksklusively a highland army. the recent viktory had been won eksklusively by highland warriors. great chie_f_s who had brought siks or se_v_en hundred _f_ighting men into the _f_ield, did not think it _f_air that they should be out_v_oted by gentlemen _f_rom ireland and _f_rom the low kountries, who bore indeed king james's kommission, and were kalled kolonels and kaptains, but who were kolonels without regiments and kaptains without kompanies." a moment of fv in all this world of k's! it was not the english language, then, that was an instrument of one string, but macaulay that was an incomparable dauber. it was probably from this barbaric love of repeating the same sound, rather than from any design of clearness, that he acquired his irritating habit of repeating words; i say the one rather than the other, because such a trick of the ear is deeper seated and more original in man than any logical consideration. few writers, indeed, are probably conscious of the length to which they push this melody of letters. one, writing very diligently, and only concerned about the meaning of his words and the rhythm of his phrases, was struck into amazement by the eager triumph with which he cancelled one expression to substitute another. neither changed the sense; both being mono-syllables, neither could affect the scansion; and it was only by looking back on what he had already written that the mystery was solved: the second word contained an open a, and for nearly half a page he had been riding that vowel to the death. in practice, i should add, the ear is not always so exacting; and ordinary writers, in ordinary moments, content themselves with avoiding what is harsh, and here and there, upon a rare occasion, buttressing a phrase, or linking two together, with a patch of assonance or a momentary jingle of alliteration. to understand how constant is this preoccupation of good writers, even where its results are least obtrusive, it is only necessary to turn to the bad. there, indeed, you will find cacophony supreme, the rattle of incongruous consonants only relieved by the jaw-breaking hiatus, and whole phrases not to be articulated by the powers of man. _conclusion_.--we may now briefly enumerate the elements of style. we have, peculiar to the prose writer, the task of keeping his phrases large, rhythmical and pleasing to the ear, without ever allowing them to fall into the strictly metrical: peculiar to the versifier, the task of combining and contrasting his double, treble, and quadruple pattern, feet and groups, logic and metre--harmonious in diversity: common to both, the task of artfully combining the prime elements of language into phrases that shall be musical in the mouth; the task of weaving their argument into a texture of committed phrases and of rounded periods--but this particularly binding in the case of prose: and, again common to both, the task of choosing apt, explicit, and communicative words. we begin to see now what an intricate affair is any perfect passage; how many faculties, whether of taste or pure reason, must be held upon the stretch to make it; and why, when it is made, it should afford us so complete a pleasure. from the arrangement of according letters, which is altogether arabesque and sensual, up to the architecture of the elegant and pregnant sentence, which is a vigorous act of the pure intellect, there is scarce a faculty in man but has been exercised. we need not wonder, then, if perfect sentences are rare, and perfect pages rarer. footnotes: [ ] milton. [ ] milton. [ ] milton. [ ] as pvf will continue to haunt us through our english examples, take, by way of comparison, this latin verse, of which it forms a chief adornment, and do not hold me answerable for the all too roman freedom of the sense: "hanc volo, quæ facilis, quæ palliolata vagatur." [ ] coleridge. [ ] antony and cleopatra. [ ] cymbeline. [ ] the v is in "of." [ ] troilus and cressida. iv the morality of the profession of letters the profession of letters has been lately debated in the public prints; and it has been debated, to put the matter mildly, from a point of view that was calculated to surprise high-minded men, and bring a general contempt on books and reading. some time ago, in particular, a lively, pleasant, popular writer[ ] devoted an essay, lively and pleasant like himself, to a very encouraging view of the profession. we may be glad that his experience is so cheering, and we may hope that all others, who deserve it, shall be as handsomely rewarded; but i do not think we need be at all glad to have this question, so important to the public and ourselves, debated solely on the ground of money. the salary in any business under heaven is not the only, nor indeed the first, question. that you should continue to exist is a matter for your own consideration; but that your business should be first honest, and second useful, are points in which honour and morality are concerned. if the writer to whom i refer succeeds in persuading a number of young persons to adopt this way of life with an eye set singly on the livelihood, we must expect them in their works to follow profit only, and we must expect in consequence, if he will pardon me the epithets, a slovenly, base, untrue, and empty literature. of that writer himself i am not speaking: he is diligent, clean, and pleasing; we all owe him periods of entertainment, and he has achieved an amiable popularity which he has adequately deserved. but the truth is, he does not, or did not when he first embraced it, regard his profession from this purely mercenary side. he went into it, i shall venture to say, if not with any noble design, at least in the ardour of a first love; and he enjoyed its practice long before he paused to calculate the wage. the other day an author was complimented on a piece of work, good in itself and exceptionally good for him, and replied in terms unworthy of a commercial traveller, that as the book was not briskly selling he did not give a copper farthing for its merit. it must not be supposed that the person to whom this answer was addressed received it as a profession of faith; he knew, on the other hand, that it was only a whiff of irritation; just as we know, when a respectable writer talks of literature as a way of life, like shoemaking, but not so useful, that he is only debating one aspect of a question, and is still clearly conscious of a dozen others more important in themselves and more central to the matter in hand. but while those who treat literature in this penny-wise and virtue-foolish spirit are themselves truly in possession of a better light, it does not follow that the treatment is decent or improving, whether for themselves or others. to treat all subjects in the highest, the most honourable, and the pluckiest spirit, consistent with the fact, is the first duty of a writer. if he be well paid, as i am glad to hear he is, this duty becomes the more urgent, the neglect of it the more disgraceful. and perhaps there is no subject on which a man should speak so gravely as that industry, whatever it may be, which is the occupation or delight of his life; which is his tool to earn or serve with; and which, if it be unworthy, stamps himself as a mere incubus of dumb and greedy bowels on the shoulders of labouring humanity. on that subject alone even to force the note might lean to virtue's side. it is to be hoped that a numerous and enterprising generation of writers will follow and surpass the present one; but it would be better if the stream were stayed, and the roll of our old, honest english books were closed, than that esurient bookmakers should continue and debase a brave tradition, and lower, in their own eyes, a famous race. better that our serene temples were deserted than filled with trafficking and juggling priests. there are two just reasons for the choice of any way of life: the first is inbred taste in the chooser; the second some high utility in the industry selected. literature, like any other art, is singularly interesting to the artist; and, in a degree peculiar to itself among the arts, it is useful to mankind. these are the sufficient justifications for any young man or woman who adopts it as the business of his life. i shall not say much about the wages. a writer can live by his writing. if not so luxuriously as by other trades, then less luxuriously. the nature of the work he does all day will more affect his happiness than the quality of his dinner at night. whatever be your calling, and however much it brings you in the year, you could still, you know, get more by cheating. we all suffer ourselves to be too much concerned about a little poverty; but such considerations should not move us in the choice of that which is to be the business and justification of so great a portion of our lives; and like the missionary, the patriot, or the philosopher, we should all choose that poor and brave career in which we can do the most and best for mankind. now nature, faithfully followed, proves herself a careful mother. a lad, for some liking to the jingle of words, betakes himself to letters for his life; by-and-by, when he learns more gravity, he finds that he has chosen better than he knew; that if he earns little, he is earning it amply; that if he receives a small wage, he is in a position to do considerable services; that it is in his power, in some small measure, to protect the oppressed and to defend the truth. so kindly is the world arranged, such great profit may arise from a small degree of human reliance on oneself, and such, in particular, is the happy star of this trade of writing, that it should combine pleasure and profit to both parties, and be at once agreeable, like fiddling, and useful, like good preaching. this is to speak of literature at its highest; and with the four great elders who are still spared to our respect and admiration, with carlyle, ruskin, browning, and tennyson before us, it would be cowardly to consider it at first in any lesser aspect. but while we cannot follow these athletes, while we may none of us, perhaps, be very vigorous, very original, or very wise, i still contend that, in the humblest sort of literary work, we have it in our power either to do great harm or great good. we may seek merely to please; we may seek, having no higher gift, merely to gratify the idle nine-days' curiosity of our contemporaries; or we may essay, however feebly, to instruct. in each of these we shall have to deal with that remarkable art of words which, because it is the dialect of life, comes home so easily and powerfully to the minds of men; and since that is so, we contribute, in each of these branches, to build up the sum of sentiments and appreciations which goes by the name of public opinion or public feeling. the total of a nation's reading, in these days of daily papers, greatly modifies the total of the nation's speech; and the speech and reading, taken together, form the efficient educational medium of youth. a good man or woman may keep a youth some little while in clearer air; but the contemporary atmosphere is all-powerful in the end on the average of mediocre characters. the copious corinthian baseness of the american reporter or the parisian _chroniqueur_, both so lightly readable, must exercise an incalculable influence for ill; they touch upon all subjects, and on all with the same ungenerous hand; they begin the consideration of all, in young and unprepared minds, in an unworthy spirit; on all, they supply some pungency for dull people to quote. the mere body of this ugly matter overwhelms the rarer utterances of good men; the sneering, the selfish, and the cowardly are scattered in broad sheets on every table, while the antidote, in small volumes, lies unread upon the shelf. i have spoken of the american and the french, not because they are so much baser, but so much more readable, than the english; their evil is done more effectively, in america for the masses, in french for the few that care to read; but with us as with them, the duties of literature are daily neglected, truth daily perverted and suppressed, and grave subjects daily degraded in the treatment. the journalist is not reckoned an important officer; yet judge of the good he might do, the harm he does; judge of it by one instance only: that when we find two journals on the reverse sides of politics each, on the same day, openly garbling a piece of news for the interest of its own party, we smile at the discovery (no discovery now!) as over a good joke and pardonable stratagem. lying so open is scarce lying, it is true; but one of the things that we profess to teach our young is a respect for truth; and i cannot think this piece of education will be crowned with any great success, so long as some of us practise and the rest openly approve of public falsehood. there are two duties incumbent upon any man who enters on the business of writing: truth to the fact and a good spirit in the treatment. in every department of literature, though so low as hardly to deserve the name, truth to the fact is of importance to the education and comfort of mankind, and so hard to preserve, that the faithful trying to do so will lend some dignity to the man who tries it. our judgments are based upon two things, first, upon the original preferences of our soul; but, second, upon the mass of testimony to the nature of god, man, and the universe which reaches us, in divers manners, from without. for the most part these divers manners are reducible to one, all that we learn of past times and much that we learn of our own reaching us through the medium of books or papers, and even he who cannot read learning from the same source at second-hand and by the report of him who can. thus the sum of the contemporary knowledge or ignorance of good and evil is, in large measure, the handiwork of those who write. those who write have to see that each man's knowledge is, as near as they can make it, answerable to the facts of life; that he shall not suppose himself an angel or a monster; nor take this world for a hell; nor be suffered to imagine that all rights are concentred in his own caste or country, or all veracities in his own parochial creed. each man should learn what is within him, that he may strive to mend; he must be taught what is without him, that he may be kind to others. it can never be wrong to tell him the truth; for, in his disputable state, weaving as he goes his theory of life, steering himself, cheering or reproving others, all facts are of the first importance to his conduct; and even if a fact shall discourage or corrupt him, it is still best that he should know it; for it is in this world as it is, and not in a world made easy by educational suppressions, that he must win his way to shame or glory. in one word, it must always be foul to tell what is false; and it can never be safe to suppress what is true. the very fact that you omit may be the fact which somebody was wanting, for one man's meat is another man's poison, and i have known a person who was cheered by the perusal of "candide." every fact is a part of that great puzzle we must set together; and none that comes directly in a writer's path but has some nice relations, unperceivable by him, to the totality and bearing of the subject under hand. yet there are certain classes of fact eternally more necessary than others, and it is with these that literature must first bestir itself. they are not hard to distinguish, nature once more easily leading us; for the necessary, because the efficacious, facts are those which are most interesting to the natural mind of man. those which are coloured, picturesque, human, and rooted in morality, and those, on the other hand, which are clear, indisputable, and a part of science, are alone vital in importance, seizing by their interest, or useful to communicate. so far as the writer merely narrates, he should principally tell of these. he should tell of the kind and wholesome and beautiful elements of our life; he should tell unsparingly of the evil and sorrow of the present, to move us with instances; he should tell of wise and good people in the past, to excite us by example; and of these he should tell soberly and truthfully, not glossing faults, that we may neither grow discouraged with ourselves nor exacting to our neighbours. so the body of contemporary literature, ephemeral and feeble in itself, touches in the minds of men the springs of thought and kindness, and supports them (for those who will go at all are easily supported) on their way to what is true and right. and if, in any degree, it does so now, how much more might it do so if the writers chose! there is not a life in all the records of the past but, properly studied, might lend a hint and a help to some contemporary. there is not a juncture in to-day's affairs but some useful word may yet be said of it. even the reporter has an office, and, with clear eyes and honest language, may unveil injustices and point the way to progress. and for a last word: in all narration there is only one way to be clever, and that is to be exact. to be vivid is a secondary quality which must presuppose the first; for vividly to convey a wrong impression is only to make failure conspicuous. but a fact may be viewed on many sides; it may be chronicled with rage, tears, laughter, indifference, or admiration, and by each of these the story will be transformed to something else. the newspapers that told of the return of our representatives from berlin, even if they had not differed as to the facts, would have sufficiently differed by their spirit; so that the one description would have been a second ovation, and the other a prolonged insult. the subject makes but a trifling part of any piece of literature, and the view of the writer is itself a fact more important because less disputable than the others. now this spirit in which a subject is regarded, important in all kinds of literary work, becomes all-important in works of fiction, meditation, or rhapsody; for there it not only colours but itself chooses the facts; not only modifies but shapes the work. and hence, over the far larger proportion of the field of literature, the health or disease of the writer's mind or momentary humour forms not only the leading feature of his work, but is, at bottom, the only thing he can communicate to others. in all works of art, widely speaking, it is first of all the author's attitude that is narrated, though in the attitude there be implied a whole experience and a theory of life. an author who has begged the question and reposes in some narrow faith cannot, if he would, express the whole or even many of the sides of this various existence; for, his own life being maim, some of them are not admitted in his theory, and were only dimly and unwillingly recognised in his experience. hence the smallness, the triteness, and the inhumanity in works of merely sectarian religion; and hence we find equal although unsimilar limitations in works inspired by the spirit of the flesh or the despicable taste for high society. so that the first duty of any man who is to write is intellectual. designedly or not, he has so far set himself up for a leader of the minds of men; and he must see that his own mind is kept supple, charitable, and bright. everything but prejudice should find a voice through him; he should see the good in all things; where he has even a fear that he does not wholly understand, there he should be wholly silent; and he should recognise from the first that he has only one tool in his workshop and that tool is sympathy.[ ] the second duty, far harder to define, is moral. there are a thousand different humours in the mind, and about each of them, when it is uppermost, some literature tends to be deposited. is this to be allowed? not certainly in every case, and yet perhaps in more than rigorists would fancy. it were to be desired that all literary work, and chiefly works of art, issued from sound, human, healthy, and potent impulses, whether grave or laughing, humorous, romantic, or religious. yet it cannot be denied that some valuable books are partially insane; some, mostly religious, partially inhuman; and very many tainted with morbidity and impotence. we do not loathe a masterpiece although we gird against its blemishes. we are not, above all, to look for faults but merits. there is no book perfect, even in design; but there are many that will delight, improve, or encourage the reader. on the one hand, the hebrew psalms are the only religious poetry on earth; yet they contain sallies that savour rankly of the man of blood. on the other hand, alfred de musset had a poisoned and a contorted nature; i am only quoting that generous and frivolous giant, old dumas, when i accuse him of a bad heart; yet, when the impulse under which he wrote was purely creative, he could give us works like "carmosine" or "fantasio," in which the last note of the romantic comedy seems to have been found again to touch and please us. when flaubert wrote "madame bovary," i believe he thought chiefly of a somewhat morbid realism; and behold! the book turned in his hands into a masterpiece of appalling morality. but the truth is, when books are conceived under a great stress, with a soul of nine-fold power nine times heated and electrified by effort, the conditions of our being are seized with such an ample grasp, that, even should the main design be trivial or base, some truth and beauty cannot fail to be expressed. out of the strong comes forth sweetness; but an ill thing poorly done is an ill thing top and bottom. and so this can be no encouragement to knock-knee'd, feeble-wristed scribes, who must take their business conscientiously or be ashamed to practise it. man is imperfect; yet, in his literature, he must express himself and his own views and preferences; for to do anything else is to do a far more perilous thing than to risk being immoral: it is to be sure of being untrue. to ape a sentiment, even a good one, is to travesty a sentiment; that will not be helpful. to conceal a sentiment, if you are sure you hold it, is to take a liberty with truth. there is probably no point of view possible to a sane man but contains some truth and, in the true connection, might be profitable to the race. i am not afraid of the truth, if any one could tell it me, but i am afraid of parts of it impertinently uttered. there is a time to dance and a time to mourn; to be harsh as well as to be sentimental; to be ascetic as well as to glorify the appetites; and if a man were to combine all these extremes into his work, each in its place and proportion, that work would be the world's masterpiece of morality as well as of art. partiality is immorality; for any book is wrong that gives a misleading picture of the world and life. the trouble is that the weakling must be partial; the work of one proving dank and depressing; of another, cheap and vulgar; of a third, epileptically sensual; of a fourth, sourly ascetic. in literature as in conduct, you can never hope to do exactly right. all you can do is to make as sure as possible; and for that there is but one rule. nothing should be done in a hurry that can be done slowly. it is no use to write a book and put it by for nine or even ninety years; for in the writing you will have partly convinced yourself; the delay must precede any beginning; and if you meditate a work of art, you should first long roll the subject under the tongue to make sure you like the flavour, before you brew a volume that shall taste of it from end to end; or if you propose to enter on the field of controversy, you should first have thought upon the question under all conditions, in health as well as in sickness, in sorrow as well as in joy. it is this nearness of examination necessary for any true and kind writing, that makes the practice of the art a prolonged and noble education for the writer. there is plenty to do, plenty to say, or to say over again, in the meantime. any literary work which conveys faithful facts or pleasing impressions is a service to the public. it is even a service to be thankfully proud of having rendered. the slightest novels are a blessing to those in distress, not chloroform itself a greater. our fine old sea-captain's life was justified when carlyle soothed his mind with "the king's own" or "newton forster." to please is to serve; and so far from its being difficult to instruct while you amuse, it is difficult to do the one thoroughly without the other. some part of the writer or his life will crop out in even a vapid book; and to read a novel that was conceived with any force is to multiply experience and to exercise the sympathies. every article, every piece of verse, every essay, every _entrefilet_, is destined to pass, however swiftly, through the minds of some portion of the public, and to colour, however transiently, their thoughts. when any subject falls to be discussed, some scribbler on a paper has the invaluable opportunity of beginning its discussion in a dignified and human spirit; and if there were enough who did so in our public press neither the public nor the parliament would find it in their minds to drop to meaner thoughts. the writer has the chance to stumble, by the way, on something pleasing, something interesting, something encouraging, were it only to a single reader. he will be unfortunate, indeed, if he suit no one. he has the chance, besides, to stumble on something that a dull person shall be able to comprehend; and for a dull person to have read anything and, for that once, comprehended it, makes a marking epoch in his education. here then is work worth doing and worth trying to do well. and so, if i were minded to welcome any great accession to our trade, it should not be from any reason of a higher wage, but because it was a trade which was useful in a very great and in a very high degree; which every honest tradesman could make more serviceable to mankind in his single strength; which was difficult to do well and possible to do better every year; which called for scrupulous thought on the part of all who practised it, and hence became a perpetual education to their nobler natures; and which, pay it as you please, in the large majority of the best cases will still be underpaid. for surely, at this time of day in the nineteenth century, there is nothing that an honest man should fear more timorously than getting and spending more than he deserves. footnotes: [ ] mr. james payn. [ ] a footnote, at least, is due to the admirable example set before all young writers in the width of literary sympathy displayed by mr. swinburne. he runs forth to welcome merit, whether in dickens or trollope, whether in villon, milton, or pope. this is, in criticism, the attitude we should all seek to preserve, not only in that, but in every branch of literary work. v books which have influenced me the editor[ ] has somewhat insidiously laid a trap for his correspondents, the question put appearing at first so innocent, truly cutting so deep. it is not, indeed, until after some reconnaissance and review that the writer awakes to find himself engaged upon something in the nature of autobiography, or, perhaps worse, upon a chapter in the life of that little, beautiful brother whom we once all had, and whom we have all lost and mourned, the man we ought to have been, the man we hoped to be. but when word has been passed (even to an editor), it should, if possible, be kept; and if sometimes i am wise and say too little, and sometimes weak and say too much, the blame must lie at the door of the person who entrapped me. the most influential books, and the truest in their influence, are works of fiction. they do not pin the reader to a dogma, which he must afterwards discover to be inexact; they do not teach him a lesson, which he must afterwards unlearn. they repeat, they rearrange, they clarify the lessons of life; they disengage us from ourselves, they constrain us to the acquaintance of others; and they show us the web of experience, not as we can see it for ourselves, but with a singular change--that monstrous, consuming _ego_ of ours being, for the nonce, struck out. to be so, they must be reasonably true to the human comedy; and any work that is so serves the turn of instruction. but the course of our education is answered best by those poems and romances where we breathe a magnanimous atmosphere of thought and meet generous and pious characters. shakespeare has served me best. few living friends have had upon me an influence so strong for good as hamlet or rosalind. the last character, already well beloved in the reading, i had the good fortune to see, i must think, in an impressionable hour, played by mrs. scott siddons. nothing has ever more moved, more delighted, more refreshed me; nor has the influence quite passed away. kent's brief speech over the dying lear had a great effect upon my mind, and was the burthen of my reflections for long, so profoundly, so touchingly generous did it appear in sense, so overpowering in expression. perhaps my dearest and best friend outside of shakespeare is d'artagnan--the elderly d'artagnan of the "vicomte de bragelonne." i know not a more human soul, nor, in his way, a finer; i shall be very sorry for the man who is so much of a pedant in morals that he cannot learn from the captain of musketeers. lastly, i must name the "pilgrim's progress," a book that breathes of every beautiful and valuable emotion. but of works of art little can be said; their influence is profound and silent, like the influence of nature; they mould by contact; we drink them up like water, and are bettered, yet know not how. it is in books more specifically didactic that we can follow out the effect, and distinguish and weigh and compare. a book which has been very influential upon me fell early into my hands, and so may stand first, though i think its influence was only sensible later on, and perhaps still keeps growing, for it is a book not easily outlived: the "essais" of montaigne. that temperate and genial picture of life is a great gift to place in the hands of persons of to-day; they will find in these smiling pages a magazine of heroism and wisdom, all of an antique strain; they will have their "linen decencies" and excited orthodoxies fluttered, and will (if they have any gift of reading) perceive that these have not been fluttered without some excuse and ground of reason; and (again if they have any gift of reading) they will end by seeing that this old gentleman was in a dozen ways a finer fellow, and held in a dozen ways a nobler view of life, than they or their contemporaries. the next book, in order of time, to influence me was the new testament, and in particular the gospel according to st. matthew. i believe it would startle and move any one if they could make a certain effort of imagination and read it freshly like a book, not droningly and dully like a portion of the bible. any one would then be able to see in it those truths which we are all courteously supposed to know and all modestly refrain from applying. but upon this subject it is perhaps better to be silent. i come next to whitman's "leaves of grass," a book of singular service, a book which tumbled the world upside down for me, blew into space a thousand cobwebs of genteel and ethical illusion, and, having thus shaken my tabernacle of lies, set me back again upon a strong foundation of all the original and manly virtues. but it is, once more, only a book for those who have the gift of reading. i will be very frank--i believe it is so with all good books, except, perhaps, fiction. the average man lives, and must live, so wholly in convention, that gunpowder charges of the truth are more apt to discompose than to invigorate his creed. either he cries out upon blasphemy and indecency, and crouches the closer round that little idol of part-truths and part-conveniences which is the contemporary deity, or he is convinced by what is new, forgets what is old, and becomes truly blasphemous and indecent himself. new truth is only useful to supplement the old; rough truth is only wanted to expand, not to destroy, our civil and often elegant conventions. he who cannot judge had better stick to fiction and the daily papers. there he will get little harm, and, in the first at least, some good. close upon the back of my discovery of whitman, i came under the influence of herbert spencer. no more persuasive rabbi exists, and few better. how much of his vast structure will bear the touch of time, how much is clay and how much brass, it were too curious to inquire. but his words, if dry, are always manly and honest; there dwells in his pages a spirit of highly abstract joy, plucked naked like an algebraic symbol, but still joyful; and the reader will find there a _caput-mortuum_ of piety, with little indeed of its loveliness, but with most of its essentials; and these two qualities make him a wholesome, as his intellectual vigour makes him a bracing, writer. i should be much of a hound if i lost my gratitude to herbert spencer. "goethe's life," by lewes, had a great importance for me when it first fell into my hands--a strange instance of the partiality of man's good and man's evil. i know no one whom i less admire than goethe; he seems a very epitome of the sins of genius, breaking open the doors of private life, and wantonly wounding friends, in that crowning offence of "werther," and in his own character a mere pen-and-ink napoleon, conscious of the rights and duties of superior talents as a spanish inquisitor was conscious of the rights and duties of his office. and yet in his fine devotion to his art, in his honest and serviceable friendship for schiller, what lessons are contained! biography, usually so false to its office, does here for once perform for us some of the work of fiction, reminding us, that is, of the truly mingled tissue of man's nature, and how huge faults and shining virtues cohabit and persevere in the same character. history serves us well to this effect, but in the originals, not in the pages of the popular epitomiser, who is bound, by the very nature of his task, to make us feel the difference of epochs instead of the essential identity of man, and even in the originals only to those who can recognise their own human virtues and defects in strange forms, often inverted and under strange names, often interchanged. martial is a poet of no good repute, and it gives a man new thoughts to read his works dispassionately, and find in this unseemly jester's serious passages the image of a kind, wise, and self-respecting gentleman. it is customary, i suppose, in reading martial, to leave out these pleasant verses; i never heard of them, at least, until i found them for myself; and this partiality is one among a thousand things that help to build up our distorted and hysterical conception of the great roman empire. this brings us by a natural transition to a very noble book--the "meditations" of marcus aurelius. the dispassionate gravity, the noble forgetfulness of self, the tenderness of others, that are there expressed and were practised on so great a scale in the life of its writer, make this book a book quite by itself. no one can read it and not be moved. yet it scarcely or rarely appeals to the feelings--those very mobile, those not very trusty parts of man. its address lies further back: its lesson comes more deeply home; when you have read, you carry away with you a memory of the man himself; it is as though you had touched a loyal hand, looked into brave eyes, and made a noble friend; there is another bond on you thenceforward, binding you to life and to the love of virtue. wordsworth should perhaps come next. every one has been influenced by wordsworth, and it is hard to tell precisely how. a certain innocence, a rugged austerity of joy, a sight of the stars, "the silence that is in the lonely hills," something of the cold thrill of dawn, cling to his work and give it a particular address to what is best in us. i do not know that you learn a lesson; you need not--mill did not--agree with any one of his beliefs; and yet the spell is cast. such are the best teachers; a dogma learned is only a new error--the old one was perhaps as good; but a spirit communicated is a perpetual possession. these best teachers climb beyond teaching to the plane of art; it is themselves, and what is best in themselves, that they communicate. i should never forgive myself if i forgot "the egoist." it is art, if you like, but it belongs purely to didactic art, and from all the novels i have read (and i have read thousands) stands in a place by itself. here is a nathan for the modern david; here is a book to send the blood into men's faces. satire, the angry picture of human faults, is not great art; we can all be angry with our neighbour; what we want is to be shown, not his defects, of which we are too conscious, but his merits, to which we are too blind. and "the egoist" is a satire; so much must be allowed; but it is a satire of a singular quality, which tells you nothing of that obvious mote, which is engaged from first to last with that invisible beam. it is yourself that is hunted down; these are your own faults that are dragged into the day and numbered, with lingering relish, with cruel cunning and precision. a young friend of mr. meredith's (as i have the story) came to him in an agony. "this is too bad of you," he cried. "willoughby is me!" "no, my dear fellow," said the author, "he is all of us." i have read "the egoist" five or six times myself, and i mean to read it again; for i am like the young friend of the anecdote--i think willoughby an unmanly but a very serviceable exposure of myself. i suppose, when i am done, i shall find that i have forgotten much that was most influential, as i see already i have forgotten thoreau, and hazlitt, whose paper "on the spirit of obligations" was a turning-point in my life, and penn, whose little book of aphorisms had a brief but strong effect on me, and mitford's "tales of old japan," wherein i learned for the first time the proper attitude of any rational man to his country's laws--a secret found, and kept, in the asiatic islands. that i should commemorate all is more than i can hope or the editor could ask. it will be more to the point, after having said so much upon improving books, to say a word or two about the improvable reader. the gift of reading, as i have called it, is not very common, nor very generally understood. it consists, first of all, in a vast intellectual endowment--a free grace, i find i must call it--by which a man rises to understand that he is not punctually right, nor those from whom he differs absolutely wrong. he may hold dogmas; he may hold them passionately; and he may know that others hold them but coldly, or hold them differently, or hold them not at all. well, if he has the gift of reading, these others will be full of meat for him. they will see the other side of propositions and the other side of virtues. he need not change his dogma for that, but he may change his reading of that dogma, and he must supplement and correct his deductions from it. a human truth, which is always very much a lie, hides as much of life as it displays. it is men who hold another truth, or, as it seems to us, perhaps, a dangerous lie, who can extend our restricted field of knowledge, and rouse our drowsy consciences. something that seems quite new, or that seems insolently false or very dangerous, is the test of a reader. if he tries to see what it means, what truth excuses it, he has the gift, and let him read. if he is merely hurt, or offended, or exclaims upon his author's folly, he had better take to the daily papers; he will never be a reader. and here, with the aptest illustrative force, after i have laid down my part-truth, i must step in with its opposite. for, after all, we are vessels of a very limited content. not all men can read all books; it is only in a chosen few that any man will find his appointed food; and the fittest lessons are the most palatable, and make themselves welcome to the mind. a writer learns this early, and it is his chief support; he goes on unafraid, laying down the law; and he is sure at heart that most of what he says is demonstrably false, and much of a mingled strain, and some hurtful, and very little good for service; but he is sure besides that when his words fall into the hands of any genuine reader, they will be weighed and winnowed, and only that which suits will be assimilated; and when they fall into the hands of one who cannot intelligently read, they come there quite silent and inarticulate, falling upon deaf ears, and his secret is kept as if he had not written. footnote: [ ] of _the british weekly_. vi the day after to-morrow history is much decried; it is a tissue of errors, we are told, no doubt correctly; and rival historians expose each other's blunders with gratification. yet the worst historian has a clearer view of the period he studies than the best of us can hope to form of that in which we live. the obscurest epoch is to-day; and that for a thousand reasons of inchoate tendency, conflicting report, and sheer mass and multiplicity of experience; but chiefly, perhaps, by reason of an insidious shifting of landmarks. parties and ideas continually move, but not by measurable marches on a stable course; the political soil itself steals forth by imperceptible degrees, like a travelling glacier, carrying on its bosom not only political parties but their flag-posts and cantonments; so that what appears to be an eternal city founded on hills is but a flying island of laputa. it is for this reason in particular that we are all becoming socialists without knowing it; by which i would not in the least refer to the acute case of mr. hyndman and his horn-blowing supporters, sounding their trumps of a sunday within the walls of our individualist jericho--but to the stealthy change that has come over the spirit of englishmen and english legislation. a little while ago, and we were still for liberty; "crowd a few more thousands on the bench of government," we seemed to cry; "keep her head direct on liberty, and we cannot help but come to port." this is over; _laisser faire_ declines in favour; our legislation grows authoritative, grows philanthropical, bristles with new duties and new penalties, and casts a spawn of inspectors, who now begin, note-book in hand, to darken the face of england. it may be right or wrong, we are not trying that; but one thing it is beyond doubt: it is socialism in action, and the strange thing is that we scarcely know it. liberty has served us a long while, and it may be time to seek new altars. like all other principles, she has been proved to be self-exclusive in the long run. she has taken wages besides (like all other virtues) and dutifully served mammon; so that many things we were accustomed to admire as the benefits of freedom and common to all were truly benefits of wealth, and took their value from our neighbours' poverty. a few shocks of logic, a few disclosures (in the journalistic phrase) of what the freedom of manufacturers, landlords, or shipowners may imply for operatives, tenants or seamen, and we not unnaturally begin to turn to that other pole of hope, beneficent tyranny. freedom, to be desirable, involves kindness, wisdom, and all the virtues of the free; but the free man as we have seen him in action has been, as of yore, only the master of many helots; and the slaves are still ill-fed, ill-clad, ill-taught, ill-housed, insolently treated, and driven to their mines and workshops by the lash of famine. so much, in other men's affairs, we have begun to see clearly; we have begun to despair of virtue in these other men, and from our seat in parliament begin to discharge upon them, thick as arrows, the host of our inspectors. the landlord has long shaken his head over the manufacturer; those who do business on land have lost all trust in the virtues of the shipowner; the professions look askance upon the retail traders and have even started their co-operative stores to ruin them; and from out the smoke-wreaths of birmingham a finger has begun to write upon the wall the condemnation of the landlord. thus, piece by piece, do we condemn each other, and yet not perceive the conclusion, that our whole estate is somewhat damnable. thus, piece by piece, each acting against his neighbour, each sawing away the branch on which some other interest is seated, do we apply in detail our socialistic remedies, and yet not perceive that we are all labouring together to bring in socialism at large. a tendency so stupid and so selfish is like to prove invincible; and if socialism be at all a practicable rule of life, there is every chance that our grandchildren will see the day and taste the pleasures of existence in something far liker an ant-heap than any previous human polity. and this not in the least because of the voice of mr. hyndman or the horns of his followers; but by the mere glacier movement of the political soil, bearing forward on its bosom, apparently undisturbed, the proud camps of whig and tory. if mr. hyndman were a man of keen humour, which is far from my conception of his character, he might rest from his troubling and look on: the walls of jericho begin already to crumble and dissolve. that great servile war, the armageddon of money and numbers, to which we looked forward when young, becomes more and more unlikely; and we may rather look to see a peaceable and blindfold evolution, the work of dull men immersed in political tactics and dead to political results. the principal scene of this comedy lies, of course, in the house of commons; it is there, besides, that the details of this new evolution (if it proceed) will fall to be decided; so that the state of parliament is not only diagnostic of the present but fatefully prophetic of the future. well, we all know what parliament is, and we are all ashamed of it. we may pardon it some faults, indeed, on the ground of irish obstruction--a bitter trial, which it supports with notable good humour. but the excuse is merely local; it cannot apply to similar bodies in america and france; and what are we to say of these? president cleveland's letter may serve as a picture of the one; a glance at almost any paper will convince us of the weakness of the other. decay appears to have seized on the organ of popular government in every land; and this just at the moment when we begin to bring to it, as to an oracle of justice, the whole skein of our private affairs to be unravelled, and ask it, like a new messiah, to take upon itself our frailties and play for us the part that should be played by our own virtues. for that, in few words, is the case. we cannot trust ourselves to behave with decency; we cannot trust our consciences; and the remedy proposed is to elect a round number of our neighbours, pretty much at random, and say to these: "be ye our conscience; make laws so wise, and continue from year to year to administer them so wisely, that they shall save us from ourselves and make us righteous and happy, world without end. amen." and who can look twice at the british parliament and then seriously bring it such a task? i am not advancing this as an argument against socialism; once again, nothing is further from my mind. there are great truths in socialism, or no one, not even mr. hyndman, would be found to hold it; and if it came, and did one-tenth part of what it offers, i for one should make it welcome. but if it is to come, we may as well have some notion of what it will be like; and the first thing to grasp is that our new polity will be designed and administered (to put it courteously) with something short of inspiration. it will be made, or will grow, in a human parliament; and the one thing that will not very hugely change is human nature. the anarchists think otherwise, from which it is only plain that they have not carried to the study of history the lamp of human sympathy. given, then, our new polity, with its new waggon-load of laws, what headmarks must we look for in the life? we chafe a good deal at that excellent thing, the income-tax, because it brings into our affairs the prying fingers, and exposes us to the tart words, of the official. the official, in all degrees, is already something of a terror to many of us. i would not willingly have to do with even a police-constable in any other spirit than that of kindness. i still remember in my dreams the eye-glass of a certain _attaché_ at a certain embassy--an eye-glass that was a standing indignity to all on whom it looked; and my next most disagreeable remembrance is of a bracing, republican postman in the city of san francisco. i lived in that city among working folk, and what my neighbours accepted at the postman's hands--nay, what i took from him myself--it is still distasteful to recall. the bourgeois, residing in the upper parts of society, has but few opportunities of tasting this peculiar bowl; but about the income-tax, as i have said, or perhaps about a patent, or in the halls of an embassy at the hands of my friend of the eye-glass, he occasionally sets his lips to it; and he may thus imagine (if he has that faculty of imagination, without which most faculties are void) how it tastes to his poorer neighbours who must drain it to the dregs. in every contact with authority, with their employer, with the police, with the school board officer, in the hospital, or in the workhouse, they have equally the occasion to appreciate the light-hearted civility of the man in office; and as an experimentalist in several out-of-the-way provinces of life, i may say it has but to be felt to be appreciated. well, this golden age of which we are speaking will be the golden age of officials. in all our concerns it will be their beloved duty to meddle, with what tact, with what obliging words, analogy will aid us to imagine. it is likely these gentlemen will be periodically elected; they will therefore have their turn of being underneath, which does not always sweeten men's conditions. the laws they will have to administer will be no clearer than those we know to-day, and the body which is to regulate their administration no wiser than the british parliament. so that upon all hands we may look for a form of servitude most galling to the blood--servitude to many and changing masters, and for all the slights that accompany the rule of jack-in-office. and if the socialistic programme be carried out with the least fulness, we shall have lost a thing, in most respects not much to be regretted, but as a moderator of oppression, a thing nearly invaluable--the newspaper. for the independent journal is a creature of capital and competition; it stands and falls with millionaires and railway bonds and all the abuses and glories of to-day; and as soon as the state has fairly taken its bent to authority and philanthropy, and laid the least touch on private property, the days of the independent journal are numbered. state railways may be good things and so may state bakeries; but a state newspaper will never be a very trenchant critic of the state officials. but again, these officials would have no sinecure. crime would perhaps be less, for some of the motives of crime we may suppose would pass away. but if socialism were carried out with any fulness, there would be more contraventions. we see already new sins springing up like mustard--school board sins, factory sins, merchant shipping act sins--none of which i would be thought to except against in particular, but all of which, taken together, show us that socialism can be a hard master even in the beginning. if it go on to such heights as we hear proposed and lauded, if it come actually to its ideal of the ant-heap, ruled with iron justice, the number of new contraventions will be out of all proportion multiplied. take the case of work alone. man is an idle animal. he is at least as intelligent as the ant; but generations of advisers have in vain recommended him the ant's example. of those who are found truly indefatigable in business, some are misers; some are the practisers of delightful industries, like gardening; some are students, artists, inventors, or discoverers, men lured forward by successive hopes; and the rest are those who live by games of skill or hazard--financiers, billiard-players, gamblers, and the like. but in unloved toils, even under the prick of necessity, no man is continually sedulous. once eliminate the fear of starvation, once eliminate or bound the hope of riches, and we shall see plenty of skulking and malingering. society will then be something not wholly unlike a cotton plantation in the old days; with cheerful, careless, demoralised slaves, with elected overseers, and, instead of the planter, a chaotic popular assembly. if the blood be purposeful and the soil strong, such a plantation may succeed, and be, indeed, a busy ant-heap, with full granaries and long hours of leisure. but even then i think the whip will be in the overseer's hands, and not in vain. for, when it comes to be a question of each man doing his own share or the rest doing more, prettiness of sentiment will be forgotten. to dock the skulker's food is not enough; many will rather eat haws and starve on petty pilferings than put their shoulder to the wheel for one hour daily. for such as these, then, the whip will be in the overseer's hand; and his own sense of justice and the superintendence of a chaotic popular assembly will be the only checks on its employment. now, you may be an industrious man and a good citizen, and yet not love, nor yet be loved by, dr. fell the inspector. it is admitted by private soldiers that the disfavour of a sergeant is an evil not to be combated; offend the sergeant, they say, and in a brief while you will either be disgraced or have deserted. and the sergeant can no longer appeal to the lash. but if these things go on, we shall see, or our sons shall see, what it is to have offended an inspector. this for the unfortunate. but with the fortunate also, even those whom the inspector loves, it may not be altogether well. it is concluded that in such a state of society, supposing it to be financially sound, the level of comfort will be high. it does not follow: there are strange depths of idleness in man, a too-easily-got sufficiency, as in the case of the sago-eaters, often quenching the desire for all besides; and it is possible that the men of the richest ant-heaps may sink even into squalor. but suppose they do not; suppose our tricksy instrument of human nature, when we play upon it this new tune, should respond kindly; suppose no one to be damped and none exasperated by the new conditions, the whole enterprise to be financially sound--a vaulting supposition--and all the inhabitants to dwell together in a golden mean of comfort: we have yet to ask ourselves if this be what man desire, or if it be what man will even deign to accept for a continuance. it is certain that man loves to eat, it is not certain that he loves that only or that best. he is supposed to love comfort; it is not a love, at least, that he is faithful to. he is supposed to love happiness; it is my contention that he rather loves excitement. danger, enterprise, hope, the novel, the aleatory, are dearer to man than regular meals. he does not think so when he is hungry, but he thinks so again as soon as he is fed; and on the hypothesis of a successful ant-heap, he would never go hungry. it would be always after dinner in that society, as, in the land of the lotos-eaters, it was always afternoon; and food, which, when we have it not, seems all-important, drops in our esteem, as soon as we have it, to a mere pre-requisite of living. that for which man lives is not the same thing for all individuals nor in all ages; yet it has a common base; what he seeks and what he must have is that which will seize and hold his attention. regular meals and weather-proof lodgings will not do this long. play in its wide sense, as the artificial induction of sensation, including all games and all arts, will, indeed, go far to keep him conscious of himself; but in the end he wearies for realities. study or experiment, to some rare natures, is the unbroken pastime of a life. these are enviable natures; people shut in the house by sickness often bitterly envy them; but the commoner man cannot continue to exist upon such altitudes: his feet itch for physical adventure; his blood boils for physical dangers, pleasures, and triumphs; his fancy, the looker after new things, cannot continue to look for them in books and crucibles, but must seek them on the breathing stage of life. pinches, buffets, the glow of hope, the shock of disappointment, furious contention with obstacles: these are the true elixir for all vital spirits, these are what they seek alike in their romantic enterprises and their unromantic dissipations. when they are taken in some pinch closer than the common, they cry, "catch me here again!" and sure enough you catch them there again--perhaps before the week is out. it is as old as "robinson crusoe"; as old as man. our race has not been strained for all these ages through that sieve of dangers that we call natural selection, to sit down with patience in the tedium of safety; the voices of its fathers call it forth. already in our society as it exists, the bourgeois is too much cottoned about for any zest in living; he sits in his parlour out of reach of any danger, often out of reach of any vicissitude but one of health; and there he yawns. if the people in the next villa took pot-shots at him, he might be killed indeed, but so long as he escaped he would find his blood oxygenated and his views of the world brighter. if mr. mallock, on his way to the publishers, should have his skirts pinned to a wall by a javelin, it would not occur to him--at least for several hours--to ask if life were worth living; and if such peril were a daily matter, he would ask it never more; he would have other things to think about, he would be living indeed--not lying in a box with cotton, safe, but immeasurably dull. the aleatory, whether it touch life, or fortune, or renown--whether we explore africa or only toss for halfpence--that is what i conceive men to love best, and that is what we are seeking to exclude from men's existences. of all forms of the aleatory, that which most commonly attends our working men--the danger of misery from want of work--is the least inspiriting: it does not whip the blood, it does not evoke the glory of contest; it is tragic, but it is passive; and yet, in so far as it is aleatory, and a peril sensibly touching them, it does truly season the men's lives. of those who fail, i do not speak--despair should be sacred; but to those who even modestly succeed, the changes of their life bring interest: a job found, a shilling saved, a dainty earned, all these are wells of pleasure springing afresh for the successful poor; and it is not from these but from the villa-dweller that we hear complaints of the unworthiness of life. much, then, as the average of the proletariat would gain in this new state of life, they would also lose a certain something, which would not be missed in the beginning, but would be missed progressively and progressively lamented. soon there would be a looking back: there would be tales of the old world humming in young men's ears, tales of the tramp and the pedlar, and the hopeful emigrant. and in the stall-fed life of the successful ant-heap--with its regular meals, regular duties, regular pleasures, an even course of life, and fear excluded--the vicissitudes, delights, and havens of to-day will seem of epic breadth. this may seem a shallow observation; but the springs by which men are moved lie much on the surface. bread, i believe, has always been considered first, but the circus comes close upon its heels. bread we suppose to be given amply; the cry for circuses will be the louder, and if the life of our descendants be such as we have conceived, there are two beloved pleasures on which they will be likely to fall back: the pleasures of intrigue and of sedition. in all this i have supposed the ant-heap to be financially sound. i am no economist, only a writer of fiction; but even as such, i know one thing that bears on the economic question--i know the imperfection of man's faculty for business. the anarchists, who count some rugged elements of common-sense among what seem to me their tragic errors, have said upon this matter all that i could wish to say, and condemned beforehand great economical polities. so far it is obvious that they are right; they may be right also in predicting a period of communal independence, and they may even be right in thinking that desirable. but the rise of communes is none the less the end of economic equality, just when we were told it was beginning. communes will not be all equal in extent, nor in quality of soil, nor in growth of population; nor will the surplus produce of all be equally marketable. it will be the old story of competing interests, only with a new unit; and, as it appears to me, a new, inevitable danger. for the merchant and the manufacturer, in this new world, will be a sovereign commune; it is a sovereign power that will see its crops undersold, and its manufactures worsted in the market. and all the more dangerous that the sovereign power should be small. great powers are slow to stir; national affronts, even with the aid of newspapers, filter slowly into popular consciousness; national losses are so unequally shared, that one part of the population will be counting its gains while another sits by a cold hearth. but in the sovereign commune all will be centralised and sensitive. when jealousy springs up, when (let us say) the commune of poole has overreached the commune of dorchester, irritation will run like quicksilver throughout the body politic; each man in dorchester will have to suffer directly in his diet and his dress; even the secretary, who drafts the official correspondence, will sit down to his task embittered, as a man who has dined ill and may expect to dine worse; and thus a business difference between communes will take on much the same colour as a dispute between diggers in the lawless west, and will lead as directly to the arbitrament of blows. so that the establishment of the communal system will not only reintroduce all the injustices and heart-burnings of economic inequality, but will, in all human likelihood, inaugurate a world of hedgerow warfare. dorchester will march on poole, sherborne on dorchester, wimborne on both; the waggons will be fired on as they follow the highway, the trains wrecked on the lines, the ploughman will go armed into the field of tillage; and if we have not a return of ballad literature, the local press at least will celebrate in a high vein the victory of cerne abbas or the reverse of toller porcorum. at least this will not be dull; when i was younger, i could have welcomed such a world with relief; but it is the new-old with a vengeance, and irresistibly suggests the growth of military powers and the foundation of new empires. vii letter to a young gentleman who proposes to embrace the career of art with the agreeable frankness of youth, you address me on a point of some practical importance to yourself and (it is even conceivable) of some gravity to the world: should you or should you not become an artist? it is one which you must decide entirely for yourself; all that i can do is to bring under your notice some of the materials of that decision; and i will begin, as i shall probably conclude also, by assuring you that all depends on the vocation. to know what you like is the beginning of wisdom and of old age. youth is wholly experimental. the essence and charm of that unquiet and delightful epoch is ignorance of self as well as ignorance of life. these two unknowns the young man brings together again and again, now in the airiest touch, now with a bitter hug; now with exquisite pleasure, now with cutting pain; but never with indifference, to which he is a total stranger, and never with that near kinsman of indifference, contentment. if he be a youth of dainty senses or a brain easily heated, the interest of this series of experiments grows upon him out of all proportion to the pleasure he receives. it is not beauty that he loves, nor pleasure that he seeks, though he may think so; his design and his sufficient reward is to verify his own existence and taste the variety of human fate. to him, before the razor-edge of curiosity is dulled, all that is not actual living and the hot chase of experience wears a face of a disgusting dryness difficult to recall in later days; or if there be any exception--and here destiny steps in--it is in those moments when, wearied or surfeited of the primary activity of the senses, he calls up before memory the image of transacted pains and pleasures. thus it is that such an one shies from all cut-and-dry professions, and inclines insensibly toward that career of art which consists only in the tasting and recording of experience. this, which is not so much a vocation for art as an impatience of all other honest trades, frequently exists alone; and, so existing, it will pass gently away in the course of years. emphatically, it is not to be regarded; it is not a vocation, but a temptation; and when your father the other day so fiercely and (in my view) so properly discouraged your ambition, he was recalling not improbably some similar passage in his own experience. for the temptation is perhaps nearly as common as the vocation is rare. but again we have vocations which are imperfect; we have men whose minds are bound up, not so much in any art, as in the general _ars artium_ and common base of all creative work; who will now dip into painting, and now study counterpoint, and anon will be inditing a sonnet: all these with equal interest, all often with genuine knowledge. and of this temper, when it stands alone, i find it difficult to speak; but i should counsel such an one to take to letters, for in literature (which drags with so wide a net) all his information may be found some day useful, and if he should go on as he has begun, and turn at last into the critic, he will have learned to use the necessary tools. lastly we come to those vocations which are at once decisive and precise; to the men who are born with the love of pigments, the passion of drawing, the gift of music, or the impulse to create with words, just as other and perhaps the same men are born with the love of hunting, or the sea, or horses, or the turning-lathe. these are predestined; if a man love the labour of any trade, apart from any question of success or fame, the gods have called him. he may have the general vocation too: he may have a taste for all the arts, and i think he often has; but the mark of his calling is this laborious partiality for one, this inextinguishable zest in its technical successes, and (perhaps above all) a certain candour of mind, to take his very trifling enterprise with a gravity that would befit the cares of empire, and to think the smallest improvement worth accomplishing at any expense of time and industry. the book, the statue, the sonata, must be gone upon with the unreasoning good faith and the unflagging spirit of children at their play. _is it worth doing?_--when it shall have occurred to any artist to ask himself that question, it is implicitly answered in the negative. it does not occur to the child as he plays at being a pirate on the dining-room sofa, nor to the hunter as he pursues his quarry; and the candour of the one and the ardour of the other should be united in the bosom of the artist. if you recognise in yourself some such decisive taste, there is no room for hesitation: follow your bent. and observe (lest i should too much discourage you) that the disposition does not usually burn so brightly at the first, or rather not so constantly. habit and practice sharpen gifts; the necessity of toil grows less disgusting, grows even welcome, in the course of years; a small taste (if it be only genuine) waxes with indulgence into an exclusive passion. enough, just now, if you can look back over a fair interval, and see that your chosen art has a little more than held its own among the thronging interests of youth. time will do the rest, if devotion help it; and soon your every thought will be engrossed in that beloved occupation. but even with devotion, you may remind me, even with unfaltering and delighted industry, many thousand artists spend their lives, if the result be regarded, utterly in vain: a thousand artists, and never one work of art. but the vast mass of mankind are incapable of doing anything reasonably well, art among the rest. the worthless artist would not improbably have been a quite incompetent baker. and the artist, even if he does not amuse the public, amuses himself; so that there will always be one man the happier for his vigils. this is the practical side of art: its inexpugnable fortress for the true practitioner. the direct returns--the wages of the trade--are small, but the indirect--the wages of the life--are incalculably great. no other business offers a man his daily bread upon such joyful terms. the soldier and the explorer have moments of a worthier excitement, but they are purchased by cruel hardships and periods of tedium that beggar language. in the life of the artist there need be no hour without its pleasure. i take the author, with whose career i am best acquainted; and it is true he works in a rebellious material, and that the act of writing is cramped and trying both to the eyes and the temper; but remark him in his study when matter crowds upon him and words are not wanting--in what a continual series of small successes time flows by; with what a sense of power, as of one moving mountains, he marshals his petty characters; with what pleasures, both of the ear and eye, he sees his airy structure growing on the page; and how he labours in a craft to which the whole material of his life is tributary, and which opens a door to all his tastes, his loves, his hatreds, and his convictions, so that what he writes is only what he longed to utter. he may have enjoyed many things in this big, tragic playground of the world; but what shall he have enjoyed more fully than a morning of successful work? suppose it ill-paid: the wonder is it should be paid at all. other men pay, and pay dearly, for pleasures less desirable. nor will the practice of art afford you pleasure only; it affords besides an admirable training. for the artist works entirely upon honour. the public knows little or nothing of those merits in the quest of which you are condemned to spend the bulk of your endeavours. merits of design, the merit of first-hand energy, the merit of a certain cheap accomplishment which a man of the artistic temper easily acquires--these they can recognise, and these they value. but to those more exquisite refinements of proficiency and finish, which the artist so ardently desires and so keenly feels, for which (in the vigorous words of balzac) he must toil "like a miner buried in a landslip," for which, day after day, he recasts and revises and rejects--the gross mass of the public must be ever blind. to those lost pains, suppose you attain the highest pitch of merit, posterity may possibly do justice; suppose, as is so probable, you fail by even a hair's breadth of the highest, rest certain they shall never be observed. under the shadow of this cold thought, alone in his studio, the artist must preserve from day to day his constancy to the ideal. it is this which makes his life noble; it is by this that the practice of his craft strengthens and matures his character; it is for this that even the serious countenance of the great emperor was turned approvingly (if only for a moment) on the followers of apollo, and that sternly gentle voice bade the artist cherish his art. and here there fall two warnings to be made. first, if you are to continue to be a law to yourself, you must beware of the first signs of laziness. this idealism in honesty can only be supported by perpetual effort; the standard is easily lowered, the artist who says "_it will do_," is on the downward path; three or four pot-boilers are enough at times (above all at wrong times) to falsify a talent, and by the practice of journalism a man runs the risk of becoming wedded to cheap finish. this is the danger on the one side; there is not less upon the other. the consciousness of how much the artist is (and must be) a law to himself debauches the small heads. perceiving recondite merits very hard to attain, making or swallowing artistic formulæ, or perhaps falling in love with some particular proficiency of his own, many artists forget the end of all art: to please. it is doubtless tempting to exclaim against the ignorant bourgeois; yet it should not be forgotten, it is he who is to pay us, and that (surely on the face of it) for services that he shall desire to have performed. here also, if properly considered, there is a question of transcendental honesty. to give the public what they do not want, and yet expect to be supported: we have there a strange pretension, and yet not uncommon, above all with painters. the first duty in this world is for a man to pay his way; when that is quite accomplished, he may plunge into what eccentricity he likes; but emphatically not till then. till then, he must pay assiduous court to the bourgeois who carries the purse. and if in the course of these capitulations he shall falsify his talent, it can never have been a strong one, and he will have preserved a better thing than talent--character. or if he be of a mind so independent that he cannot stoop to this necessity, one course is yet open: he can desist from art, and follow some more manly way of life. i speak of a more manly way of life; it is a point on which i must be frank. to live by a pleasure is not a high calling; it involves patronage, however veiled; it numbers the artist, however ambitious, along with dancing girls and billiard-markers. the french have a romantic evasion for one employment, and call its practitioners the daughters of joy. the artist is of the same family, he is of the sons of joy, chose his trade to please himself, gains his livelihood by pleasing others, and has parted with something of the sterner dignity of man. journals but a little while ago declaimed against the tennyson peerage; and this son of joy was blamed for condescension when he followed the example of lord lawrence and lord cairns and lord clyde. the poet was more happily inspired; with a better modesty he accepted the honour; and anonymous journalists have not yet (if i am to believe them) recovered the vicarious disgrace to their profession. when it comes to their turn, these gentlemen can do themselves more justice; and i shall be glad to think of it; for to my barbarian eyesight, even lord tennyson looks somewhat out of place in that assembly. there should be no honours for the artist; he has already, in the practice of his art, more than his share of the rewards of life; the honours are pre-empted for other trades, less agreeable and perhaps more useful. but the devil in these trades of pleasing is to fail to please. in ordinary occupations, a man offers to do a certain thing or to produce a certain article with a merely conventional accomplishment, a design in which (we may almost say) it is difficult to fail. but the artist steps forth out of the crowd and proposes to delight: an impudent design, in which it is impossible to fail without odious circumstances. the poor daughter of joy, carrying her smiles and finery quite unregarded through the crowd, makes a figure which it is impossible to recall without a wounding pity. she is the type of the unsuccessful artist. the actor, the dancer, and the singer must appear like her in person, and drain publicly the cup of failure. but though the rest of us escape this crowning bitterness of the pillory, we all court in essence the same humiliation. we all profess to be able to delight. and how few of us are! we all pledge ourselves to be able to continue to delight. and the day will come to each, and even to the most admired, when the ardour shall have declined and the cunning shall be lost, and he shall sit by his deserted booth ashamed. then shall he see himself condemned to do work for which he blushes to take payment. then (as if his lot were not already cruel) he must lie exposed to the gibes of the wreckers of the press, who earn a little bitter bread by the condemnation of trash which they have not read, and the praise of excellence which they cannot understand. and observe that this seems almost the necessary end at least of writers. "les blancs et les bleus" (for instance) is of an order of merit very different from "le vicomte de bragelonne"; and if any gentleman can bear to spy upon the nakedness of "castle dangerous," his name i think is ham: let it be enough for the rest of us to read of it (not without tears) in the pages of lockhart. thus in old age, when occupation and comfort are most needful, the writer must lay aside at once his pastime and his breadwinner. the painter indeed, if he succeed at all in engaging the attention of the public, gains great sums and can stand to his easel until a great age without dishonourable failure. the writer has the double misfortune to be ill-paid while he can work, and to be incapable of working when he is old. it is thus a way of life which conducts directly to a false position. for the writer (in spite of notorious examples to the contrary) must look to be ill-paid. tennyson and montépin make handsome livelihoods; but we cannot all hope to be tennyson, and we do not all perhaps desire to be montépin. if you adopt an art to be your trade, weed your mind at the outset of all desire of money. what you may decently expect, if you have some talent and much industry, is such an income as a clerk will earn with a tenth or perhaps a twentieth of your nervous output. nor have you the right to look for more; in the wages of the life, not in the wages of the trade, lies your reward; the work is here the wages. it will be seen i have little sympathy with the common lamentations of the artist class. perhaps they do not remember the hire of the field labourer; or do they think no parallel will lie? perhaps they have never observed what is the retiring allowance of a field officer; or do they suppose their contributions to the arts of pleasing more important than the services of a colonel? perhaps they forget on how little millet was content to live; or do they think, because they have less genius, they stand excused from the display of equal virtues? but upon one point there should be no dubiety: if a man be not frugal, he has no business in the arts. if he be not frugal, he steers directly for that last tragic scene of _le vieux saltimbanque_; if he be not frugal, he will find it hard to continue to be honest. some day, when the butcher is knocking at the door, he may be tempted, he may be obliged, to turn out and sell a slovenly piece of work. if the obligation shall have arisen through no wantonness of his own, he is even to be commended; for words cannot describe how far more necessary it is that a man should support his family, than that he should attain to--or preserve--distinction in the arts. but if the pressure comes through his own fault, he has stolen, and stolen under trust, and stolen (which is the worst of all) in such a way that no law can reach him. and now you may perhaps ask me whether--if the débutant artist is to have no thought of money, and if (as is implied) he is to expect no honours from the state--he may not at least look forward to the delights of popularity? praise, you will tell me, is a savoury dish. and in so far as you may mean the countenance of other artists, you would put your finger on one of the most essential and enduring pleasures of the career of art. but in so far as you should have an eye to the commendations of the public or the notice of the newspapers, be sure you would but be cherishing a dream. it is true that in certain esoteric journals the author (for instance) is duly criticised, and that he is often praised a great deal more than he deserves, sometimes for qualities which he prided himself on eschewing, and sometimes by ladies and gentlemen who have denied themselves the privilege of reading his work. but if a man be sensitive to this wild praise, we must suppose him equally alive to that which often accompanies and always follows it--wild ridicule. a man may have done well for years, and then he may fail; he will hear of his failure. or he may have done well for years, and still do well, but the critics may have tired of praising him, or there may have sprung up some new idol of the instant, some "dust a little gilt," to whom they now prefer to offer sacrifice. here is the obverse and the reverse of that empty and ugly thing called popularity. will any man suppose it worth the gaining? viii pulvis et umbra we look for some reward of our endeavours and are disappointed; not success, not happiness, not even peace of conscience, crowns our ineffectual efforts to do well. our frailties are invincible, our virtues barren; the battle goes sore against us to the going down of the sun. the canting moralist tells us of right and wrong; and we look abroad, even on the face of our small earth, and find them change with every climate, and no country where some action is not honoured for a virtue and none where it is not branded for a vice; and we look in our experience, and find no vital congruity in the wisest rules, but at the best a municipal fitness. it is not strange if we are tempted to despair of good. we ask too much. our religions and moralities have been trimmed to flatter us, till they are all emasculate and sentimentalised, and only please and weaken. truth is of a rougher strain. in the harsh face of life, faith can read a bracing gospel. the human race is a thing more ancient than the ten commandments; and the bones and revolutions of the kosmos, in whose joints we are but moss and fungus, more ancient still. i of the kosmos in the last resort, science reports many doubtful things, and all of them appalling. there seems no substance to this solid globe on which we stamp: nothing but symbols and ratios. symbols and ratios carry us and bring us forth and beat us down; gravity, that swings the incommensurable suns and worlds through space, is but a figment varying inversely as the squares of distances; and the suns and worlds themselves, imponderable figures of abstraction, nh_{ } and h_{ }o. consideration dares not dwell upon this view; that way madness lies; science carries us into zones of speculation, where there is no habitable city for the mind of man. but take the kosmos with a grosser faith, as our senses give it us. we behold space sown with rotatory islands, suns and worlds and the shards and wrecks of systems: some, like the sun, still blazing; some rotting, like the earth; others, like the moon, stable in desolation. all of these we take to be made of something we call matter: a thing which no analysis can help us to conceive; to whose incredible properties no familiarity can reconcile our minds. this stuff, when not purified by the lustration of fire, rots uncleanly into something we call life; seized through all its atoms with a pediculous malady; swelling in tumours that become independent, sometimes even (by an abhorrent prodigy) locomotory; one splitting into millions, millions cohering into one, as the malady proceeds through varying stages. this vital putrescence of the dust, used as we are to it, yet strikes us with occasional disgust, and the profusion of worms in a piece of ancient turf, or the air of a marsh darkened with insects, will sometimes check our breathing so that we aspire for cleaner places. but none is clean: the moving sand is infected with lice; the pure spring, where it bursts out of the mountain, is a mere issue of worms; even in the hard rock the crystal is forming. in two main shapes this eruption covers the countenance of the earth: the animal and the vegetable: one in some degree the inversion of the other: the second rooted to the spot; the first coming detached out of its natal mud, and scurrying abroad with the myriad feet of insects or towering into the heavens on the wings of birds: a thing so inconceivable that, if it be well considered, the heart stops. to what passes with the anchored vermin, we have little clue: doubtless they have their joys and sorrows, their delights and killing agonies: it appears not how. but of the locomotory, to which we ourselves belong, we can tell more. these share with us a thousand miracles: the miracles of sight, of hearing, of the projection of sound, things that bridge space; the miracles of memory and reason, by which the present is conceived, and, when it is gone, its image kept living in the brains of man and brute; the miracle of reproduction, with its imperious desires and staggering consequences. and to put the last touch upon this mountain mass of the revolting and the inconceivable, all these prey upon each other, lives tearing other lives in pieces, cramming them inside themselves, and by that summary process, growing fat: the vegetarian, the whale, perhaps the tree, not less than the lion of the desert; for the vegetarian is only the eater of the dumb. meanwhile our rotary island loaded with predatory life, and more drenched with blood, both animal and vegetable, than ever mutinied ship, scuds through space with unimaginable speed, and turns alternate cheeks to the reverberation of a blazing world, ninety million miles away. ii what a monstrous spectre is this man, the disease of the agglutinated dust, lifting alternate feet or lying drugged with slumber; killing, feeding, growing, bringing forth small copies of himself; grown upon with hair like grass, fitted with eyes that move and glitter in his face; a thing to set children screaming;--and yet looked at nearlier, known as his fellows know him, how surprising are his attributes! poor soul, here for so little, cast among so many hardships, filled with desires so incommensurate and so inconsistent, savagely surrounded, savagely descended, irremediably condemned to prey upon his fellow lives: who should have blamed him had he been of a piece with his destiny and a being merely barbarous? and we look and behold him instead filled with imperfect virtues: infinitely childish, often admirably valiant, often touchingly kind; sitting down, amidst his momentary life, to debate of right and wrong and the attributes of the deity; rising up to do battle for an egg or die for an idea; singling out his friends and his mate with cordial affection; bringing forth in pain, rearing with long-suffering solicitude, his young. to touch the heart of his mystery, we find in him one thought, strange to the point of lunacy: the thought of duty; the thought of something owing to himself, to his neighbour, to his god: an ideal of decency, to which he would rise if it were possible; a limit of shame, below which, if it be possible, he will not stoop. the design in most men is one of conformity; here and there, in picked natures, it transcends itself and soars on the other side, arming martyrs with independence; but in all, in their degrees, it is a bosom thought:--not in man alone, for we trace it in dogs and cats whom we know fairly well, and doubtless some similar point of honour sways the elephant, the oyster, and the louse, of whom we know so little:--but in man, at least, it sways with so complete an empire that merely selfish things come second, even with the selfish: that appetites are starved, fears are conquered, pains supported; that almost the dullest shrinks from the reproof of a glance, although it were a child's; and all but the most cowardly stand amid the risks of war; and the more noble, having strongly conceived an act as due to their ideal, affront and embrace death. strange enough if, with their singular origin and perverted practice, they think they are to be rewarded in some future life: stranger still, if they are persuaded of the contrary, and think this blow, which they solicit, will strike them senseless for eternity. i shall be reminded what a tragedy of misconception and misconduct man at large presents: of organised injustice, cowardly violence and treacherous crime; and of the damning imperfections of the best. they cannot be too darkly drawn. man is indeed marked for failure in his efforts to do right. but where the best consistently miscarry, how tenfold more remarkable that all should continue to strive: and surely we should find it both touching and inspiriting, that in a field from which success is banished, our race should not cease to labour. if the first view of this creature, stalking in his rotatory isle, be a thing to shake the courage of the stoutest, on this nearer sight he startles us with an admiring wonder. it matters not where we look, under what climate we observe him, in what stage of society, in what depth of ignorance, burthened with what erroneous morality; by camp-fires in assiniboia, the snow powdering his shoulders, the wind plucking his blanket, as he sits, passing the ceremonial calumet and uttering his grave opinions like a roman senator; in ships at sea, a man inured to hardship and vile pleasures, his brightest hope a fiddle in a tavern and a bedizened trull who sells herself to rob him, and he, for all that, simple, innocent, cheerful, kindly like a child, constant to toil, brave to drown, for others; in the slums of cities, moving among indifferent millions to mechanical employments, without hope of change in the future, with scarce a pleasure in the present, and yet true to his virtues, honest up to his lights, kind to his neighbours, tempted perhaps in vain by the bright gin-palace, perhaps long-suffering with the drunken wife that ruins him; in india (a woman this time) kneeling with broken cries and streaming tears, as she drowns her child in the sacred river; in the brothel, the discard of society, living mainly on strong drink, fed with affronts, a fool, a thief, the comrade of thieves, and even here keeping the point of honour and the touch of pity, often repaying the world's scorn with service, often standing firm upon a scruple, and at a certain cost, rejecting riches:--everywhere some virtue cherished or affected, everywhere some decency of thought and carriage, everywhere the ensign of man's ineffectual goodness:--ah! if i could show you this! if i could show you these men and women, all the world over, in every stage of history, under every abuse of error, under every circumstance of failure, without hope, without help, without thanks, still obscurely fighting the lost fight of virtue, still clinging, in the brothel or on the scaffold, to some rag of honour, the poor jewel of their souls! they may seek to escape, and yet they cannot; it is not alone their privilege and glory, but their doom; they are condemned to some nobility; all their lives long, the desire of good is at their heels, the implacable hunter. of all earth's meteors, here at least is the most strange and consoling: that this ennobled lemur, this hair-crowned bubble of the dust, this inheritor of a few years and sorrows, should yet deny himself his rare delights, and add to his frequent pains, and live for an ideal, however misconceived. nor can we stop with man. a new doctrine, received with screams a little while ago by canting moralists, and still not properly worked into the body of our thoughts, lights us a step farther into the heart of this rough but noble universe. for nowadays the pride of man denies in vain his kinship with the original dust. he stands no longer like a thing apart. close at his heels we see the dog, prince of another genus: and in him, too, we see dumbly testified the same cultus of an unattainable ideal, the same constancy in failure. does it stop with the dog? we look at our feet where the ground is blackened with the swarming ant; a creature so small, so far from us in the hierarchy of brutes, that we can scarce trace and scarce comprehend his doings; and here also, in his ordered polities and rigorous justice, we see confessed the law of duty and the fact of individual sin. does it stop, then, with the ant? rather this desire of welldoing and this doom of frailty run through all the grades of life: rather is this earth, from the frosty top of everest to the next margin of the internal fire, one stage of ineffectual virtues and one temple of pious tears and perseverance. the whole creation groaneth and travaileth together. it is the common and the god-like law of life. the browsers, the biters, the barkers, the hairy coats of field and forest, the squirrel in the oak, the thousand-footed creeper in the dust, as they share with us the gift of life, share with us the love of an ideal: strive like us--like us are tempted to grow weary of the struggle--to do well; like us receive at times unmerited refreshment, visitings of support, returns of courage; and are condemned like us to be crucified between that double law of the members and the will. are they like us, i wonder, in the timid hope of some reward, some sugar with the drug? do they, too, stand aghast at unrewarded virtues, at the sufferings of those whom, in our partiality, we take to be just, and the prosperity of such as, in our blindness, we call wicked? it may be, and yet god knows what they should look for. even while they look, even while they repent, the foot of man treads them by thousands in the dust, the yelping hounds burst upon their trail, the bullet speeds, the knives are heating in the den of the vivisectionist; or the dew falls, and the generation of a day is blotted out. for these are creatures, compared with whom our weakness is strength, our ignorance wisdom, our brief span eternity. and as we dwell, we living things, in our isle of terror and under the imminent hand of death, god forbid it should be man the erected, the reasoner, the wise in his own eyes--god forbid it should be man that wearies in welldoing, that despairs of unrewarded effort, or utters the language of complaint. let it be enough for faith, that the whole creation groans in mortal frailty, strives with unconquerable constancy: surely not all in vain. ix a christmas sermon by the time this paper appears, i shall have been talking for twelve months;[ ] and it is thought i should take my leave in a formal and seasonable manner. valedictory eloquence is rare, and death-bed sayings have not often hit the mark of the occasion. charles second, wit and sceptic, a man whose life had been one long lesson in human incredulity, an easy-going comrade, a manoeuvring king--remembered and embodied all his wit and scepticism along with more than his usual good humour in the famous "i am afraid, gentlemen, i am an unconscionable time a-dying." i an unconscionable time a-dying--there is the picture ("i am afraid, gentlemen,") of your life and of mine. the sands run out, and the hours are "numbered and imputed," and the days go by; and when the last of these finds us, we have been a long time dying, and what else? the very length is something, if we reach that hour of separation undishonoured; and to have lived at all is doubtless (in the soldierly expression) to have served. there is a tale in tacitus of how the veterans mutinied in the german wilderness; of how they mobbed germanicus, clamouring to go home; and of how, seizing their general's hand, these old, war-worn exiles passed his finger along their toothless gums. _sunt lacrymæ rerum_: this was the most eloquent of the songs of simeon. and when a man has lived to a fair age, he bears his marks of service. he may have never been remarked upon the breach at the head of the army; at least he shall have lost his teeth on the camp bread. the idealism of serious people in this age of ours is of a noble character. it never seems to them that they have served enough; they have a fine impatience of their virtues. it were perhaps more modest to be singly thankful that we are no worse. it is not only our enemies, those desperate characters--it is we ourselves who know not what we do;--thence springs the glimmering hope that perhaps we do better than we think: that to scramble through this random business with hands reasonably clean, to have played the part of a man or woman with some reasonable fulness, to have often resisted the diabolic, and at the end to be still resisting it, is for the poor human soldier to have done right well. to ask to see some fruit of our endeavour is but a transcendental way of serving for reward; and what we take to be contempt of self is only greed of hire. and again if we require so much of ourselves, shall we not require much of others? if we do not genially judge our own deficiencies, is it not to be feared we shall be even stern to the trespasses of others? and he who (looking back upon his own life) can see no more than that he has been unconscionably long a-dying, will he not be tempted to think his neighbour unconscionably long of getting hanged? it is probable that nearly all who think of conduct at all, think of it too much; it is certain we all think too much of sin. we are not damned for doing wrong, but for not doing right; christ would never hear of negative morality; _thou shall_ was ever his word, with which he superseded _thou shall not_. to make our idea of morality centre on forbidden acts is to defile the imagination and to introduce into our judgments of our fellow-men a secret element of gusto. if a thing is wrong for us, we should not dwell upon the thought of it; or we shall soon dwell upon it with inverted pleasure. if we cannot drive it from our minds--one thing of two: either our creed is in the wrong and we must more indulgently remodel it; or else, if our morality be in the right, we are criminal lunatics and should place our persons in restraint. a mark of such unwholesomely divided minds is the passion for interference with others: the fox without the tail was of this breed, but had (if his biographer is to be trusted) a certain antique civility now out of date. a man may have a flaw, a weakness, that unfits him for the duties of life, that spoils his temper, that threatens his integrity, or that betrays him into cruelty. it has to be conquered; but it must never be suffered to engross his thoughts. the true duties lie all upon the further side, and must be attended to with a whole mind so soon as this preliminary clearing of the decks has been effected. in order that he may be kind and honest, it may be needful he should become a total abstainer; let him become so then, and the next day let him forget the circumstance. trying to be kind and honest will require all his thoughts; a mortified appetite is never a wise companion; in so far as he has had to mortify an appetite, he will still be the worse man; and of such an one a great deal of cheerfulness will be required in judging life, and a great deal of humility in judging others. it may be argued again that dissatisfaction with our life's endeavour springs in some degree from dulness. we require higher tasks, because we do not recognise the height of those we have. trying to be kind and honest seems an affair too simple and too inconsequential for gentlemen of our heroic mould; we had rather set ourselves to something bold, arduous, and conclusive; we had rather found a schism or suppress a heresy, cut off a hand or mortify an appetite. but the task before us, which is to co-endure with our existence, is rather one of microscopic fineness, and the heroism required is that of patience. there is no cutting of the gordian knots of life; each must be smilingly unravelled. to be honest, to be kind--to earn a little and to spend a little less, to make upon the whole a family happier for his presence, to renounce when that shall be necessary and not be embittered, to keep a few friends, but these without capitulation--above all, on the same grim condition, to keep friends with himself--here is a task for all that a man has of fortitude and delicacy. he has an ambitious soul who would ask more; he has a hopeful spirit who should look in such an enterprise to be successful. there is indeed one element in human destiny that not blindness itself can controvert: whatever else we are intended to do, we are not intended to succeed; failure is the fate allotted. it is so in every art and study; it is so above all in the continent art of living well. here is a pleasant thought for the year's end or for the end of life: only self-deception will be satisfied, and there need be no despair for the despairer. ii but christmas is not only the mile-mark of another year, moving us to thoughts of self-examination: it is a season, from all its associations, whether domestic or religious, suggesting thoughts of joy. a man dissatisfied with his endeavours is a man tempted to sadness. and in the midst of the winter, when his life runs lowest and he is reminded of the empty chairs of his beloved, it is well he should be condemned to this fashion of the smiling face. noble disappointment, noble self-denial, are not to be admired, not even to be pardoned, if they bring bitterness. it is one thing to enter the kingdom of heaven maim; another to maim yourself and stay without. and the kingdom of heaven is of the childlike, of those who are easy to please, who love and who give pleasure. mighty men of their hands, the smiters and the builders and the judges, have lived long and done sternly and yet preserved this lovely character; and among our carpet interests and twopenny concerns, the shame were indelible if _we_ should lose it. gentleness and cheerfulness, these come before all morality; they are the perfect duties. and it is the trouble with moral men that they have neither one nor other. it was the moral man, the pharisee, whom christ could not away with. if your morals make you dreary, depend upon it they are wrong. i do not say "give them up," for they may be all you have; but conceal them like a vice, lest they should spoil the lives of better and simpler people. a strange temptation attends upon man: to keep his eye on pleasures, even when he will not share in them; to aim all his morals against them. this very year a lady (singular iconoclast!) proclaimed a crusade against dolls; and the racy sermon against lust is a feature of the age. i venture to call such moralists insincere. at any excess or perversion of a natural appetite, their lyre sounds of itself with relishing denunciations; but for all displays of the truly diabolic--envy, malice, the mean lie, the mean silence, the calumnious truth, the backbiter, the petty tyrant, the peevish poisoner of family life--their standard is quite different. these are wrong, they will admit, yet somehow not so wrong; there is no zeal in their assault on them, no secret element of gusto warms up the sermon; it is for things not wrong in themselves that they reserve the choicest of their indignation. a man may naturally disclaim all moral kinship with the reverend mr. zola or the hobgoblin old lady of the dolls; for these are gross and naked instances. and yet in each of us some similar element resides. the sight of a pleasure in which we cannot or else will not share moves us to a particular impatience. it may be because we are envious, or because we are sad, or because we dislike noise and romping--being so refined, or because--being so philosophic--we have an overweighing sense of life's gravity: at least, as we go on in years, we are all tempted to frown upon our neighbour's pleasures. people are nowadays so fond of resisting temptations; here is one to be resisted. they are fond of self-denial; here is a propensity that cannot be too peremptorily denied. there is an idea abroad among moral people that they should make their neighbours good. one person i have to make good: myself. but my duty to my neighbour is much more nearly expressed by saying that i have to make him happy--if i may. iii happiness and goodness, according to canting moralists, stand in the relation of effect and cause. there was never anything less proved or less probable: our happiness is never in our own hands; we inherit our constitution; we stand buffet among friend and enemies; we may be so built as to feel a sneer or an aspersion with unusual keenness, and so circumstanced as to be unusually exposed to them; we may have nerves very sensitive to pain, and be afflicted with a disease very painful. virtue will not help us, and it is not meant to help us. it is not even its own reward, except for the self-centred and--i had almost said--the unamiable. no man can pacify his conscience; if quiet be what he want, he shall do better to let that organ perish from disuse. and to avoid the penalties of the law, and the minor _capitis diminutio_ of social ostracism, is an affair of wisdom--of cunning, if you will--and not of virtue. in his own life, then, a man is not to expect happiness, only to profit by it gladly when it shall arise; he is on duty here; he knows not how or why, and does not need to know; he knows not for what hire, and must not ask. somehow or other, though he does not know what goodness is, he must try to be good; somehow or other, though he cannot tell what will do it, he must try to give happiness to others. and no doubt there comes in here a frequent clash of duties. how far is he to make his neighbour happy? how far must he respect that smiling face, so easy to cloud, so hard to brighten again? and how far, on the other side, is he bound to be his brother's keeper and the prophet of his own morality? how far must he resent evil? the difficulty is that we have little guidance; christ's sayings on the point being hard to reconcile with each other, and (the most of them) hard to accept. but the truth of his teaching would seem to be this: in our own person and fortune, we should be ready to accept and to pardon all; it is _our_ cheek we are to turn, _our_ coat that we are to give away to the man who has taken _our_ cloak. but when another's face is buffeted, perhaps a little of the lion will become us best. that we are to suffer others to be injured, and stand by, is not conceivable, and surely not desirable. revenge, says bacon, is a kind of wild justice; its judgments at least are delivered by an insane judge; and in our own quarrel we can see nothing truly and do nothing wisely. but in the quarrel of our neighbour, let us be more bold. one person's happiness is as sacred as another's; when we cannot defend both, let us defend one with a stout heart. it is only in so far as we are doing this, that we have any right to interfere: the defence of b is our only ground of action against a. a has as good a right to go to the devil as we to go to glory; and neither knows what he does. the truth is that all these interventions and denunciations and militant mongerings of moral half-truths, though they be sometimes needful, though they are often enjoyable, do yet belong to an inferior grade of duties. ill-temper and envy and revenge find here an arsenal of pious disguises; this is the playground of inverted lusts. with a little more patience and a little less temper, a gentler and wiser method might be found in almost every case; and the knot that we cut by some fine heady quarrel-scene in private life, or, in public affairs, by some denunciatory act against what we are pleased to call our neighbour's vices, might yet have been unwoven by the hand of sympathy. iv to look back upon the past year, and see how little we have striven, and to what small purpose; and how often we have been cowardly and hung back, or temerarious and rushed unwisely in; and how every day and all day long we have transgressed the law of kindness;--it may seem a paradox, but in the bitterness of these discoveries a certain consolation resides. life is not designed to minister to a man's vanity. he goes upon his long business most of the time with a hanging head, and all the time like a blind child. full of rewards and pleasures as it is--so that to see the day break or the moon rise, or to meet a friend, or to hear the dinner-call when he is hungry, fills him with surprising joys--this world is yet for him no abiding city. friendships fall through, health fails, weariness assails him; year after year he must thumb the hardly varying record of his own weakness and folly. it is a friendly process of detachment. when the time comes that he should go, there need be few illusions left about himself. _here lies one who meant well, tried a little, failed much:_--surely that may be his epitaph, of which he need not be ashamed. nor will he complain at the summons which calls a defeated soldier from the field: defeated, ay, if he were paul or marcus aurelius!--but if there is still one inch of fight in his old spirit, undishonoured. the faith which sustained him in his lifelong blindness and lifelong disappointment will scarce even be required in this last formality of laying down his arms. give him a march with his old bones; there, out of the glorious sun-coloured earth, out of the day and the dust and the ecstasy--there goes another faithful failure! from a recent book of verse, where there is more than one such beautiful and manly poem, i take this memorial piece: it says better than i can, what i love to think; let it be our parting word:-- "a late lark twitters from the quiet skies; and from the west, where the sun, his day's work ended, lingers as in content, there falls on the old, grey city an influence luminous and serene, a shining peace. "the smoke ascends in a rosy-and-golden haze. the spires shine, and are changed. in the valley shadows rise. the lark sings on. the sun, closing his benediction, sinks, and the darkening air thrills with a sense of the triumphing night-- night, with her train of stars and her great gift of sleep. "so be my passing! my task accomplished and the long day done, my wages taken, and in my heart some late lark singing, let me be gathered to the quiet west, the sundown splendid and serene, death."[ ] footnotes: [ ] _i.e._ in the pages of _scribner's magazine_ ( ). [ ] from "a book of verses," by william ernest henley. d. nutt, . x father damien an open letter to the reverend dr. hyde of honolulu sydney, _february_ , . sir,--it may probably occur to you that we have met, and visited, and conversed; on my side, with interest. you may remember that you have done me several courtesies, for which i was prepared to be grateful. but there are duties which come before gratitude, and offences which justly divide friends, far more acquaintances. your letter to the reverend h. b. gage is a document which, in my sight, if you had filled me with bread when i was starving, if you had sat up to nurse my father when he lay a-dying, would yet absolve me from the bonds of gratitude. you know enough, doubtless, of the process of canonisation to be aware that, a hundred years after the death of damien, there will appear a man charged with the painful office of the _devil's advocate_. after that noble brother of mine, and of all frail clay, shall have lain a century at rest, one shall accuse, one defend him. the circumstance is unusual that the devil's advocate should be a volunteer, should be a member of a sect immediately rival, and should make haste to take upon himself his ugly office ere the bones are cold; unusual, and of a taste which i shall leave my readers free to qualify; unusual, and to me inspiring. if i have at all learned the trade of using words to convey truth and to arouse emotion, you have at last furnished me with a subject. for it is in the interest of all mankind, and the cause of public decency in every quarter of the world, not only that damien should be righted, but that you and your letter should be displayed at length, in their true colours, to the public eye. to do this properly, i must begin by quoting you at large: i shall then proceed to criticise your utterance from several points of view, divine and human, in the course of which i shall attempt to draw again, and with more specification, the character of the dead saint whom it has pleased you to vilify: so much being done, i shall say farewell to you for ever. "honolulu, _august_ , . "rev. h. b. gage. "dear brother,--in answer to your inquiries about father damien, i can only reply that we who knew the man are surprised at the extravagant newspaper laudations, as if he was a most saintly philanthropist. the simple truth is, he was a coarse, dirty man, headstrong and bigoted. he was not sent to molokai, but went there without orders; did not stay at the leper settlement (before he became one himself), but circulated freely over the whole island (less than half the island is devoted to the lepers), and he came often to honolulu. he had no hand in the reforms and improvements inaugurated, which were the work of our board of health, as occasion required and means were provided. he was not a pure man in his relations with women, and the leprosy of which he died should be attributed to his vices and carelessness. others have done much for the lepers, our own ministers, the government physicians, and so forth, but never with the catholic idea of meriting eternal life.--yours, etc., "c. m. hyde."[ ] to deal fitly with a letter so extraordinary, i must draw at the outset on my private knowledge of the signatory and his sect. it may offend others; scarcely you, who have been so busy to collect, so bold to publish, gossip on your rivals. and this is perhaps the moment when i may best explain to you the character of what you are to read: i conceive you as a man quite beyond and below the reticences of civility: with what measure you mete, with that shall it be measured you again; with you, at last, i rejoice to feel the button off the foil and to plunge home. and if in aught that i shall say i should offend others, your colleagues, whom i respect and remember with affection, i can but offer them my regret; i am not free, i am inspired by the consideration of interests far more large; and such pain as can be inflicted by anything from me must be indeed trifling when compared with the pain with which they read your letter. it is not the hangman, but the criminal, that brings dishonour on the house. you belong, sir, to a sect--i believe my sect, and that in which my ancestors laboured--which has enjoyed, and partly failed to utilise, an exceptional advantage in the islands of hawaii. the first missionaries came; they found the land already self-purged of its old and bloody faith; they were embraced, almost on their arrival, with enthusiasm; what troubles they supported came far more from whites than from hawaiians; and to these last they stood (in a rough figure) in the shoes of god. this is not the place to enter into the degree or causes of their failure, such as it is. one element alone is pertinent, and must here be plainly dealt with. in the course of their evangelical calling, they--or too many of them--grew rich. it may be news to you that the houses of missionaries are a cause of mocking on the streets of honolulu. it will at least be news to you, that when i returned your civil visit, the driver of my cab commented on the size, the taste, and the comfort of your home. it would have been news certainly to myself, had any one told me that afternoon that i should live to drag such matter into print. but you see, sir, how you degrade better men to your own level; and it is needful that those who are to judge betwixt you and me, betwixt damien and the devil's advocate, should understand your letter to have been penned in a house which could raise, and that very justly, the envy and the comments of the passers-by. i think (to employ a phrase of yours which i admire) it "should be attributed" to you that you have never visited the scene of damien's life and death. if you had, and had recalled it, and looked about your pleasant rooms, even your pen perhaps would have been stayed. your sect (and remember, as far as any sect avows me, it is mine) has not done ill in a worldly sense in the hawaiian kingdom. when calamity befell their innocent parishioners, when leprosy descended and took root in the eight islands, a _quid pro quo_ was to be looked for. to that prosperous mission, and to you, as one of its adornments, god had sent at last an opportunity. i know i am touching here upon a nerve acutely sensitive. i know that others of your colleagues look back on the inertia of your church, and the intrusive and decisive heroism of damien, with something almost to be called remorse. i am sure it is so with yourself; i am persuaded your letter was inspired by a certain envy, not essentially ignoble, and the one human trait to be espied in that performance. you were thinking of the lost chance, the past day; of that which should have been conceived and was not; of the service due and not rendered. _time was_, said the voice in your ear, in your pleasant room, as you sat raging and writing; and if the words written were base beyond parallel, the rage, i am happy to repeat--it is the only compliment i shall pay you--the rage was almost virtuous. but, sir, when we have failed, and another has succeeded; when we have stood by, and another has stepped in; when we sit and grow bulky in our charming mansions, and a plain, uncouth peasant steps into the battle, under the eyes of god, and succours the afflicted, and consoles the dying, and is himself afflicted in his turn, and dies upon the field of honour--the battle cannot be retrieved as your unhappy irritation has suggested. it is a lost battle, and lost for ever. one thing remained to you in your defeat--some rags of common honour; and these you have made haste to cast away. common honour; not the honour of having done anything right, but the honour of not having done aught conspicuously foul; the honour of the inert: that was what remained to you. we are not all expected to be damiens; a man may conceive his duty more narrowly, he may love his comforts better; and none will cast a stone at him for that. but will a gentleman of your reverend profession allow me an example from the fields of gallantry? when two gentlemen compete for the favour of a lady, and the one succeeds and the other is rejected, and (as will sometimes happen) matter damaging to the successful rival's credit reaches the ear of the defeated, it is held by plain men of no pretensions that his mouth is, in the circumstance, almost necessarily closed. your church and damien's were in hawaii upon a rivalry to do well: to help, to edify, to set divine examples. you having (in one huge instance) failed, and damien succeeded, i marvel it should not have occurred to you that you were doomed to silence; that when you had been outstripped in that high rivalry, and sat inglorious in the midst of your well-being, in your pleasant room--and damien, crowned with glories and horrors, toiled and rotted in that pigsty of his under the cliffs of kalawao--you, the elect who would not, were the last man on earth to collect and propagate gossip on the volunteer who would and did. i think i see you--for i try to see you in the flesh as i write these sentences--i think i see you leap at the word pigsty, a hyperbolical expression at the best. "he had no hand in the reforms," he was "a coarse, dirty man"; these were your own words; and you may think it possible that i am come to support you with fresh evidence. in a sense, it is even so. damien has been too much depicted with a conventional halo and conventional features; so drawn by men who perhaps had not the eye to remark or the pen to express the individual; or who perhaps were only blinded and silenced by generous admiration, such as i partly envy for myself--such as you, if your soul were enlightened, would envy on your bended knees. it is the least defect of such a method of portraiture that it makes the path easy for the devil's advocate, and leaves for the misuse of the slanderer a considerable field of truth. for the truth that is suppressed by friends is the readiest weapon of the enemy. the world, in your despite, may perhaps owe you something, if your letter be the means of substituting once for all a credible likeness for a wax abstraction. for, if that world at all remember you, on the day when damien of molokai shall be named saint, it will be in virtue of one work: your letter to the reverend h. b. gage. you may ask on what authority i speak. it was my inclement destiny to become acquainted, not with damien, but with dr. hyde. when i visited the lazaretto damien was already in his resting grave. but such information as i have, i gathered on the spot in conversation with those who knew him well and long: some indeed who revered his memory; but others who had sparred and wrangled with him, who beheld him with no halo, who perhaps regarded him with small respect, and through whose unprepared and scarcely partial communications the plain, human features of the man shone on me convincingly. these gave me what knowledge i possess; and i learnt it in that scene where it could be most completely and sensitively understood--kalawao, which you have never visited, about which you have never so much as endeavoured to inform yourself; for, brief as your letter is, you have found the means to stumble into that confession. "_less than one-half_ of the island," you say, "is devoted to the lepers." molokai--"_molokai ahina_," the "grey," lofty, and most desolate island--along all its northern side plunges a front of precipice into a sea of unusual profundity. this range of cliff is, from east to west, the true end and frontier of the island. only in one spot there projects into the ocean a certain triangular and rugged down, grassy, stony, windy, and rising in the midst into a hill with a dead crater: the whole bearing to the cliff that overhangs it somewhat the same relation as a bracket to a wall. with this hint you will now be able to pick out the leper station on a map; you will be able to judge how much of molokai is thus cut off between the surf and precipice, whether less than a half, or less than a quarter, or a fifth, or a tenth--or say, a twentieth; and the next time you burst into print you will be in a position to share with us the issue of your calculations. i imagine you to be one of those persons who talk with cheerfulness of that place which oxen and wain-ropes could not drag you to behold. you, who do not even know its situation on the map, probably denounce sensational descriptions, stretching your limbs the while in your pleasant parlour on beretania street. when i was pulled ashore there one early morning, there sat with me in the boat two sisters, bidding farewell (in humble imitation of damien) to the lights and joys of human life. one of these wept silently; i could not withhold myself from joining her. had you been there, it is my belief that nature would have triumphed even in you; and as the boat drew but a little nearer, and you beheld the stairs crowded with abominable deformations of our common manhood, and saw yourself landing in the midst of such a population as only now and then surrounds us in the horror of a nightmare--what a haggard eye you would have rolled over your reluctant shoulder towards the house on beretania street! had you gone on; had you found every fourth face a blot upon the landscape; had you visited the hospital and seen the butt-ends of human beings lying there almost unrecognisable, but still breathing, still thinking, still remembering; you would have understood that life in the lazaretto is an ordeal from which the nerves of a man's spirit shrink, even as his eye quails under the brightness of the sun; you would have felt it was (even to-day) a pitiful place to visit and a hell to dwell in. it is not the fear of possible infection. that seems a little thing when compared with the pain, the pity, and the disgust of the visitor's surroundings, and the atmosphere of affliction, disease, and physical disgrace in which he breathes. i do not think i am a man more than usually timid; but i never recall the days and nights i spent upon that island promontory (eight days and seven nights), without heartfelt thankfulness that i am somewhere else. i find in my diary that i speak of my stay as a "grinding experience": i have once jotted in the margin, "_harrowing_ is the word"; and when the _mokolii_ bore me at last towards the outer world, i kept repeating to myself, with a new conception of their pregnancy, those simple words of the song-- "'tis the most distressful country that ever yet was seen." and observe: that which i saw and suffered from was a settlement purged, bettered, beautified; the new village built, the hospital and the bishop-home excellently arranged; the sisters, the doctor, and the missionaries, all indefatigable in their noble tasks. it was a different place when damien came there, and made his great renunciation, and slept that first night under a tree amidst his rotting brethren: alone with pestilence; and looking forward (with what courage, with what pitiful sinkings of dread, god only knows) to a lifetime of dressing sores and stumps. you will say, perhaps, i am too sensitive, that sights as painful abound in cancer hospitals and are confronted daily by doctors and nurses. i have long learned to admire and envy the doctors and the nurses. but there is no cancer hospital so large and populous as kalawao and kalaupapa; and in such a matter every fresh case, like every inch of length in the pipe of an organ, deepens the note of the impression; for what daunts the onlooker is that monstrous sum of human suffering by which he stands surrounded. lastly, no doctor or nurse is called upon to enter once for all the doors of that gehenna; they do not say farewell, they need not abandon hope, on its sad threshold; they but go for a time to their high calling, and can look forward as they go to relief, to recreation, and to rest. but damien shut-to with his own hand the doors of his own sepulchre. i shall now extract three passages from my diary at kalawao. _a_. "damien is dead and already somewhat ungratefully remembered in the field of his labours and sufferings. 'he was a good man, but very officious,' says one. another tells me he had fallen (as other priests so easily do) into something of the ways and habits of thought of a kanaka; but he had the wit to recognise the fact, and the good sense to laugh at" [over] "it. a plain man it seems he was; i cannot find he was a popular." _b_. "after ragsdale's death" [ragsdale was a famous luna, or overseer, of the unruly settlement] "there followed a brief term of office by father damien which served only to publish the weakness of that noble man. he was rough in his ways, and he had no control. authority was relaxed; damien's life was threatened, and he was soon eager to resign." _c_. "of damien i begin to have an idea. he seems to have been a man of the peasant class, certainly of the peasant type: shrewd; ignorant and bigoted, yet with an open mind, and capable of receiving and digesting a reproof if it were bluntly administered; superbly generous in the least thing as well as in the greatest, and as ready to give his last shirt (although not without human grumbling) as he had been to sacrifice his life; essentially indiscreet and officious, which made him a troublesome colleague; domineering in all his ways, which made him incurably unpopular with the kanakas, but yet destitute of real authority, so that his boys laughed at him and he must carry out his wishes by the means of bribes. he learned to have a mania for doctoring; and set up the kanakas against the remedies of his regular rivals: perhaps (if anything matter at all in the treatment of such a disease) the worst thing that he did, and certainly the easiest. the best and worst of the man appear very plainly in his dealings with mr. chapman's money; he had originally laid it out" [intended to lay it out] "entirely for the benefit of catholics, and even so not wisely; but after a long, plain talk, he admitted his error fully and revised the list. the sad state of the boys' home is in part the result of his lack of control; in part, of his own slovenly ways and false ideas of hygiene. brother officials used to call it 'damien's chinatown.' 'well,' they would say, 'your chinatown keeps growing.' and he would laugh with perfect good-nature, and adhere to his errors with perfect obstinacy. so much i have gathered of truth about this plain, noble human brother and father of ours; his imperfections are the traits of his face, by which we know him for our fellow; his martyrdom and his example nothing can lessen or annul; and only a person here on the spot can properly appreciate their greatness." i have set down these private passages, as you perceive, without correction; thanks to you, the public has them in their bluntness. they are almost a list of the man's faults, for it is rather these that i was seeking: with his virtues, with the heroic profile of his life, i and the world were already sufficiently acquainted. i was besides a little suspicious of catholic testimony; in no ill sense, but merely because damien's admirers and disciples were the least likely to be critical. i know you will be more suspicious still; and the facts set down above were one and all collected from the lips of protestants who had opposed the father in his life. yet i am strangely deceived, or they build up the image of a man, with all his weaknesses, essentially heroic, and alive with rugged honesty, generosity, and mirth. take it for what it is, rough private jottings of the worst sides of damien's character, collected from the lips of those who had laboured with and (in your own phrase) "knew the man";--though i question whether damien would have said that he knew you. take it, and observe with wonder how well you were served by your gossips, how ill by your intelligence and sympathy; in how many points of fact we are at one, and how widely our appreciations vary. there is something wrong here; either with you or me. it is possible, for instance, that you, who seem to have so many ears in kalawao, had heard of the affair of mr. chapman's money, and were singly struck by damien's intended wrong-doing. i was struck with that also, and set it fairly down; but i was struck much more by the fact that he had the honesty of mind to be convinced. i may here tell you that it was a long business; that one of his colleagues sat with him late into the night, multiplying arguments and accusations; that the father listened as usual with "perfect good-nature and perfect obstinacy"; but at the last, when he was persuaded--"yes," said he, "i am very much obliged to you; you have done me a service; it would have been a theft." there are many (not catholics merely) who require their heroes and saints to be infallible; to these the story will be painful; not to the true lovers, patrons, and servants of mankind. and i take it, this is a type of our division; that you are one of those who have an eye for faults and failures; that you take a pleasure to find and publish them; and that, having found them, you make haste to forget the overvailing virtues and the real success which had alone introduced them to your knowledge. it is a dangerous frame of mind. that you may understand how dangerous, and into what a situation it has already brought you, we will (if you please) go hand-in-hand through the different phrases of your letter, and candidly examine each from the point of view of its truth, its appositeness, and its charity. damien was _coarse_. it is very possible. you make us sorry for the lepers who had only a coarse old peasant for their friend and father. but you, who were so refined, why were you not there, to cheer them with the lights of culture? or may i remind you that we have some reason to doubt if john the baptist were genteel; and in the case of peter, on whose career you doubtless dwell approvingly in the pulpit, no doubt at all he was a "coarse, headstrong" fisherman! yet even in our protestant bibles peter is called saint. damien was _dirty_. he was. think of the poor lepers annoyed with this dirty comrade! but the clean dr. hyde was at his food in a fine house. damien was _headstrong_. i believe you are right again; and i thank god for his strong head and heart. damien was _bigoted_. i am not fond of bigots myself, because they are not fond of me. but what is meant by bigotry, that we should regard it as a blemish in a priest? damien believed his own religion with the simplicity of a peasant or a child; as i would i could suppose that you do. for this, i wonder at him some way off; and had that been his only character, should have avoided him in life. but the point of interest in damien, which has caused him to be so much talked about and made him at last the subject of your pen and mine, was that, in him, his bigotry, his intense and narrow faith, wrought potently for good, and strengthened him to be one of the world's heroes and exemplars. damien _was not sent to molokai, but went there without orders_. is this a misreading? or do you really mean the words for blame? i have heard christ, in the pulpits of our church, held up for imitation on the ground that his sacrifice was voluntary. does dr. hyde think otherwise? damien _did not stay at the settlement, etc_. it is true he was allowed many indulgences. am i to understand that you blame the father for profiting by these, or the officers for granting them? in either case, it is a mighty spartan standard to issue from the house on beretania street; and i am convinced you will find yourself with few supporters. damien _had no hand in the reforms, etc_. i think even you will admit that i have already been frank in my description of the man i am defending; but before i take you up upon this head, i will be franker still, and tell you that perhaps nowhere in the world can a man taste a more pleasurable sense of contrast than when he passes from damien's "chinatown" at kalawao to the beautiful bishop-home at kalaupapa. at this point, in my desire to make all fair for you, i will break my rule and adduce catholic testimony. here is a passage from my diary about my visit to the chinatown, from which you will see how it is (even now) regarded by its own officials: "we went round all the dormitories, refectories, etc.--dark and dingy enough, with a superficial cleanliness, which he" [mr. dutton, the lay brother] "did not seek to defend. 'it is almost decent,' said he; 'the sisters will make that all right when we get them here.'" and yet i gathered it was already better since damien was dead, and far better than when he was there alone and had his own (not always excellent) way. i have now come far enough to meet you on a common ground of fact; and i tell you that, to a mind not prejudiced by jealousy, all the reforms of the lazaretto, and even those which he most vigorously opposed, are properly the work of damien. they are the evidence of his success; they are what his heroism provoked from the reluctant and the careless. many were before him in the field; mr. meyer, for instance, of whose faithful work we hear too little: there have been many since; and some had more worldly wisdom, though none had more devotion, than our saint. before his day, even you will confess, they had effected little. it was his part, by one striking act of martyrdom, to direct all men's eyes on that distressful country. at a blow, and with the price of his life, he made the place illustrious and public. and that, if you will consider largely, was the one reform needful; pregnant of all that should succeed. it brought money; it brought (best individual addition of them all) the sisters; it brought supervision, for public opinion and public interest landed with the man at kalawao. if ever any man brought reforms, and died to bring them, it was he. there is not a clean cup or towel in the bishop-home, but dirty damien washed it. damien _was not a pure man in his relations with women, etc_. how do you know that? is this the nature of the conversation in that house on beretania street which the cabman envied, driving past?--racy details of the misconduct of the poor peasant priest, toiling under the cliffs of molokai? many have visited the station before me; they seem not to have heard the rumour. when i was there i heard many shocking tales, for my informants were men speaking with the plainness of the laity; and i heard plenty of complaints of damien. why was this never mentioned? and how came it to you in the retirement of your clerical parlour? but i must not even seem to deceive you. this scandal, when i read it in your letter, was not new to me. i had heard it once before; and i must tell you how. there came to samoa a man from honolulu; he in a public-house on the beach volunteered the statement that damien had "contracted the disease from having connection with the female lepers"; and i find a joy in telling you how the report was welcomed in a public-house. a man sprang to his feet; i am not at liberty to give his name, but from what i heard i doubt if you would care to have him to dinner in beretania street. "you miserable little ----" (here is a word i dare not print, it would so shock your ears). "you miserable little ----," he cried, "if the story were a thousand times true, can't you see you are a million times a lower ---- for daring to repeat it?" i wish it could be told of you that when the report reached you in your house, perhaps after family worship, you had found in your soul enough holy anger to receive it with the same expressions; ay, even with that one which i dare not print; it would not need to have been blotted away, like uncle toby's oath, by the tears of the recording angel; it would have been counted to you for your brightest righteousness. but you have deliberately chosen the part of the man from honolulu, and you have played it with improvements of your own. the man from honolulu--miserable, leering creature--communicated the tale to a rude knot of beach-combing drinkers in a public-house, where (i will so far agree with your temperance opinions) man is not always at his noblest; and the man from honolulu had himself been drinking--drinking, we may charitably fancy, to excess. it was to your "dear brother, the reverend h. b. gage," that you chose to communicate the sickening story; and the blue ribbon which adorns your portly bosom forbids me to allow you the extenuating plea that you were drunk when it was done. your "dear brother"--a brother indeed--made haste to deliver up your letter (as a means of grace, perhaps) to the religious papers; where, after many months, i found and read and wondered at it; and whence i have now reproduced it for the wonder of others. and you and your dear brother have, by this cycle of operations, built up a contrast very edifying to examine in detail. the man whom you would not care to have to dinner, on the one side; on the other, the reverend dr. hyde and the reverend h. b. gage: the apia bar-room, the honolulu manse. but i fear you scarce appreciate how you appear to your fellow-men; and to bring it home to you, i will suppose your story to be true. i will suppose--and god forgive me for supposing it--that damien faltered and stumbled in his narrow path of duty; i will suppose that, in the horror of his isolation, perhaps in the fever of incipient disease, he, who was doing so much more than he had sworn, failed in the letter of his priestly oath--he, who was so much a better man than either you or me, who did what we have never dreamed of daring--he too tasted of our common frailty. "o, iago, the pity of it!" the least tender should be moved to tears; the most incredulous to prayer. and all that you could do was to pen your letter to the reverend h. b. gage! is it growing at all clear to you what a picture you have drawn of your own heart? i will try yet once again to make it clearer. you had a father: suppose this tale were about him, and some informant brought it to you, proof in hand: i am not making too high an estimate of your emotional nature when i suppose you would regret the circumstance? that you would feel the tale of frailty the more keenly since it shamed the author of your days? and that the last thing you would do would be to publish it in the religious press? well, the man who tried to do what damien did is my father, and the father of the man in the apia bar, and the father of all who love goodness; and he was your father too, if god had given you grace to see it. footnote: [ ] from the sydney _presbyterian_, october , . xi my first book--"treasure island" it was far indeed from being my first book, for i am not a novelist alone. but i am well aware that my paymaster, the great public, regards what else i have written with indifference, if not aversion; if it call upon me at all, it calls on me in the familiar and indelible character; and when i am asked to talk of my first book, no question in the world but what is meant is my first novel. sooner or later, somehow, anyhow, i was bound to write a novel. it seems vain to ask why. men are born with various manias: from my earliest childhood it was mine to make a plaything of imaginary series of events; and as soon as i was able to write, i became a good friend to the papermakers. reams upon reams must have gone to the making of "rathillet," "the pentland rising,"[ ] "the king's pardon" (otherwise "park whitehead"), "edward daven," "a country dance," and "a vendetta in the west"; and it is consolatory to remember that these reams are now all ashes, and have been received again into the soil. i have named but a few of my ill-fated efforts, only such indeed as came to a fair bulk ere they were desisted from; and even so they cover a long vista of years. "rathillet" was attempted before fifteen, "the vendetta" at twenty-nine, and the succession of defeats lasted unbroken till i was thirty-one. by that time i had written little books and little essays and short stories; and had got patted on the back and paid for them--though not enough to live upon. i had quite a reputation, i was the successful man; i passed my days in toil, the futility of which would sometimes make my cheek to burn--that i should spend a man's energy upon this business, and yet could not earn a livelihood: and still there shone ahead of me an unattained ideal: although i had attempted the thing with vigour not less than ten or twelve times, i had not yet written a novel. all--all my pretty ones--had gone for a little, and then stopped inexorably like a schoolboy's watch. i might be compared to a cricketer of many years' standing who should never have made a run. anybody can write a short story--a bad one, i mean--who has industry and paper and time enough; but not every one may hope to write even a bad novel. it is the length that kills. the accepted novelist may take his novel up and put it down, spend days upon it in vain, and write not any more than he makes haste to blot. not so the beginner. human nature has certain rights; instinct--the instinct of self-preservation--forbids that any man (cheered and supported by the consciousness of no previous victory) should endure the miseries of unsuccessful literary toil beyond a period to be measured in weeks. there must be something for hope to feed upon. the beginner must have a slant of wind, a lucky vein must be running, he must be in one of those hours when the words come and the phrases balance of themselves--_even to begin_. and having begun, what a dread looking forward is that until the book shall be accomplished! for so long a time the slant is to continue unchanged, the vein to keep running, for so long a time you must keep at command the same quality of style: for so long a time your puppets are to be always vital, always consistent, always vigorous! i remember i used to look, in those days, upon every three-volume novel with a sort of veneration, as a feat--not, possibly, of literature--but at least of physical and moral endurance and the courage of ajax. in the fated year i came to live with my father and mother at kinnaird, above pitlochry. then i walked on the red moors and by the side of the golden burn; the rude, pure air of our mountains inspirited, if it did not inspire, us, and my wife and i projected a joint volume of bogey stories, for which she wrote "the shadow on the bed," and i turned out "thrawn janet" and a first draft of "the merry men." i love my native air, but it does not love me; and the end of this delightful period was a cold, a fly-blister and a migration by strathardle and glenshee to the castleton of braemar. there it blew a good deal and rained in a proportion; my native air was more unkind than man's ingratitude, and i must consent to pass a good deal of my time between four walls in a house lugubriously known as the late miss m^cgregor's cottage. and now admire the finger of predestination. there was a schoolboy in the late miss m^cgregor's cottage, home from the holidays, and much in want of "something craggy to break his mind upon." he had no thought of literature; it was the art of raphael that received his fleeting suffrages; and with the aid of pen and ink and a shilling box of watercolours, he had soon turned one of the rooms into a picture-gallery. my more immediate duty towards the gallery was to be showman; but i would sometimes unbend a little, join the artist (so to speak) at the easel, and pass the afternoon with him in a generous emulation, making coloured drawings. on one of these occasions, i made the map of an island; it was elaborately and (i thought) beautifully coloured; the shape of it took my fancy beyond expression; it contained harbours that pleased me like sonnets; and, with the unconsciousness of the predestined, i ticketed my performance "treasure island." i am told there are people who do not care for maps, and find it hard to believe. the names, the shapes of the woodlands, the courses of the roads and rivers, the prehistoric footsteps of man still distinctly traceable up hill and down dale, the mills and the ruins, the ponds and the ferries, perhaps the _standing stone_ or the _druidic circle_ on the heath; here is an inexhaustible fund of interest for any man with eyes to see or twopence-worth of imagination to understand with! no child but must remember laying his head in the grass, staring into the infinitesimal forest and seeing it grow populous with fairy armies. somewhat in this way, as i paused upon my map of "treasure island," the future character of the book began to appear there visibly among imaginary woods; and their brown faces and bright weapons peeped out upon me from unexpected quarters, as they passed to and fro, fighting and hunting treasure, on these few square inches of a flat projection. the next thing i knew i had some papers before me and was writing out a list of chapters. how often have i done so, and the thing gone on further! but there seemed elements of success about this enterprise. it was to be a story for boys: no need of psychology or fine writing; and i had a boy at hand to be a touchstone. women were excluded. i was unable to handle a brig (which the _hispaniola_ should have been), but i thought i could make shift to sail her as a schooner without public shame. and then i had an idea for john silver from which i promised myself funds of entertainment: to take an admired friend of mine (whom the reader very likely knows and admires as much as i do), to deprive him of all his finer qualities and higher graces of temperament, to leave him with nothing but his strength, his courage, his quickness, and his magnificent geniality, and to try to express these in terms of the culture of a raw tarpaulin. such psychical surgery is, i think, a common way of "making character"; perhaps it is, indeed, the only way. we can put in the quaint figure that spoke a hundred words with us yesterday by the wayside; but do we know him? our friend with his infinite variety and flexibility, we know--but can we put him in? upon the first, we must engraft secondary and imaginary qualities, possibly all wrong; from the second, knife in hand, we must cut away and deduct the needless arborescence of his nature, but the trunk and the few branches that remain we may at least be fairly sure of. on a chill september morning, by the cheek of a brisk fire, and the rain drumming on the window, i began "the sea cook," for that was the original title. i have begun (and finished) a number of other books, but i cannot remember to have sat down to one of them with more complacency. it is not to be wondered at, for stolen waters are proverbially sweet. i am now upon a painful chapter. no doubt the parrot once belonged to robinson crusoe. no doubt the skeleton is conveyed from poe. i think little of these, they are trifles and details; and no man can hope to have a monopoly of skeletons or make a corner in talking birds. the stockade, i am told, is from "masterman ready." it may be, i care not a jot. these useful writers had fulfilled the poet's saying: departing, they had left behind them footprints on the sands of time, footprints which perhaps another--and i was the other! it is my debt to washington irving that exercises my conscience, and justly so, for i believe plagiarism was rarely carried further. i chanced to pick up the "tales of a traveller" some years ago with a view to an anthology of prose narrative, and the book flew up and struck me: billy bones, his chest, the company in the parlour, the whole inner spirit, and a good deal of the material detail of my first chapters--all were there, all were the property of washington irving. but i had no guess of it then as i sat writing by the fireside, in what seemed the spring-tides of a somewhat pedestrian inspiration; nor yet day by day, after lunch, as i read aloud my morning's work to the family. it seemed to me original as sin; it seemed to belong to me like my right eye. i had counted on one boy, i found i had two in my audience. my father caught fire at once with all the romance and childishness of his original nature. his own stories, that every night of his life he put himself to sleep with, dealt perpetually with ships, roadside inns, robbers, old sailors, and commercial travellers before the era of steam. he never finished one of these romances; the lucky man did not require to finish them! but in "treasure island" he recognised something kindred to his own imagination; it was _his_ kind of picturesque; and he not only heard with delight the daily chapter, but set himself acting to collaborate. when the time came for billy bones's chest to be ransacked, he must have passed the better part of a day preparing, on the back of a legal envelope, an inventory of its contents, which i exactly followed; and the name of "flint's old ship"--the _walrus_--was given at his particular request. and now who should come dropping in, _ex machinâ_, but dr. japp, like the disguised prince who is to bring down the curtain upon peace and happiness in the last act; for he carried in his pocket, not a horn or a talisman, but a publisher. even the ruthlessness of a united family recoiled before the extreme measure of inflicting on our guest the mutilated members of "the sea cook"; at the same time, we would by no means stop our readings; and accordingly the tale was begun again at the beginning, and solemnly re-delivered for the benefit of dr. japp. from that moment on, i have thought highly of his critical faculty; for when he left us he carried away the manuscript in his portmanteau to submit to his friend (since then my own) mr. henderson, who accepted it for his periodical, _young folks_. here, then, was everything to keep me up, sympathy, help, and now a positive engagement. i had chosen besides a very easy style. compare it with the almost contemporary "merry men"; one reader may prefer the one style, one the other--'tis an affair of character, perhaps of mood; but no expert can fail to see that the one is much more difficult, and the other much easier to maintain. it seems as though a full-grown experienced man of letters might engage to turn out "treasure island" at so many pages a day, and keep his pipe alight. but alas! this was not my case. fifteen days i stuck to it, and turned out fifteen chapters; and then, in the early paragraphs of the sixteenth, ignominiously lost hold. my mouth was empty; there was not one word of "treasure island" in my bosom; and here were the proofs of the beginning already waiting me at the "hand and spear"! then i corrected them, living for the most part alone, walking on the heath at weybridge in dewy autumn mornings, a good deal pleased with what i had done, and more appalled than i can depict to you in words at what remained for me to do. i was thirty-one; i was the head of a family; i had lost my health; i had never yet paid my way, never yet made £ a year; my father had quite recently bought back and cancelled a book that was judged a failure: was this to be another and last fiasco? i was indeed very close on despair; but i shut my mouth hard, and during the journey to davos, where i was to pass the winter, had the resolution to think of other things and bury myself in the novels of m. du boisgobey. arrived at my destination, down i sat one morning to the unfinished tale; and behold! it flowed from me like small-talk; and in a second tide of delighted industry, and again at the rate of a chapter a day, i finished "treasure island." it had to be transcribed almost exactly; my wife was ill; the schoolboy remained alone of the faithful; and john addington symonds (to whom i timidly mentioned what i was engaged on) looked on me askance. he was at that time very eager i should write on the characters of theophrastus: so far out may be the judgments of the wisest men. but symonds (to be sure) was scarce the confidant to go to for sympathy on a boy's story. he was large-minded; "a full man," if there was one; but the very name of my enterprise would suggest to him only capitulations of sincerity and solecisms of style. well! he was not far wrong. "treasure island"--it was mr. henderson who deleted the first title, "the sea cook"--appeared duly in the story paper, where it figured in the ignoble midst, without woodcuts, and attracted not the least attention. i did not care. i liked the tale myself, for much the same reason as my father liked the beginning; it was my kind of picturesque. i was not a little proud of john silver, also; and to this day rather admire that smooth and formidable adventurer. what was infinitely more exhilarating, i had passed a landmark; i had finished a tale, and written "the end" upon my manuscript, as i had not done since "the pentland rising," when i was a boy of sixteen not yet at college. in truth it was so by a set of lucky accidents; had not dr. japp come on his visit, had not the tale flowed from me with singular ease, it must have been laid aside like its predecessors, and found a circuitous and unlamented way to the fire. purists may suggest it would have been better so. i am not of that mind. the tale seems to have given much pleasure, and it brought (or was the means of bringing) fire and food and wine to a deserving family in which i took an interest. i need scarcely say i mean my own. but the adventures of "treasure island" are not yet quite at an end. i had written it up to the map. the map was the chief part of my plot. for instance, i had called an islet "skeleton island," not knowing what i meant, seeking only for the immediate picturesque, and it was to justify this name that i broke into the gallery of mr. poe and stole flint's pointer. and in the same way, it was because i had made two harbours that the _hispaniola_ was sent on her wanderings with israel hands. the time came when it was decided to republish, and i sent in my manuscript, and the map along with it, to messrs. cassell. the proofs came, they were corrected, but i heard nothing of the map. i wrote and asked; was told it had never been received, and sat aghast. it is one thing to draw a map at random, set a scale in one corner of it at a venture, and write up a story to the measurements. it is quite another to have to examine a whole book, make an inventory of all the allusions contained in it, and with a pair of compasses, painfully design a map to suit the data. i did it; and the map was drawn again in my father's office, with embellishments of blowing whales and sailing ships, and my father himself brought into service a knack he had of various writing, and elaborately _forged_ the signature of captain flint, and the sailing directions of billy bones. but somehow it was never _treasure island_ to me. i have said the map was the most of the plot. i might almost say it was the whole. a few reminiscences of poe, defoe, and washington irving, a copy of johnson's "buccaneers," the name of the dead man's chest from kingsley's "at last," some recollections of canoeing on the high seas, and the map itself, with its infinite, eloquent suggestion, made up the whole of my materials. it is, perhaps, not often that a map figures so largely in a tale, yet it is always important. the author must know his countryside, whether real or imaginary, like his hand; the distances, the points of the compass, the place of the sun's rising, the behaviour of the moon, should all be beyond cavil. and how troublesome the moon is! i have come to grief over the moon in "prince otto," and, so soon as that was pointed out to me, adopted a precaution which i recommend to other men--i never write now without an almanac. with an almanac and the map of the country, and the plan of every house, either actually plotted on paper or already and immediately apprehended in the mind, a man may hope to avoid some of the grossest possible blunders. with the map before him, he will scarce allow the sun to set in the east, as it does in "the antiquary." with the almanac at hand, he will scarce allow two horsemen, journeying on the most urgent affair, to employ six days, from three of the monday morning till late in the saturday night, upon a journey of, say, ninety or a hundred miles, and before the week is out, and still on the same nags, to cover fifty in one day, as may be read at length in the inimitable novel of "rob roy." and it is certainly well, though far from necessary, to avoid such "croppers." but it is my contention--my superstition, if you like--that who is faithful to his map, and consults it, and draws from it his inspiration, daily and hourly, gains positive support, and not mere negative immunity from accident. the tale has a root there; it grows in that soil; it has a spine of its own behind the words. better if the country be real, and he has walked every foot of it and knows every milestone. but even with imaginary places, he will do well in the beginning to provide a map; as he studies it, relations will appear that he had not thought upon; he will discover obvious, though unsuspected, shortcuts and footprints for his messengers; and even when a map is not all the plot, as it was in "treasure island," it will be found to be a mine of suggestion. footnote: [ ] _ne pas confondre_. not the slim green pamphlet with the imprint of andrew elliot, for which (as i see with amazement from the book-lists) the gentlemen of england are willing to pay fancy prices; but its predecessor, a bulky historical romance without a spark of merit and now deleted from the world.--[r. l. s.] xii the genesis of "the master of ballantrae" i was walking one night in the verandah of a small house in which i lived, outside the hamlet of saranac. it was winter; the night was very dark; the air extraordinary clear and cold, and sweet with the purity of forests. from a good way below, the river was to be heard contending with ice and boulders: a few lights appeared, scattered unevenly among the darkness, but so far away as not to lessen the sense of isolation. for the making of a story here were fine conditions. i was besides moved with the spirit of emulation, for i had just finished my third or fourth perusal of "the phantom ship." "come," said i to my engine, "let us make a tale, a story of many years and countries, of the sea and the land, savagery, and civilisation; a story that shall have the same large features, and may be treated in the same summary elliptic method as the book you have been reading and admiring." i was here brought up with a reflection exceedingly just in itself, but which, as the sequel shows, i failed to profit by. i saw that marryat, not less than homer, milton, and virgil, profited by the choice of a familiar and legendary subject; so that he prepared his readers on the very title-page; and this set me cudgelling my brains, if by any chance i could hit upon some similar belief to be the centre-piece of my own meditated fiction. in the course of this vain search there cropped up in my memory a singular case of a buried and resuscitated fakir, which i had been often told by an uncle of mine, then lately dead, inspector-general john balfour. on such a fine frosty night, with no wind and the thermometer below zero, the brain works with much vivacity; and the next moment i had seen the circumstance transplanted from india and the tropics to the adirondack wilderness and the stringent cold of the canadian border. here then, almost before i had begun my story, i had two countries, two of the ends of the earth involved: and thus though the notion of the resuscitated man failed entirely on the score of general acceptation, or even (as i have since found) acceptability, it fitted at once with my design of a tale of many lands; and this decided me to consider further of its possibilities. the man who should thus be buried was the first question: a good man, whose return to life would be hailed by the reader and the other characters with gladness? this trenched upon the christian picture and was dismissed. if the idea, then, was to be of any use at all for me, i had to create a kind of evil genius to his friends and family, take him through many disappearances, and make this final restoration from the pit of death, in the icy american wilderness, the last and the grimmest of the series. i need not tell my brothers of the craft that i was now in the most interesting moment of an author's life; the hours that followed that night upon the balcony, and the following nights and days, whether walking abroad or lying wakeful in my bed, were hours of unadulterated joy. my mother, who was then living with me alone, perhaps had less enjoyment; for, in the absence of my wife, who is my usual helper in these times of parturition, i must spur her up at all seasons to hear me relate and try to clarify my unformed fancies. and while i was groping for the fable and the character required, behold i found them lying ready and nine years old in my memory. pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold, pease porridge in the pot, nine years old. was there ever a more complete justification of the rule of horace? here, thinking of quite other things, i had stumbled on the solution or perhaps i should rather say (in stagewright phrase) the curtain or final tableau of a story conceived long before on the moors between pitlochry and strathardle, conceived in highland rain, in the blend of the smell of heather and bog-plants, and with a mind full of the athole correspondence and the memories of the dumlicide justice. so long ago, so far away it was, that i had first evoked the faces and the mutual tragic situation of the men of durrisdeer. my story was now world-wide enough: scotland, india, and america being all obligatory scenes. but of these india was strange to me except in books; i had never known any living indian save a parsee, a member of my club in london, equally civilised, and (to all seeing) equally occidental with myself. it was plain, thus far, that i should have to get into india and out of it again upon a foot of fairy lightness; and i believe this first suggested to me the idea of the chevalier burke for a narrator. it was at first intended that he should be scottish, and i was then filled with fears that he might prove only the degraded shadow of my own alan breck. presently, however, it began to occur to me it would be like my master to curry favour with the prince's irishmen; and that an irish refugee would have a particular reason to find himself in india with his countryman, the unfortunate lally. irish, therefore, i decided he should be, and then, all of a sudden, i was aware of a tall shadow across my path, the shadow of barry lyndon. no man (in lord foppington's phrase) of a nice morality could go very deep with my master: in the original idea of this story conceived in scotland, this companion had been besides intended to be worse than the bad elder son with whom (as it was then meant) he was to visit scotland; if i took an irishman, and a very bad irishman, in the midst of the eighteenth century, how was i to evade barry lyndon? the wretch besieged me, offering his services; he gave me excellent references; he proved that he was highly fitted for the work i had to do; he, or my own evil heart, suggested it was easy to disguise his ancient livery with a little lace and a few frogs and buttons, so that thackeray himself should hardly recognise him. and then of a sudden there came to me memories of a young irishman, with whom i was once intimate, and had spent long nights walking and talking with, upon a very desolate coast in a bleak autumn: i recalled him as a youth of an extraordinary moral simplicity--almost vacancy; plastic to any influence, the creature of his admirations: and putting such a youth in fancy into the career of a soldier of fortune, it occurred to me that he would serve my turn as well as mr. lyndon, and, in place of entering into competition with the master, would afford a slight though a distinct relief. i know not if i have done him well, though his moral dissertations always highly entertained me: but i own i have been surprised to find that he reminded some critics of barry lyndon after all.... xiii random memories: _rosa quo locorum_ i through what little channels, by what hints and premonitions, the consciousness of the man's art dawns first upon the child, it should be not only interesting but instructive to inquire. a matter of curiosity to-day, it will become the ground of science to-morrow. from the mind of childhood there is more history and more philosophy to be fished up than from all the printed volumes in a library. the child is conscious of an interest, not in literature but in life. a taste for the precise, the adroit or the comely in the use of words, comes late; but long before that he has enjoyed in books a delightful dress rehearsal of experience. he is first conscious of this material--i had almost said this practical--pre-occupation; it does not follow that it really came the first. i have some old fogged negatives in my collection that would seem to imply a prior stage. "the lord is gone up with a shout, and god with the sound of a trumpet"--memorial version, i know not where to find the text--rings still in my ear from my first childhood, and perhaps with something of my nurse's accent. there was possibly some sort of image written in my mind by these loud words, but i believe the words themselves were what i cherished. i had about the same time, and under the same influence--that of my dear nurse--a favourite author: it is possible the reader has not heard of him--the rev. robert murray m'cheyne. my nurse and i admired his name exceedingly, so that i must have been taught the love of beautiful sounds before i was breeched; and i remember two specimens of his muse until this day:-- "behind the hills of naphtali the sun went slowly down, leaving on mountain, tower, and tree, a tinge of golden brown." there is imagery here, and i set it on one side. the other--it is but a verse--not only contains no image, but is quite unintelligible even to my comparatively instructed mind, and i know not even how to spell the outlandish vocable that charmed me in my childhood: "jehovah tschidkenu is nothing to her ";[ ] i may say, without flippancy, that he was nothing to me either, since i had no ray of a guess of what he was about; yet the verse, from then to now, a longer interval than the life of a generation, has continued to haunt me. i have said that i should set a passage distinguished by obvious and pleasing imagery, however faint; for the child thinks much in images, words are very live to him, phrases that imply a picture eloquent beyond their value. rummaging in the dusty pigeon-holes of memory, i came once upon a graphic version of the famous psalm, "the lord is my shepherd": and from the places employed in its illustration, which are all in the immediate neighbourhood of a house then occupied by my father, i am able to date it before the seventh year of my age, although it was probably earlier in fact. the "pastures green" were represented by a certain suburban stubble-field, where i had once walked with my nurse, under an autumnal sunset, on the banks of the water of leith: the place is long ago built up; no pastures now, no stubble-fields; only a maze of little streets and smoking chimneys and shrill children. here, in the fleecy person of a sheep, i seemed to myself to follow something unseen, unrealised, and yet benignant; and close by the sheep in which i was incarnated--as if for greater security--rustled the skirts of my nurse. "death's dark vale" was a certain archway in the warriston cemetery: a formidable yet beloved spot, for children love to be afraid,--in measure as they love all experience of vitality. here i beheld myself some paces ahead (seeing myself, i mean, from behind) utterly alone in that uncanny passage: on the one side of me a rude, knobby shepherd's staff, such as cheers the heart of the cockney tourist, on the other a rod like a billiard cue, appeared to accompany my progress: the staff sturdily upright, the billiard cue inclined confidentially, like one whispering, towards my ear. i was aware--i will never tell you how--that the presence of these articles afforded me encouragement. the third and last of my pictures illustrated the words:-- "my table thou hast furnishèd in presence of my foes: my head thou dost with oil anoint, and my cup overflows": and this was perhaps the most interesting of the series. i saw myself seated in a kind of open stone summer-house at table; over my shoulder a hairy, bearded, and robed presence anointed me from an authentic shoe-horn; the summer-house was part of the green court of a ruin, and from the far side of the court black and white imps discharged against me ineffectual arrows. the picture appears arbitrary, but i can trace every detail to its source, as mr. brock analysed the dream of alan armadale. the summer-house and court were muddled together out of billings' "antiquities of scotland"; the imps conveyed from bagster's "pilgrim's progress"; the bearded and robed figure from any one of a thousand bible pictures; and the shoe-horn was plagiarised from an old illustrated bible, where it figured in the hand of samuel anointing saul, and had been pointed out to me as a jest by my father. it was shown me for a jest, remark; but the serious spirit of infancy adopted it in earnest. children are all classics; a bottle would have seemed an intermediary too trivial--that divine refreshment of whose meaning i had no guess; and i seized on the idea of that mystic shoe-horn with delight, even as, a little later, i should have written flagon, chalice, hanaper, beaker, or any word that might have appealed to me at the moment as least contaminate with mean associations. in this string of pictures i believe the gist of the psalm to have consisted; i believe it had no more to say to me; and the result was consolatory. i would go to sleep dwelling with restfulness upon these images; they passed before me, besides, to an appropriate music; for i had already singled out from that rude psalm the one lovely verse which dwells in the minds of all, not growing old, not disgraced by its association with long sunday tasks, a scarce conscious joy in childhood, in age a companion thought:-- "in pastures green thou leadest me, the quiet waters by." the remainder of my childish recollections are all of the matter of what was read to me, and not of any manner in the words. if these pleased me, it was unconsciously; i listened for news of the great vacant world upon whose edge i stood; i listened for delightful plots that i might re-enact in play, and romantic scenes and circumstances that i might call up before me, with closed eyes, when i was tired of scotland, and home and that weary prison of the sick-chamber in which i lay so long in durance. "robinson crusoe"; some of the books of that cheerful, ingenious, romantic soul, mayne reid; and a work rather gruesome and bloody for a child, but very picturesque, called "paul blake"; these are the three strongest impressions i remember: "the swiss family robinson" came next, _longo intervallo_. at these i played, conjured up their scenes, and delighted to hear them rehearsed unto seventy times seven. i am not sure but what "paul blake" came after i could read. it seems connected with a visit to the country, and an experience unforgettable. the day had been warm; h---- and i had played together charmingly all day in a sandy wilderness across the road; then came the evening with a great flash of colour and a heavenly sweetness in the air. somehow my playmate had vanished, or is out of the story, as the sagas say, but i was sent into the village on an errand; and, taking a book of fairy tales, went down alone through a fir-wood, reading as i walked. how often since then has it befallen me to be happy even so; but that was the first time: the shock of that pleasure i have never since forgot, and if my mind serves me to the last, i never shall, for it was then that i knew i loved reading. ii to pass from hearing literature to reading it is to take a great and dangerous step. with not a few, i think a large proportion of their pleasure then comes to an end; "the malady of not marking" overtakes them; they read thenceforward by the eye alone and hear never again the chime of fair words or the march of the stately period. _non ragioniam_ of these. but to all the step is dangerous; it involves coming of age; it is even a kind of second weaning. in the past all was at the choice of others; they chose, they digested, they read aloud for us and sang to their own tune the books of childhood. in the future we are to approach the silent, inexpressive type alone, like pioneers; and the choice of what we are to read is in our own hands thenceforward. for instance, in the passages already adduced, i detect and applaud the ear of my old nurse; they were of her choice, and she imposed them on my infancy, reading the works of others as a poet would scarce dare to read his own; gloating on the rhythm, dwelling with delight on assonances and alliterations. i know very well my mother must have been all the while trying to educate my taste upon more secular authors; but the vigour and the continual opportunities of my nurse triumphed, and after a long search, i can find in these earliest volumes of my autobiography no mention of anything but nursery rhymes, the bible, and mr. m'cheyne. i suppose all children agree in looking back with delight on their school readers. we might not now find so much pathos in "bingen on the rhine," "a soldier of the legion lay dying in algiers," or in "the soldier's funeral," in the declamation of which i was held to have surpassed myself. "robert's voice," said the master on this memorable occasion, "is not strong, but impressive": an opinion which i was fool enough to carry home to my father; who roasted me for years in consequence. i am sure one should not be so deliciously tickled by the humorous pieces:-- "what, crusty? cries will in a taking, who would not be crusty with half a year's baking?" i think this quip would leave us cold. the "isles of greece" seem rather tawdry too; but on the "address to the ocean," or on "the dying gladiator," "time has writ no wrinkle." "'tis the morn, but dim and dark, whither flies the silent lark?"-- does the reader recall the moment when his eye first fell upon these lines in the fourth reader; and "surprised with joy, impatient as the wind," he plunged into the sequel? and there was another piece, this time in prose, which none can have forgotten; many like me must have searched dickens with zeal to find it again, and in its proper context, and have perhaps been conscious of some inconsiderable measure of disappointment, that it was only tom pinch who drove, in such a pomp of poetry, to london. but in the reader we are still under guides. what a boy turns out for himself, as he rummages the bookshelves, is the real test and pleasure. my father's library was a spot of some austerity: the proceedings of learned societies, some latin divinity, cyclopædias, physical science, and, above all, optics, held the chief place upon the shelves, and it was only in holes and corners that anything really legible existed as by accident. the "parent's assistant," "rob roy," "waverley," and "guy mannering," the "voyages of captain woods rogers," fuller's and bunyan's "holy wars," "the reflections of robinson crusoe," "the female bluebeard," g. sand's "mare au diable"--(how came it in that grave assembly!), ainsworth's "tower of london," and four old volumes of _punch_--these were the chief exceptions. in these latter, which made for years the chief of my diet, i very early fell in love (almost as soon as i could spell) with the snob papers. i knew them almost by heart, particularly the visit to the pontos; and i remember my surprise when i found, long afterwards, that they were famous, and signed with a famous name; to me, as i read and admired them, they were the works of mr. punch. time and again i tried to read "rob roy," with whom of course i was acquainted from the "tales of a grandfather"; time and again the early part, with rashleigh and (think of it!) the adorable diana, choked me off; and i shall never forget the pleasure and surprise with which, lying on the floor one summer evening, i struck of a sudden into the first scene with andrew fairservice. "the worthy dr. lightfoot"--"mistrysted with a bogle"--"a wheen green trash"--"jenny, lass, i think i ha'e her": from that day to this the phrases have been unforgotten. i read on, i need scarce say; i came to glasgow, i bided tryst on glasgow bridge, i met rob roy and the bailie in the tolbooth, all with transporting pleasure; and then the clouds gathered once more about my path; and i dozed and skipped until i stumbled half asleep into the clachan of aberfoyle, and the voices of iverach and galbraith recalled me to myself. with that scene and the defeat of captain thornton the book concluded; helen and her sons shocked even the little schoolboy of nine or ten with their unreality; i read no more, or i did not grasp what i was reading; and years elapsed before i consciously met diana and her father among the hills, or saw rashleigh dying in the chair. when i think of that novel and that evening, i am impatient with all others; they seem but shadows and impostors; they cannot satisfy the appetite which this awakened; and i dare be known to think it the best of sir walter's by nearly as much as sir walter is the best of novelists. perhaps mr. lang is right, and our first friends in the land of fiction are always the most real. and yet i had read before this "guy mannering," and some of "waverley," with no such delighted sense of truth and humour, and i read immediately after the greater part of the waverley novels, and was never moved again in the same way or to the same degree. one circumstance is suspicious: my critical estimate of the waverley novels has scarce changed at all since i was ten. "rob roy," "guy mannering," and "redgauntlet" first; then, a little lower, "the fortunes of nigel"; then, after a huge gulf, "ivanhoe" and "anne of geierstein": the rest nowhere; such was the verdict of the boy. since then "the antiquary," "st. ronan's well," "kenilworth," and "the heart of midlothian" have gone up in the scale; perhaps "ivanhoe" and "anne of geierstein" have gone a trifle down; diana vernon has been added to my admirations in that enchanted world of "rob roy"; i think more of the letters in "redgauntlet" and peter peebles, that dreadful piece of realism, i can now read about with equanimity, interest, and i had almost said pleasure, while to the childish critic he often caused unmixed distress. but the rest is the same; i could not finish "the pirate" when i was a child, i have never finished it yet; "peveril of the peak" dropped half way through from my schoolboy hands, and though i have since waded to an end in a kind of wager with myself, the exercise was quite without enjoyment. there is something disquieting in these considerations. i still think the visit to ponto's the best part of the "book of snobs": does that mean that i was right when i was a child, or does it mean that i have never grown since then, that the child is not the man's father, but the man? and that i came into the world with all my faculties complete, and have only learned sinsyne to be more tolerant of boredom?... footnote: [ ] "jehovah tsidkenu," translated in the authorised version as "the lord our righteousness" (jeremiah xxiii. and xxxiii. ). xiv reflections and remarks on human life i. justice and justification.--( ) it is the business of this life to make excuses for others, but none for ourselves. we should be clearly persuaded of our own misconduct, for that is the part of knowledge in which we are most apt to be defective. ( ) even justice is no right of a man's own, but a thing, like the king's tribute, which shall never be his, but which he should strive to see rendered to another. none was ever just to me; none ever will be. you may reasonably aspire to be chief minister or sovereign pontiff: but not to be justly regarded in your own character and acts. you know too much to be satisfied. for justice is but an earthly currency, paid to appearances; you may see another superficially righted; but be sure he has got too little or too much; and in your own case rest content with what is paid you. it is more just than you suppose; that your virtues are misunderstood is a price you pay to keep your meannesses concealed. ( ) when you seek to justify yourself to others, you may be sure you will plead falsely. if you fail, you have the shame of the failure; if you succeed, you will have made too much of it, and be unjustly esteemed upon the other side. ( ) you have perhaps only one friend in the world, in whose esteem it is worth while for you to right yourself. justification to indifferent persons is, at best, an impertinent intrusion. let them think what they please; they will be the more likely to forgive you in the end. ( ) it is a question hard to be resolved, whether you should at any time criminate another to defend yourself. i have done it many times, and always had a troubled conscience for my pains. ii. parent and child.--( ) the love of parents for their children is, of all natural affections, the most ill-starred. it is not a love for the person, since it begins before the person has come into the world, and founds on an imaginary character and looks. thus it is foredoomed to disappointment; and because the parent either looks for too much, or at least for something inappropriate, at his offspring's hands, it is too often insufficiently repaid. the natural bond, besides, is stronger from parent to child than from child to parent; and it is the side which confers benefits, not which receives them, that thinks most of a relation. ( ) what do we owe our parents? no man can _owe_ love; none can _owe_ obedience. we owe, i think, chiefly pity; for we are the pledge of their dear and joyful union, we have been the solicitude of their days and the anxiety of their nights, we have made them, though by no will of ours, to carry the burthen of our sins, sorrows, and physical infirmities; and too many of us grow up at length to disappoint the purpose of their lives and requite their care and piety with cruel pangs. ( ) _mater dolorosa_. it is the particular cross of parents that when the child grows up and becomes himself instead of that pale ideal they had preconceived, they must accuse their own harshness or indulgence for this natural result. they have all been like the duck and hatched swan's eggs, or the other way about; yet they tell themselves with miserable penitence that the blame lies with them; and had they sat more closely, the swan would have been a duck, and home-keeping, in spite of all. ( ) a good son, who can fulfil what is expected of him, has done his work in life. he has to redeem the sins of many, and restore the world's confidence in children. iii. dialogue on character and destiny between two puppets.--at the end of chapter xxxiii. count spada and the general of the jesuits were left alone in the pavilion, while the course of the story was turned upon the doings of the virtuous hero. profiting by this moment of privacy, the jesuit turned with a very warning countenance upon the peer. "have a care, my lord," said he, raising a finger. "you are already no favourite with the author; and for my part, i begin to perceive from a thousand evidences that the narrative is drawing near a close. yet a chapter or two at most, and you will be overtaken by some sudden and appalling judgment." "i despise your womanish presentiments," replied spada, "and count firmly upon another volume; i see a variety of reasons why my life should be prolonged to within a few pages of the end; indeed, i permit myself to expect resurrection in a sequel, or second part. you will scarce suggest that there can be any end to the newspaper; and you will certainly never convince me that the author, who cannot be entirely without sense, would have been at so great pains with my intelligence, gallant exterior, and happy and natural speech, merely to kick me hither and thither for two or three paltry chapters and then drop me at the end like a dumb personage. i know you priests are often infidels in secret. pray, do you believe in an author at all?" "many do not, i am aware," replied the general softly; "even in the last chapter we encountered one, the self-righteous david hume, who goes so far as to doubt the existence of the newspaper in which our adventures are now appearing; but it would neither become my cloth, nor do credit to my great experience, were i to meddle with these dangerous opinions. my alarm for you is not metaphysical, it is moral in its origin: you must be aware, my poor friend, that you are a very bad character--the worst indeed that i have met with in these pages. the author hates you, count; and difficult as it may be to connect the idea of immortality--or, in plain terms, of a sequel--with the paper and printer's ink of which your humanity is made, it is yet more difficult to foresee anything but punishment and pain for one who is justly hateful in the eyes of his creator." "you take for granted many things that i shall not easily be persuaded to allow," replied the villain. "do you really so far deceive yourself in your imagination as to fancy that the author is a friend to good? read; read the book in which you figure; and you will soon disown such crude vulgarities. lelio is a good character; yet only two chapters ago we left him in a fine predicament. his old servant was a model of the virtues, yet did he not miserably perish in that ambuscade upon the road to poitiers? and as for the family of the bankrupt merchant, how is it possible for greater moral qualities to be alive with more irremediable misfortunes? and yet you continue to misrepresent an author to yourself, as a deity devoted to virtue and inimical to vice? pray, if you have no pride in your own intellectual credit for yourself, spare at least the sensibilities of your associates." "the purposes of the serial story," answered the priest, "are, doubtless for some wise reason, hidden from those who act in it. to this limitation we must bow. but i ask every character to observe narrowly his own personal relations to the author. there, if nowhere else, we may glean some hint of his superior designs. now i am myself a mingled personage, liable to doubts, to scruples, and to sudden revulsions of feeling; i reason continually about life, and frequently the result of my reasoning is to condemn or even to change my action. i am now convinced, for example, that i did wrong in joining in your plot against the innocent and most unfortunate lelio. i told you so, you will remember, in the chapter which has just been concluded and though i do not know whether you perceived the ardour and fluency with which i expressed myself, i am still confident in my own heart that i spoke at that moment not only with the warm approval, but under the direct inspiration, of the author of the tale. i know, spada, i tell you i _know_, that he loved me as i uttered these words; and yet at other periods of my career i have been conscious of his indifference and dislike. you must not seek to reason me from this conviction; for it is supplied me from higher authority than that of reason, and is indeed a part of my experience. it may be an illusion that i drove last night from saumur; it may be an illusion that we are now in the garden chamber of the château; it may be an illusion that i am conversing with count spada; you may be an illusion, count, yourself; but of three things i will remain eternally persuaded, that the author exists not only in the newspaper but in my own heart, that he loves me when i do well, and that he hates and despises me when i do otherwise." "i too believe in the author," returned the count. "i believe likewise in a sequel, written in finer style and probably cast in a still higher rank of society than the present story; although i am not convinced that we shall then be conscious of our pre-existence here. so much of your argument is, therefore, beside the mark; for to a certain point i am as orthodox as yourself. but where you begin to draw general conclusions from your own private experience, i must beg pointedly and finally to differ. you will not have forgotten, i believe, my daring and single-handed butchery of the five secret witnesses? nor the sleight of mind and dexterity of language with which i separated lelio from the merchant's family? these were not virtuous actions; and yet, how am i to tell you? i was conscious of a troubled joy, a glee, a hellish gusto in my author's bosom, which seemed to renew my vigour with every sentence, and which has indeed made the first of these passages accepted for a model of spirited narrative description, and the second for a masterpiece of wickedness and wit. what result, then, can be drawn from two experiences so contrary as yours and mine? for my part, i lay it down as a principle, no author can be moral in a merely human sense. and, to pursue the argument higher, how can you, for one instant, suppose the existence of free-will in puppets situated as we are in the thick of a novel which we do not even understand? and how, without free-will upon our parts, can you justify blame or approval on that of the author? we are in his hands; by a stroke of the pen, to speak reverently, he made us what we are; by a stroke of the pen he can utterly undo and transmute what he has made. in the very next chapter, my dear general, you may be shown up for an impostor, or i be stricken down in the tears of penitence and hurried into the retirement of a monastery!" "you use an argument old as mankind, and difficult of answer," said the priest. "i cannot justify the free-will of which i am usually conscious; nor will i ever seek to deny that this consciousness is interrupted. sometimes events mount upon me with such swiftness and pressure that my choice is overwhelmed, and even to myself i seem to obey a will external to my own; and again i am sometimes so paralysed and impotent between alternatives that i am tempted to imagine a hesitation on the part of my author. but i contend, upon the other hand, for a limited free-will in the sphere of consciousness; and as it is in and by my consciousness that i exist to myself, i will not go on to inquire whether that free-will is valid as against the author, the newspaper, or even the readers of the story. and i contend, further, for a sort of empire or independence of our own characters when once created, which the author cannot or at least does not choose to violate. hence lelio was conceived upright, honest, courageous, and headlong; to that first idea all his acts and speeches must of necessity continue to answer; and the same, though with such different defects and qualities, applies to you, count spada, and to myself. we must act up to our characters; it is these characters that the author loves or despises; it is on account of them that we must suffer or triumph, whether in this work or in a sequel. such is my belief." "it is pure calvinistic election, my dear sir, and, by your leave, a very heretical position for a churchman to support," replied the count. "nor can i see how it removes the difficulty. i was not consulted as to my character; i might have chosen to be lelio; i might have chosen to be yourself; i might even have preferred to figure in a different romance, or not to enter into the world of literature at all. and am i to be blamed or hated, because some one else wilfully and inhumanely made me what i am, and has continued ever since to encourage me in what are called my vices? you may say what you please, my dear sir, but if that is the case, i had rather be a telegram from the seat of war than a reasonable and conscious character in a romance; nay, and i have a perfect right to repudiate, loathe, curse, and utterly condemn the ruffian who calls himself the author." "you have, as you say, a perfect right," replied the jesuit; "and i am convinced that it will not affect him in the least." "he shall have one slave the fewer for me," added the count. "i discard my allegiance once for all." "as you please," concluded the other; "but at least be ready, for i perceive we are about to enter on the scene." and, indeed, just at that moment, chapter xxxiv. being completed, chapter xxxv., "the count's chastisement," began to appear in the columns of the newspaper. iv. solitude and society.--( ) a little society is needful to show a man his failings; for if he lives entirely by himself, he has no occasion to fall, and like a soldier in time of peace, becomes both weak and vain. but a little solitude must be used, or we grow content with current virtues and forget the ideal. in society we lose scrupulous brightness of honour; in solitude we lose the courage necessary to face our own imperfections. ( ) as a question of pleasure, after a man has reached a certain age, i can hardly perceive much room to choose between them: each is in a way delightful, and each will please best after an experience of the other. ( ) but solitude for its own sake should surely never be preferred. we are bound by the strongest obligations to busy ourselves amid the world of men, if it be only to crack jokes. the finest trait in the character of st. paul was his readiness to be damned for the salvation of anybody else. and surely we should all endure a little weariness to make one face look brighter or one hour go more pleasantly in this mixed world. ( ) it is our business here to speak, for it is by the tongue that we multiply ourselves most influentially. to speak kindly, wisely, and pleasantly is the first of duties, the easiest of duties, and the duty that is most blessed in its performance. for it is natural, it whiles away life, it spreads intelligence; and it increases the acquaintance of man with man. ( ) it is, besides, a good investment, for while all other pleasures decay, and even the delight in nature, grandfather william is still bent to gossip. ( ) solitude is the climax of the negative virtues. when we go to bed after a solitary day we can tell ourselves that we have not been unkind nor dishonest nor untruthful; and the negative virtues are agreeable to that dangerous faculty we call the conscience. that they should ever be admitted for a part of virtue is what i cannot explain. i do not care two straws for all the _nots_. ( ) the positive virtues are imperfect; they are even ugly in their imperfection: for man's acts, by the necessity of his being, are coarse and mingled. the kindest, in the course of a day of active kindnesses, will say some things rudely, and do some things cruelly; the most honourable, perhaps, trembles at his nearness to a doubtful act. ( ) hence the solitary recoils from the practice of life, shocked by its unsightlinesses. but if i could only retain that superfine and guiding delicacy of the sense that grows in solitude, and still combine with it that courage of performance which is never abashed by any failure, but steadily pursues its right and human design in a scene of imperfection, i might hope to strike in the long-run a conduct more tender to others and less humiliating to myself. v. selfishness and egoism.--an unconscious, easy, selfish person shocks less, and is more easily loved, than one who is laboriously and egotistically unselfish. there is at least no fuss about the first; but the other parades his sacrifices, and so sells his favours too dear. selfishness is calm, a force of nature: you might say the trees were selfish. but egoism is a piece of vanity; it must always take you into its confidence; it is uneasy, troublesome, seeking; it can do good, but not handsomely; it is uglier, because less dignified, than selfishness itself. but here i perhaps exaggerate to myself, because i am the one more than the other, and feel it like a hook in my mouth, at every step i take. do what i will, this seems to spoil all. vi. right and wrong.--it is the mark of a good action that it appears inevitable in the retrospect. we should have been cut-throats to do otherwise. and there's an end. we ought to know distinctly that we are damned for what we do wrong; but when we have done right, we have only been gentlemen, after all. there is nothing to make a work about. vii. discipline of conscience.--( ) never allow your mind to dwell on your own misconduct: that is ruin. the conscience has morbid sensibilities; it must be employed but not indulged, like the imagination or the stomach. ( ) let each stab suffice for the occasion; to play with this spiritual pain turns to penance; and a person easily learns to feel good by dallying with the consciousness of having done wrong. ( ) shut your eyes hard against the recollection of your sins. do not be afraid, you will not be able to forget them. ( ) you will always do wrong: you must try to get used to that, my son. it is a small matter to make a work about, when all the world is in the same case. i meant when i was a young man to write a great poem; and now i am cobbling little prose articles and in excellent good spirits, i thank you. so, too, i meant to lead a life that should keep mounting from the first; and though i have been repeatedly down again below sea-level, and am scarce higher than when i started, i am as keen as ever for that enterprise. our business in this world is not to succeed, but to continue to fail, in good spirits. ( ) there is but one test of a good life: that the man shall continue to grow more difficult about his own behaviour. that is to be good: there is no other virtue attainable. the virtues we admire in the saint and the hero are the fruits of a happy constitution. you, for your part, must not think you will ever be a good man, for these are born and not made. you will have your own reward, if you keep on growing better than you were--how do i say? if you do not keep on growing worse. ( ) a man is one thing, and must be exercised in all his faculties. whatever side of you is neglected, whether it is the muscles, or the taste for art, or the desire for virtue, that which is cultivated will suffer in proportion. ---- was greatly tempted, i remember, to do a very dishonest act, in order that he might pursue his studies in art. when he consulted me, i advised him not (putting it that way for once), because his art would suffer. ( ) it might be fancied that if we could only study all sides of our being in an exact proportion, we should attain wisdom. but in truth a chief part of education is to exercise one set of faculties _à outrance_--one, since we have not the time so to practise all; thus the dilettante misses the kernel of the matter; and the man who has wrung forth the secret of one part of life knows more about the others than he who has tepidly circumnavigated all. ( ) thus, one must be your profession, the rest can only be your delights; and virtue had better be kept for the latter, for it enters into all, but none enters by necessity into it. you will learn a great deal of virtue by studying any art; but nothing of any art in the study of virtue. ( ) the study of conduct has to do with grave problems; not every action should be higgled over; one of the leading virtues therein is to let oneself alone. but if you make it your chief employment, you are sure to meddle too much. this is the great error of those who are called pious. although the war of virtue be unending except with life, hostilities are frequently suspended, and the troops go into winter quarters; but the pious will not profit by these times of truce; where their conscience can perceive no sin, they will find a sin in that very innocency; and so they pervert, to their annoyance, those seasons which god gives to us for repose and a reward. ( ) the nearest approximation to sense in all this matter lies with the quakers. there must be no _will_-worship; how much more, no _will_-repentance! the damnable consequence of set seasons, even for prayer, is to have a man continually posturing to himself, till his conscience is taught as many tricks as a pet monkey, and the gravest expressions are left with a perverted meaning. ( ) for my part, i should try to secure some part of every day for meditation, above all in the early morning and the open air; but how that time was to be improved i should leave to circumstance and the inspiration of the hour. nor if i spent it in whistling or numbering my footsteps, should i consider it misspent for that. i should have given my conscience a fair field; when it has anything to say, i know too well it can speak daggers; therefore, for this time, my hard taskmaster has given me a holyday, and i may go in again rejoicing to my breakfast and the human business of the day. viii. gratitude to god.--( ) to the gratitude that becomes us in this life, i can set no limit. though we steer after a fashion, yet we must sail according to the winds and currents. after what i have done, what might i not have done? that i have still the courage to attempt my life, that i am not now overladen with dishonours, to whom do i owe it but to the gentle ordering of circumstances in the great design? more has not been done to me than i can bear; i have been marvellously restrained and helped; not unto us, o lord! ( ) i cannot forgive god for the suffering of others; when i look abroad upon his world and behold its cruel destinies, i turn from him with disaffection; nor do i conceive that he will blame me for the impulse. but when i consider my own fates, i grow conscious of his gentle dealing: i see him chastise with helpful blows, i feel his stripes to be caresses; and this knowledge is my comfort that reconciles me to the world. ( ) all those whom i now pity with indignation, are perhaps not less fatherly dealt with than myself. i do right to be angry: yet they, perhaps, if they lay aside heat and temper, and reflect with patience on their lot, may find everywhere, in their worst trials, the same proofs of a divine affection. ( ) while we have little to try us, we are angry with little; small annoyances do not bear their justification on their faces; but when we are overtaken by a great sorrow or perplexity, the greatness of our concern sobers us so that we see more clearly and think with more consideration. i speak for myself; nothing grave has yet befallen me but i have been able to reconcile my mind to its occurrence, and see in it, from my own little and partial point of view, an evidence of a tender and protecting god. even the misconduct into which i have been led has been blessed to my improvement. if i did not sin, and that so glaringly that my conscience is convicted on the spot, i do not know what i should become, but i feel sure i should grow worse. the man of very regular conduct is too often a prig, if he be not worse--a rabbi. i, for my part, want to be startled out of my conceits; i want to be put to shame in my own eyes; i want to feel the bridle in my mouth, and be continually reminded of my own weakness and the omnipotence of circumstances. ( ) if i from my spy-hole, looking with purblind eyes upon the least part of a fraction of the universe, yet perceive in my own destiny some broken evidences of a plan and some signals of an overruling goodness; shall i then be so mad as to complain that all cannot be deciphered? shall i not rather wonder, with infinite and grateful surprise, that in so vast a scheme i seem to have been able to read, however little, and that that little was encouraging to faith? ix. blame.--what comes from without and what from within, how much of conduct proceeds from the spirit or how much from circumstances, what is the part of choice and what the part of the selection offered, where personal character begins or where, if anywhere, it escapes at all from the authority of nature, these are questions of curiosity and eternally indifferent to right and wrong. our theory of blame is utterly sophisticated and untrue to man's experience. we are as much ashamed of a pimpled face that came to us by natural descent as by one that we have earned by our excesses, and rightly so; since the two cases, in so much as they unfit us for the easier sort of pleasing and put an obstacle in the path of love, are exactly equal in their consequence. we look aside from the true question. we cannot blame others at all; we can only punish them; and ourselves we blame indifferently for a deliberate crime, a thoughtless brusquerie, or an act done without volition in an ecstasy of madness. we blame ourselves from two considerations: first, because another has suffered; and second, because, in so far as we have again done wrong, we can look forward with the less confidence to what remains of our career. shall we repent this failure? it is there that the consciousness of sin most cruelly affects us; it is in view of this that a man cries out, in exaggeration, that his heart is desperately wicked and deceitful above all things. we all tacitly subscribe this judgment: woe unto him by whom offences shall come! we accept palliations for our neighbours; we dare not, in sight of our own soul, accept them for ourselves. we may not be to blame; we may be conscious of no free will in the matter, of a possession, on the other hand, or an irresistible tyranny of circumstance,--yet we know, in another sense, we are to blame for all. our right to live, to eat, to share in mankind's pleasures, lies precisely in this: that we must be persuaded we can on the whole live rather beneficially than hurtfully to others. remove this persuasion, and the man has lost his right. that persuasion is our dearest jewel, to which we must sacrifice the life itself to which it entitles us. for it is better to be dead than degraded. x. marriage.--( ) no considerate man can approach marriage without deep concern. i, he will think, who have made hitherto so poor a business of my own life, am now about to embrace the responsibility of another's. henceforth, there shall be two to suffer from my faults; and that other is the one whom i most desire to shield from suffering. in view of our impotence and folly, it seems an act of presumption to involve another's destiny with ours. we should hesitate to assume command of an army or a trading-smack; shall we not hesitate to become surety for the life and happiness, now and henceforward, of our dearest friend? to be nobody's enemy but one's own, although it is never possible to any, can least of all be possible to one who is married. ( ) i would not so much fear to give hostages to fortune, if fortune ruled only in material things; but fortune, as we call those minor and more inscrutable workings of providence, rules also in the sphere of conduct. i am not so blind but that i know i might be a murderer or even a traitor to-morrow; and now, as if i were not already too feelingly alive to my misdeeds, i must choose out the one person whom i most desire to please, and make her the daily witness of my failures, i must give a part in all my dishonours to the one person who can feel them more keenly than myself. ( ) in all our daring, magnanimous human way of life, i find nothing more bold than this. to go into battle is but a small thing by comparison. it is the last act of committal. after that, there is no way left, not even suicide, but to be a good man. ( ) she will help you, let us pray. and yet she is in the same case; she, too, has daily made shipwreck of her own happiness and worth; it is with a courage no less irrational than yours, that she also ventures on this new experiment of life. two who have failed severally, now join their fortunes with a wavering hope. ( ) but it is from the boldness of the enterprise that help springs. to take home to your hearth that living witness whose blame will most affect you, to eat, to sleep, to live with your most admiring and thence most exacting judge, is not this to domesticate the living god? each becomes a conscience to the other, legible like a clock upon the chimney-piece. each offers to his mate a figure of the consequence of human acts. and while i may still continue by my inconsiderate or violent life to spread far-reaching havoc throughout man's confederacy, i can do so no more, at least, in ignorance and levity; one face shall wince before me in the flesh; i have taken home the sorrows i create to my own hearth and bed; and though i continue to sin, it must be now with open eyes. xi. idleness and industry.--i remember a time when i was very idle; and lived and profited by that humour. i have no idea why i ceased to be so, yet i scarce believe i have the power to return to it; it is a change of age. i made consciously a thousand little efforts, but the determination from which these arose came to me while i slept and in the way of growth. i have had a thousand skirmishes to keep myself at work upon particular mornings, and sometimes the affair was hot; but of that great change of campaign, which decided all this part of my life, and turned me from one whose business was to shirk into one whose business was to strive and persevere,--it seems as though all that had been done by some one else. the life of goethe affected me; so did that of balzac; and some very noble remarks by the latter in a pretty bad book, the "cousine bette." i daresay i could trace some other influences in the change. all i mean is, i was never conscious of a struggle, nor registered a vow, nor seemingly had anything personally to do with the matter. i came about like a well-handled ship. there stood at the wheel that unknown steersman whom we call god. xii. courage.--courage is the principal virtue, for all the others presuppose it. if you are afraid, you may do anything. courage is to be cultivated, and some of the negative virtues may be sacrificed in the cultivation. xiii. results of action.--the result is the reward of actions, not the test. the result is a child born; if it be beautiful and healthy, well: if club-footed or crook-back, perhaps well also. we cannot direct ... [ ?] xv the ideal house two things are necessary in any neighbourhood where we propose to spend a life: a desert and some living water. there are many parts of the earth's face which offer the necessary combination of a certain wildness with a kindly variety. a great prospect is desirable, but the want may be otherwise supplied; even greatness can be found on the small scale; for the mind and the eye measure differently. bold rocks near hand are more inspiriting than distant alps, and the thick fern upon a surrey heath makes a fine forest for the imagination, and the dotted yew trees noble mountains. a scottish moor with birches and firs grouped here and there upon a knoll, or one of those rocky sea-side deserts of provence overgrown with rosemary and thyme and smoking with aroma, are places where the mind is never weary. forests, being more enclosed, are not at first sight so attractive, but they exercise a spell; they must, however, be diversified with either heath or rock, and are hardly to be considered perfect without conifers. even sand-hills, with their intricate plan, and their gulls and rabbits, will stand well for the necessary desert. the house must be within hail of either a little river or the sea. a great river is more fit for poetry than to adorn a neighbourhood; its sweep of waters increases the scale of the scenery and the distance of one notable object from another; and a lively burn gives us, in the space of a few yards, a greater variety of promontory and islet, of cascade, shallow goil, and boiling pool, with answerable changes both of song and colour, than a navigable stream in many hundred miles. the fish, too, make a more considerable feature of the brook-side, and the trout plumping in the shadow takes the ear. a stream should, besides, be narrow enough to cross, or the burn hard by a bridge, or we are at once shut out of eden. the quantity of water need be of no concern, for the mind sets the scale, and can enjoy a niagara fall of thirty inches. let us approve the singer of "shallow rivers, by whose falls melodious birds sing madrigals." if the sea is to be our ornamental water, choose an open seaboard with a heavy beat of surf; one much broken in outline, with small havens and dwarf headlands; if possible a few islets; and as a first necessity, rocks reaching out into deep water. such a rock on a calm day is a better station than the top of teneriffe or chimborazo. in short, both for the desert and the water, the conjunction of many near and bold details is bold scenery for the imagination and keeps the mind alive. given these two prime luxuries, the nature of the country where we are to live is, i had almost said, indifferent; after that, inside the garden, we can construct a country of our own. several old trees, a considerable variety of level, several well-grown hedges to divide our garden into provinces, a good extent of old well-set turf, and thickets of shrubs and evergreens to be cut into and cleared at the new owner's pleasure, are the qualities to be sought for in your chosen land. nothing is more delightful than a succession of small lawns, opening one out of the other through tall hedges; these have all the charm of the old bowling-green repeated, do not require the labour of many trimmers, and afford a series of changes. you must have much lawn against the early summer, so as to have a great field of daisies, the year's morning frost; as you must have a wood of lilacs, to enjoy to the full the period of their blossoming. hawthorn is another of the spring's ingredients; but it is even best to have a rough public lane at one side of your enclosure which, at the right season, shall become an avenue of bloom and odour. the old flowers are the best and should grow carelessly in corners. indeed, the ideal fortune is to find an old garden, once very richly cared for, since sunk into neglect, and to tend, not repair, that neglect; it will thus have a smack of nature and wildness which skilful dispositions cannot overtake. the gardener should be an idler, and have a gross partiality to the kitchen plots: an eager or toilful gardener mis-becomes the garden landscape; a tasteful gardener will be ever meddling, will keep the borders raw, and take the bloom off nature. close adjoining, if you are in the south, an olive-yard, if in the north, a swarded apple-orchard reaching to the stream, completes your miniature domain; but this is perhaps best entered through a door in the high fruit-wall; so that you close the door behind you on your sunny plots, your hedges and evergreen jungle, when you go down to watch the apples falling in the pool. it is a golden maxim to cultivate the garden for the nose, and the eyes will take care of themselves. nor must the ear be forgotten: without birds, a garden is a prison-yard. there is a garden near marseilles on a steep hill-side, walking by which, upon a sunny morning, your ear will suddenly be ravished with a burst of small and very cheerful singing: some score of cages being set out there to sun the occupants. this is a heavenly surprise to any passer-by; but the price paid, to keep so many ardent and winged creatures from their liberty, will make the luxury too dear for any thoughtful pleasure-lover. there is only one sort of bird that i can tolerate caged, though even then i think it hard, and that is what is called in france the bec-d'argent. i once had two of these pigmies in captivity; and in the quiet, bare house upon a silent street where i was then living, their song, which was not much louder than a bee's, but airily musical, kept me in a perpetual good humour. i put the cage upon my table when i worked, carried it with me when i went for meals, and kept it by my head at night: the first thing in the morning, these _maestrini_ would pipe up. but these, even if you can pardon their imprisonment, are for the house. in the garden the wild birds must plant a colony, a chorus of the lesser warblers that should be almost deafening, a blackbird in the lilacs, a nightingale down the lane, so that you must stroll to hear it, and yet a little farther, tree-tops populous with rooks. your house should not command much outlook; it should be set deep and green, though upon rising ground, or, if possible, crowning a knoll, for the sake of drainage. yet it must be open to the east, or you will miss the sunrise; sunset occurring so much later, you can go up a few steps and look the other way. a house of more than two stories is a mere barrack; indeed the ideal is of one story, raised upon cellars. if the rooms are large, the house may be small: a single room, lofty, spacious, and lightsome, is more palatial than a castleful of cabinets and cupboards. yet size in a house, and some extent and intricacy of corridor, is certainly delightful to the flesh. the reception room should be, if possible, a place of many recesses, which are "petty retiring places for conference"; but it must have one long wall with a divan: for a day spent upon a divan, among a world of cushions, is as full of diversion as to travel. the eating-room, in the french mode, should be _ad hoc_: unfurnished, but with a buffet, the table, necessary chairs, one or two of canaletto's etchings, and a tile fire-place for the winter. in neither of these public places should there be anything beyond a shelf or two of books; but the passages may be one library from end to end, and the stair, if there be one, lined with volumes in old leather, very brightly carpeted, and leading half-way up, and by way of landing, to a windowed recess with a fire-place; this window, almost alone in the house, should command a handsome prospect. husband and wife must each possess a studio; on the woman's sanctuary i hesitate to dwell, and turn to the man's. the walls are shelved waist-high for books, and the top thus forms a continuous table running round the wall. above are prints, a large map of the neighbourhood, a corot and a claude or two. the room is very spacious, and the five tables and two chairs are but as islands. one table is for actual work, one close by for references in use; one, very large, for mss. or proofs that wait their turn; one kept clear for an occasion; and the fifth is the map table, groaning under a collection of large-scale maps and charts. of all books these are the least wearisome to read and the richest in matter; the course of roads and rivers, the contour lines and the forests in the maps--the reefs, soundings, anchors, sailing marks and little pilot-pictures in the charts--and, in both, the bead-roll of names, make them of all printed matter the most fit to stimulate and satisfy the fancy. the chair in which you write is very low and easy, and backed into a corner; at one elbow the fire twinkles; close at the other, if you are a little inhumane, your cage of silver-bills are twittering into song. joined along by a passage, you may reach the great sunny, glass-roofed, and tiled gymnasium, at the far end of which, lined with bright marble, is your plunge and swimming bath, fitted with a capacious boiler. the whole loft of the house from end to end makes one undivided chamber; here are set forth tables on which to model imaginary or actual countries in putty or plaster, with tools and hardy pigments; a carpenter's bench; and a spared corner for photography, while at the far end a space is kept clear for playing soldiers. two boxes contain the two armies of some five hundred horse and foot; two others the ammunition of each side, and a fifth the foot-rules and the three colours of chalk, with which you lay down, or, after a day's play, refresh the outlines of the country; red or white for the two kinds of road (according as they are suitable or not for the passage of ordnance), and blue for the course of the obstructing rivers. here i foresee that you may pass much happy time; against a good adversary a game may well continue for a month; for with armies so considerable three moves will occupy an hour. it will be found to set an excellent edge on this diversion if one of the players shall, every day or so, write a report of the operations in the character of army correspondent. i have left to the last the little room for winter evenings. this should be furnished in warm positive colours, and sofas and floor thick with rich furs. the hearth, where you burn wood of aromatic quality on silver dogs, tiled round about with bible pictures; the seats deep and easy; a single titian in a gold frame; a white bust or so upon a bracket; a rack for the journals of the week; a table for the books of the year; and close in a corner the three shelves full of eternal books that never weary: shakespeare, molière, montaigne, lamb, sterne, de musset's comedies (the one volume open at _carmosine_ and the other at _fantasio_); the "arabian nights," and kindred stories, in weber's solemn volumes; borrow's "bible in spain," the "pilgrim's progress," "guy mannering," and "rob roy," "monte cristo," and the "vicomte de bragelonne," immortal boswell sole among biographers, chaucer, herrick, and the "state trials." the bedrooms are large, airy, with almost no furniture, floors of varnished wood, and at the bed-head, in case of insomnia, one shelf of books of a particular and dippable order, such as "pepys," the "paston letters," burt's "letters from the highlands," or the "newgate calendar." ... [ ?] lay morals _the following chapters of a projected treatise on ethics were drafted at edinburgh in the spring of . they are unrevised, and must not be taken as representing, either as to matter or form, their author's final thoughts; but they contain much that is essentially characteristic of his mind._ lay morals chapter i the problem of education is twofold: first to know, and then to utter. every one who lives any semblance of an inner life thinks more nobly and profoundly than he speaks; and the best of teachers can impart only broken images of the truth which they perceive. speech which goes from one to another between two natures, and, what is worse, between two experiences, is doubly relative. the speaker buries his meaning; it is for the hearer to dig it up again; and all speech, written or spoken, is in a dead language until it finds a willing and prepared hearer. such, moreover, is the complexity of life, that when we condescend upon details in our advice, we may be sure we condescend on error; and the best of education is to throw out some magnanimous hints. no man was ever so poor that he could express all he has in him by words, looks, or actions; his true knowledge is eternally incommunicable, for it is a knowledge of himself; and his best wisdom comes to him by no process of the mind, but in a supreme self-dictation, which keeps varying from hour to hour in its dictates with the variation of events and circumstances. a few men of picked nature, full of faith, courage, and contempt for others, try earnestly to set forth as much as they can grasp of this inner law; but the vast majority, when they come to advise the young, must be content to retail certain doctrines which have been already retailed to them in their own youth. every generation has to educate another which it has brought upon the stage. people who readily accept the responsibility of parentship, having very different matters in their eye, are apt to feel rueful when their responsibility falls due. what are they to tell the child about life and conduct, subjects on which they have themselves so few and such confused opinions? indeed, i do not know; the least said, perhaps, the soonest mended; and yet the child keeps asking, and the parent must find some words to say in his own defence. where does he find them? and what are they when found? as a matter of experience, and in nine hundred and ninety-nine cases out of a thousand, he will instil into his wide-eyed brat three bad things; the terror of public opinion, and, flowing from that as a fountain, the desire of wealth and applause. besides these, or what might be deduced as corollaries from these, he will teach not much else of any effective value: some dim notions of divinity, perhaps, and book-keeping, and how to walk through a quadrille. but, you may tell me, the young people are taught to be christians. it may be want of penetration, but i have not yet been able to perceive it. as an honest man, whatever we teach, and be it good or evil, it is not the doctrine of christ. what he taught (and in this he is like all other teachers worthy of the name) was not a code of rules, but a ruling spirit; not truths, but a spirit of truth; not views, but a view. what he showed us was an attitude of mind. towards the many considerations on which conduct is built, each man stands in a certain relation. he takes life on a certain principle. he has a compass in his spirit which points in a certain direction. it is the attitude, the relation, the point of the compass, that is the whole body and gist of what he has to teach us; in this, the details are comprehended; out of this the specific precepts issue, and by this, and this only, can they be explained and applied. and thus, to learn aright from any teacher, we must first of all, like a historical artist, think ourselves into sympathy with his position and, in the technical phrase, create his character. a historian confronted with some ambiguous politician, or an actor charged with a part, have but one pre-occupation; they must search all round and upon every side, and grope for some central conception which is to explain and justify the most extreme details; until that is found, the politician is an enigma, or perhaps a quack, and the part a tissue of fustian sentiment and big words; but once that is found, all enters into a plan, a human nature appears, the politician or the stage-king is understood from point to point, from end to end. this is a degree of trouble which will be gladly taken by a very humble artist; but not even the terror of eternal fire can teach a business man to bend his imagination to such athletic efforts. yet without this, all is vain; until we understand the whole, we shall understand none of the parts; and otherwise we have no more than broken images and scattered words; the meaning remains buried; and the language in which our prophet speaks to us is a dead language in our ears. take a few of christ's sayings and compare them with our current doctrines. "_ye cannot_," he says, "_serve god and mammon_." cannot? and our whole system is to teach us how we can! "_the children of this world are wiser in their generation than the children of light._" are they? i had been led to understand the reverse: that the christian merchant, for example, prospered exceedingly in his affairs; that honesty was the best policy; that an author of repute had written a conclusive treatise "how to make the best of both worlds." of both worlds indeed! which am i to believe then--christ or the author of repute? "_take no thought for the morrow._" ask the successful merchant; interrogate your own heart; and you will have to admit that this is not only a silly but an immoral position. all we believe, all we hope, all we honour in ourselves or our contemporaries, stands condemned in this one sentence, or, if you take the other view, condemns the sentence as unwise and inhumane. we are not then of the "same mind that was in christ." we disagree with christ. either christ meant nothing, or else he or we must be in the wrong. well says thoreau, speaking of some texts from the new testament, and finding a strange echo of another style which the reader may recognise: "let but one of these sentences be rightly read from any pulpit in the land, and there would not be left one stone of that meeting-house upon another." it may be objected that these are what are called "hard sayings"; and that a man, or an education, may be very sufficiently christian although it leave some of these sayings upon one side. but this is a very gross delusion. although truth is difficult to state, it is both easy and agreeable to receive, and the mind runs out to meet it ere the phrase be done. the universe, in relation to what any man can say of it, is plain, patent, and staringly comprehensible. in itself, it is a great and travailing ocean, unsounded, unvoyageable, an eternal mystery to man; or, let us say, it is a monstrous and impassable mountain, one side of which, and a few near slopes and foothills, we can dimly study with these mortal eyes. but what any man can say of it, even in his highest utterance, must have relation to this little and plain corner, which is no less visible to us than to him. we are looking on the same map; it will go hard if we cannot follow the demonstration. the longest and most abstruse flight of a philosopher becomes clear and shallow, in the flash of a moment, when we suddenly perceive the aspect and drift of his intention. the longest argument is but a finger pointed; once we get our own finger rightly parallel, and we see what the man meant, whether it be a new star or an old street-lamp. and briefly, if a saying is hard to understand, it is because we are thinking of something else. but to be a true disciple is to think of the same things as our prophet, and to think of different things in the same order. to be of the same mind with another is to see all things in the same perspective; it is not to agree in a few indifferent matters near at hand and not much debated; it is to follow him in his farthest flights, to see the force of his hyperboles, to stand so exactly in the centre of his vision that whatever he may express, your eyes will light at once on the original, that whatever he may see to declare, your mind will at once accept. you do not belong to the school of any philosopher, because you agree with him that theft is, on the whole, objectionable, or that the sun is overhead at noon. it is by the hard sayings that discipleship is tested. we are all agreed about the middling and indifferent parts of knowledge and morality; even the most soaring spirits too often take them tamely upon trust. but the man, the philosopher or the moralist, does not stand upon these chance adhesions; and the purpose of any system looks towards those extreme points where it steps valiantly beyond tradition and returns with some covert hint of things outside. then only can you be certain that the words are not words of course, nor mere echoes of the past; then only are you sure that if he be indicating anything at all, it is a star and not a street-lamp; then only do you touch the heart of the mystery; since it was for these that the author wrote his book. now, every now and then, and indeed surprisingly often, christ finds a word that transcends all commonplace morality; every now and then he quits the beaten track to pioneer the unexpressed, and throws out a pregnant and magnanimous hyperbole; for it is only by some bold poetry of thought that men can be strung up above the level of everyday conceptions to take a broader look upon experience or accept some higher principle of conduct. to a man who is of the same mind that was in christ, who stands at some centre not too far from his, and looks at the world and conduct from some not dissimilar or, at least, not opposing attitude--or, shortly, to a man who is of christ's philosophy--every such saying should come home with a thrill of joy and corroboration; he should feel each one below his feet as another sure foundation in the flux of time and chance; each should be another proof that in the torrent of the years and generations, where doctrines and great armaments and empires are swept away and swallowed, he stands immovable, holding by the eternal stars. but, alas! at this juncture of the ages it is not so with us; on each and every such occasion our whole fellowship of christians falls back in disapproving wonder and implicitly denies the saying. christians! the farce is impudently broad. let us stand up in the sight of heaven and confess. the ethics that we hold are those of benjamin franklin. _honesty is the best policy_, is perhaps a hard saying; it is certainly one by which a wise man of these days will not too curiously direct his steps; but i think it shows a glimmer of meaning to even our most dimmed intelligences; i think we perceive a principle behind it; i think, without hyperbole, we are of the same mind that was in benjamin franklin. chapter ii but, i may be told, we teach the ten commandments, where a world of morals lies condensed, the very pith and epitome of all ethics and religion; and a young man with these precepts engraved upon his mind must follow after profit with some conscience and christianity of method. a man cannot go very far astray who neither dishonours his parents, nor kills, nor commits adultery, nor steals, nor bears false witness; for these things, rightly thought out, cover a vast field of duty. alas! what is a precept? it is at best an illustration; it is case law at the best which can be learned by precept. the letter is not only dead, but killing; the spirit which underlies, and cannot be uttered, alone is true and helpful. this is trite to sickness; but familiarity has a cunning disenchantment; in a day or two she can steal all beauty from the mountain tops; and the most startling words begin to fall dead upon the ear after several repetitions. if you see a thing too often, you no longer see it; if you hear a thing too often, you no longer hear it. our attention requires to be surprised; and to carry a fort by assault, or to gain a thoughtful hearing from the ruck of mankind, are feats of about equal difficulty and must be tried by not dissimilar means. the whole bible has thus lost its message for the common run of hearers; it has become mere words of course; and the parson may bawl himself scarlet and beat the pulpit like a thing possessed, but his hearers will continue to nod; they are strangely at peace; they know all he has to say; ring the old bell as you choose, it is still the old bell and it cannot startle their composure. and so with this byword about the letter and the spirit. it is quite true, no doubt; but it has no meaning in the world to any man of us. alas! it has just this meaning, and neither more nor less: that while the spirit is true, the letter is eternally false. the shadow of a great oak lies abroad upon the ground at noon, perfect, clear, and stable like the earth. but let a man set himself to mark out the boundary with cords and pegs, and were he never so nimble and never so exact, what with the multiplicity of the leaves and the progression of the shadow as it flees before the travelling sun, long ere he has made the circuit the whole figure will have changed. life may be compared, not to a single tree, but to a great and complicated forest; circumstance is more swiftly changing than a shadow, language much more inexact than the tools of a surveyor; from day to day the trees fall and are renewed; the very essences are fleeting as we look; and the whole world of leaves is swinging tempest-tossed among the winds of time. look now for your shadows. o man of formulæ, is this a place for you? have you fitted the spirit to a single case? alas, in the cycle of the ages when shall such another be proposed for the judgment of man? now when the sun shines and the winds blow, the wood is filled with an innumerable multitude of shadows, tumultuously tossed and changing; and at every gust the whole carpet leaps and becomes new. can you or your heart say more? look back now, for a moment, on your own brief experience of life; and although you lived it feelingly in your own person, and had every step of conduct burned in by pains and joys upon your memory, tell me what definite lesson does experience hand on from youth to manhood, or from both to age? the settled tenor which first strikes the eye is but the shadow of a delusion. this is gone; that never truly was; and you yourself are altered beyond recognition. times and men and circumstances change about your changing character, with a speed of which no earthly hurricane affords an image. what was the best yesterday, is it still the best in this changed theatre of a to-morrow? will your own past truly guide you in your own violent and unexpected future? and if this be questionable, with what humble, with what hopeless eyes, should we not watch other men driving beside us on their unknown careers, seeing with unlike eyes, impelled by different gales, doing and suffering in another sphere of things? and as the authentic clue to such a labyrinth and change of scene, do you offer me these two score words? these five bald prohibitions? for the moral precepts are no more than five; the first four deal rather with matters of observance than of conduct; the tenth, _thou shall not covet_, stands upon another basis, and shall be spoken of ere long. the jews, to whom they were first given, in the course of years began to find these precepts insufficient; and made an addition of no less than six hundred and fifty others! they hoped to make a pocket-book of reference on morals, which should stand to life in some such relation, say, as hoyle stands in to the scientific game of whist. the comparison is just, and condemns the design; for those who play by rule will never be more than tolerable players; and you and i would like to play our game in life to the noblest and the most divine advantage. yet if the jews took a petty and huckstering view of conduct, what view do we take ourselves, who callously leave youth to go forth into the enchanted forest, full of spells and dire chimeras, with no guidance more complete than is afforded by these five precepts? _honour thy father and thy mother_. yes, but does that mean to obey? and if so, how long and how far? _thou shall not kill_. yet the very intention and purport of the prohibition may be best fulfilled by killing. _thou shall not commit adultery_. but some of the ugliest adulteries are committed in the bed of marriage and under the sanction of religion and law. _thou shalt not bear false witness_. how? by speech or by silence also? or even by a smile? _thou shalt not steal._ ah, that indeed! but what is _to steal_? to steal? it is another word to be construed; and who is to be our guide? the police will give us one construction, leaving the world only that least minimum of meaning without which society would fall in pieces; but surely we must take some higher sense than this; surely we hope more than a bare subsistence for mankind; surely we wish mankind to prosper and go on from strength to strength, and ourselves to live rightly in the eye of some more exacting potentate than a policeman. the approval or the disapproval of the police must be eternally indifferent to a man who is both valorous and good. there is extreme discomfort, but no shame, in the condemnation of the law. the law represents that modicum of morality which can be squeezed out of the ruck of mankind; but what is that to me, who aim higher and seek to be my own more stringent judge? i observe with pleasure that no brave man has ever given a rush for such considerations. the japanese have a nobler and more sentimental feeling for this social bond into which we all are born when we come into the world, and whose comforts and protection we all indifferently share throughout our lives:--but even to them, no more than to our western saints and heroes, does the law of the state supersede the higher law of duty. without hesitation and without remorse, they transgress the stiffest enactments rather than abstain from doing right. but the accidental superior duty being thus fulfilled, they at once return in allegiance to the common duty of all citizens; and hasten to denounce themselves; and value at an equal rate their just crime and their equally just submission to its punishment. the evading of the police will not long satisfy an active conscience or a thoughtful head. but to show you how one or the other may trouble a man, and what a vast extent of frontier is left unridden by this invaluable eighth commandment, let me tell you a few pages out of a young man's life. he was a friend of mine; a young man like others; generous, flighty, as variable as youth itself, but always with some high motives and on the search for higher thoughts of life. i should tell you at once that he thoroughly agrees with the eighth commandment. but he got hold of some unsettling works, the new testament among others, and this loosened his views of life and led him into many perplexities. as he was the son of a man in a certain position, and well off, my friend had enjoyed from the first the advantages of education, nay, he had been kept alive through a sickly childhood by constant watchfulness, comforts, and change of air; for all of which he was indebted to his father's wealth. at college he met other lads more diligent than himself, who followed the plough in summer-time to pay their college fees in winter; and this inequality struck him with some force. he was at that age of a conversible temper, and insatiably curious in the aspects of life; and he spent much of his time scraping acquaintance with all classes of man- and woman-kind. in this way he came upon many depressed ambitions, and many intelligences stunted for want of opportunity; and this also struck him. he began to perceive that life was a handicap upon strange, wrong-sided principles; and not, as he had been told, a fair and equal race. he began to tremble that he himself had been unjustly favoured, when he saw all the avenues of wealth, and power, and comfort closed against so many of his superiors and equals, and held unwearyingly open before so idle, so desultory, and so dissolute a being as himself. there sat a youth beside him on the college benches who had only one shirt to his back, and, at intervals sufficiently far apart, must stay at home to have it washed. it was my friend's principle to stay away as often as he dared; for i fear he was no friend to learning. but there was something that came home to him sharply, in this fellow who had to give over study till his shirt was washed, and the scores of others who had never an opportunity at all. _if one of these could take his place_, he thought; and the thought tore away a bandage from his eyes. he was eaten by the shame of his discoveries, and despised himself as an unworthy favourite and a creature of the back-stairs of fortune. he could no longer see without confusion one of these brave young fellows battling up-hill against adversity. had he not filched that fellow's birthright? at best was he not coldly profiting by the injustice of society, and greedily devouring stolen goods? the money, indeed, belonged to his father, who had worked, and thought, and given up his liberty to earn it; but by what justice could the money belong to my friend, who had, as yet, done nothing but help to squander it? a more sturdy honesty, joined to a more even and impartial temperament, would have drawn from these considerations a new force of industry, that this equivocal position might be brought as swiftly as possible to an end, and some good services to mankind justify the appropriation of expense. it was not so with my friend, who was only unsettled and discouraged, and filled full of that trumpeting anger with which young men regard injustices in the first blush of youth; although in a few years they will tamely acquiesce in their existence, and knowingly profit by their complications. yet all this while he suffered many indignant pangs. and once, when he put on his boots, like any other unripe donkey, to run away from home, it was his best consolation that he was now, at a single plunge, to free himself from the responsibility of this wealth that was not his, and to battle equally against his fellows in the warfare of life. some time after this, falling into ill-health, he was sent at great expense to a more favourable climate; and then i think his perplexities were thickest. when he thought of all the other young men of singular promise, upright, good, the prop of families, who must remain at home to die, and with all their possibilities be lost to life and mankind; and how he, by one more unmerited favour, was chosen out from all these others to survive; he felt as if there were no life, no labour, no devotion of soul and body, that could repay and justify these partialities. a religious lady, to whom he communicated these reflections, could see no force in them whatever. "it was god's will," said she. but he knew it was by god's will that joan of arc was burnt at rouen, which cleared neither bedford nor bishop cauchon; and again, by god's will that christ was crucified outside jerusalem, which excused neither the rancour of the priests nor the timidity of pilate. he knew, moreover, that although the possibility of this favour he was now enjoying issued from his circumstances, its acceptance was the act of his own will; and he had accepted it greedily, longing for rest and sunshine. and hence this allegation of god's providence did little to relieve his scruples. i promise you he had a very troubled mind. and i would not laugh if i were you, though while he was thus making mountains out of what you think molehills, he were still (as perhaps he was) contentedly practising many other things that to you seem black as hell. every man is his own judge and mountain-guide through life. there is an old story of a mote and a beam, apparently not true, but worthy perhaps of some consideration. i should, if i were you, give some consideration to these scruples of his, and if i were he, i should do the like by yours; for it is not unlikely that there may be something under both. in the meantime you must hear how my invalid acted. like many invalids, he supposed that he would die. now should he die, he saw no means of repaying this huge loan which, by the hands of his father, mankind had advanced him for his sickness. in that case it would be lost money. so he determined that the advance should be as small as possible; and, so long as he continued to doubt his recovery, lived in an upper room, and grudged himself all but necessaries. but so soon as he began to perceive a change for the better, he felt justified in spending more freely, to speed and brighten his return to health, and trusted in the future to lend a help to mankind, as mankind, out of its treasury, had lent a help to him. i do not say but that my friend was a little too curious and partial in his view; nor thought too much of himself and too little of his parents; but i do say that here are some scruples which tormented my friend in his youth, and still, perhaps, at odd times give him a prick in the midst of his enjoyments, and which after all have some foundation in justice, and point, in their confused way, to some honourable honesty within the reach of man. and at least, is not this an unusual gloss upon the eighth commandment? and what sort of comfort, guidance, or illumination did that precept afford my friend throughout these contentions? "thou shall not steal." with all my heart! but _am_ i stealing? the truly quaint materialism of our view of life disables us from pursuing any transaction to an end. you can make no one understand that his bargain is anything more than a bargain, whereas in point of fact it is a link in the policy of mankind, and either a good or an evil to the world. we have a sort of blindness which prevents us from seeing anything but sovereigns. if one man agrees to give another so many shillings for so many hours' work, and then wilfully gives him a certain proportion of the price in bad money and only the remainder in good, we can see with half an eye that this man is a thief. but if the other spends a certain proportion of the hours in smoking a pipe of tobacco, and a certain other proportion in looking at the sky, or the clock, or trying to recall an air, or in meditation on his own past adventures, and only the remainder in downright work such as he is paid to do, is he, because the theft is one of time and not of money,--is he any the less a thief? the one gave a bad shilling, the other an imperfect hour; but both broke the bargain, and each is a thief. in piecework, which is what most of us do, the case is none the less plain for being even less material. if you forge a bad knife, you have wasted some of mankind's iron, and then, with unrivalled cynicism, you pocket some of mankind's money for your trouble. is there any man so blind who cannot see that this is theft? again, if you carelessly cultivate a farm, you have been playing fast and loose with mankind's resources against hunger; there will be less bread in consequence, and for lack of that bread somebody will die next winter: a grim consideration. and you must not hope to shuffle out of blame because you got less money for your less quantity of bread; for although a theft be partly punished, it is none the less a theft for that. you took the farm against competitors; there were others ready to shoulder the responsibility and be answerable for the tale of loaves; but it was you who took it. by the act you came under a tacit bargain with mankind to cultivate that farm with your best endeavour; you were under no superintendence, you were on parole; and you have broke your bargain, and to all who look closely, and yourself among the rest if you have moral eyesight, you are a thief. or take the case of men of letters. every piece of work which is not as good as you can make it, which you have palmed off imperfect, meagrely thought, niggardly in execution, upon mankind who is your paymaster on parole and in a sense your pupil, every hasty or slovenly or untrue performance, should rise up against you in the court of your own heart and condemn you for a thief. have you a salary? if you trifle with your health, and so render yourself less capable for duty, and still touch, and still greedily pocket the emolument--what are you but a thief? have you double accounts? do you by any time-honoured juggle, deceit, or ambiguous process, gain more from those who deal with you than if you were bargaining and dealing face to face in front of god?--what are you but a thief? lastly, if you fill an office, or produce an article, which, in your heart of hearts, you think a delusion and a fraud upon mankind, and still draw your salary and go through the sham manoeuvres of this office, or still book your profits and keep on flooding the world with these injurious goods?--though you were old, and bald, and the first at church, and a baronet, what are you but a thief? these may seem hard words and mere curiosities of the intellect, in an age when the spirit of honesty is so sparingly cultivated that all business is conducted upon lies and so-called customs of the trade, that not a man bestows two thoughts on the utility or honourableness of his pursuit. i would say less if i thought less. but looking to my own reason and the right of things, i can only avow that i am a thief myself, and that i passionately suspect my neighbours of the same guilt. where did you hear that it was easy to be honest? do you find that in your bible? easy? it is easy to be an ass and follow the multitude like a blind, besotted bull in a stampede; and that, i am well aware, is what you and mrs. grundy mean by being honest. but it will not bear the stress of time nor the scrutiny of conscience. even before the lowest of all tribunals,--before a court of law, whose business it is, not to keep men right, or within a thousand miles of right, but to withhold them from going so tragically wrong that they will pull down the whole jointed fabric of society by their misdeeds--even before a court of law, as we begin to see in these last days, our easy view of following at each other's tails, alike to good and evil, is beginning to be reproved and punished, and declared no honesty at all, but open theft and swindling; and simpletons who have gone on through life with a quiet conscience may learn suddenly, from the lips of a judge, that the custom of the trade may be a custom of the devil. you thought it was easy to be honest. did you think it was easy to be just and kind and truthful? did you think the whole duty of aspiring man was as simple as a hornpipe? and you could walk through life like a gentleman and a hero, with no more concern than it takes to go to church or to address a circular? and yet all this time you had the eighth commandment! and, what makes it richer, you would not have broken it for the world! the truth is, that these commandments by themselves are of little use in private judgment. if compression is what you want, you have their whole spirit compressed into the golden rule; and yet there expressed with more significance, since the law is there spiritually and not materially stated. and in truth, four out of these ten commands, from the sixth to the ninth, are rather legal than ethical. the police-court is their proper home. a magistrate cannot tell whether you love your neighbour as yourself, but he can tell more or less whether you have murdered, or stolen, or committed adultery, or held up your hand and testified to that which was not; and these things, for rough practical tests, are as good as can be found. and perhaps, therefore, the best condensation of the jewish moral law is in the maxims of the priests, "neminem lædere" and "suum cuique tribunere." but all this granted, it becomes only the more plain that they are inadequate in the sphere of personal morality; that while they tell the magistrate roughly when to punish, they can never direct an anxious sinner what to do. only polonius, or the like solemn sort of ass, can offer us a succinct proverb by way of advice, and not burst out blushing in our faces. we grant them one and all and for all that they are worth; it is something above and beyond that we desire. christ was in general a great enemy to such a way of teaching; we rarely find him meddling with any of these plump commands but it was to open them out, and lift his hearers from the letter to the spirit. for morals are a personal affair; in the war of righteousness every man fights for his own hand; all the six hundred precepts of the mishna cannot shake my private judgment; my magistracy of myself is an indefeasible charge, and my decisions absolute for the time and case. the moralist is not a judge of appeal, but an advocate who pleads at my tribunal. he has to show not the law, but that the law applies. can he convince me? then he gains the cause. and thus you find christ giving various counsels to varying people, and often jealously careful to avoid definite precept. is he asked, for example, to divide a heritage? he refuses: and the best advice that he will offer is but a paraphrase of that tenth commandment which figures so strangely among the rest. _take heed, and beware of covetousness._ if you complain that this is vague, i have failed to carry you along with me in my argument. for no definite precept can be more than an illustration, though its truth were resplendent like the sun, and it was announced from heaven by the voice of god. and life is so intricate and changing, that perhaps not twenty times, or perhaps not twice in the ages, shall we find that nice consent of circumstances to which alone it can apply. chapter iii although the world and life have in a sense become commonplace to our experience, it is but in an external torpor; the true sentiment slumbers within us; and we have but to reflect on ourselves or our surroundings to rekindle our astonishment. no length of habit can blunt our first surprise. of the world i have but little to say in this connection; a few strokes shall suffice. we inhabit a dead ember swimming wide in the blank of space, dizzily spinning as it swims, and lighted up from several million miles away by a more horrible hell-fire than was ever conceived by the theological imagination. yet the dead ember is a green, commodious dwelling-place; and the reverberation of this hell-fire ripens flower and fruit and mildly warms us on summer eves upon the lawn. far off on all hands other dead embers, other flaming suns, wheel and race in the apparent void; the nearest is out of call, the farthest so far that the heart sickens in the effort to conceive the distance. shipwrecked seamen on the deep, though they bestride but the truncheon of a boom, are safe and near at home compared with mankind on its bullet. even to us who have known no other, it seems a strange, if not an appalling, place of residence. but far stranger is the resident, man, a creature compact of wonders that, after centuries of custom, is still wonderful to himself. he inhabits a body which he is continually outliving, discarding, and renewing. food and sleep, by an unknown alchemy, restore his spirits and the freshness of his countenance. hair grows on him like grass; his eyes, his brain, his sinews, thirst for action; he joys to see and touch and hear, to partake the sun and wind, to sit down and intently ponder on his astonishing attributes and situation, to rise up and run, to perform the strange and revolting round of physical functions. the sight of a flower, the note of a bird, will often move him deeply; yet he looks unconcerned on the impassable distances and portentous bonfires of the universe. he comprehends, he designs, he tames nature, rides the sea, ploughs, climbs the air in a balloon, makes vast inquiries, begins interminable labours, joins himself into federations and populous cities, spends his days to deliver the ends of the earth or to benefit unborn posterity; and yet knows himself for a piece of unsurpassed fragility and the creature of a few days. his sight, which conducts him, which takes notice of the farthest stars, which is miraculous in every way and a thing defying explanation or belief, is yet lodged in a piece of jelly, and can be extinguished with a touch. his heart, which all through life so indomitably, so athletically labours, is but a capsule, and may be stopped with a pin. his whole body, for all its savage energies, its leaping and its winged desires, may yet be tamed and conquered by a draught of air or a sprinkling of cold dew. what he calls death, which is the seeming arrest of everything, and the ruin and hateful transformation of the visible body, lies in wait for him outwardly in a thousand accidents, and grows up in secret diseases from within. he is still learning to be a man when his faculties are already beginning to decline; he has not yet understood himself or his position before he inevitably dies. and yet this mad, chimerical creature can take no thought of his last end, lives as though he were eternal, plunges with his vulnerable body into the shock of war, and daily affronts death with unconcern. he cannot take a step without pain or pleasure. his life is a tissue of sensations, which he distinguishes as they seem to come more directly from himself or his surroundings. he is conscious of himself as a joyer or a sufferer, as that which craves, chooses, and is satisfied; conscious of his surroundings as it were of an inexhaustible purveyor, the source of aspects, inspirations, wonders, cruel knocks and transporting caresses. thus he goes on his way, stumbling among delights and agonies. matter is a far-fetched theory, and materialism is without a root in man. to him everything is important in the degree to which it moves him. the telegraph wires and posts, the electricity speeding from clerk to clerk, the clerks, the glad or sorrowful import of the message, and the paper on which it is finally brought to him at home, are all equally facts, all equally exist for man. a word or a thought can wound him as acutely as a knife of steel. if he thinks he is loved, he will rise up and glory to himself, although he be in a distant land and short of necessary bread. does he think he is not loved?--he may have the woman at his beck, and there is not a joy for him in all the world. indeed, if we are to make any account of this figment of reason, the distinction between material and immaterial, we shall conclude that the life of each man as an individual is immaterial, although the continuation and prospects of mankind as a race turn upon material conditions. the physical business of each man's body is transacted for him; like a sybarite, he has attentive valets in his own viscera; he breathes, he sweats, he digests without an effort, or so much as a consenting volition; for the most part he even eats, not with a wakeful consciousness, but as it were between two thoughts. his life is centred among other and more important considerations; touch him in his honour or his love, creatures of the imagination which attach him to mankind or to an individual man or woman; cross him in his piety which connects his soul with heaven; and he turns from his food, he loathes his breath, and with a magnanimous emotion cuts the knots of his existence and frees himself at a blow from the web of pains and pleasures. it follows that man is twofold at least; that he is not a rounded and autonomous empire; but that in the same body with him there dwell other powers, tributary but independent. if i now behold one walking in a garden curiously coloured and illuminated by the sun, digesting his food, with elaborate chemistry, breathing, circulating blood, directing himself by the sight of his eyes, accommodating his body by a thousand delicate balancings to the wind and the uneven surface of the path, and all the time, perhaps, with his mind engaged about america, or the dog-star, or the attributes of god--what am i to say, or how am i to describe the thing i see? is that truly a man, in the rigorous meaning of the word? or is it not a man and something else? what, then, are we to count the centre-bit and axle of a being so variously compounded? it is a question much debated. some read his history in a certain intricacy of nerve and the success of successive digestions; others find him an exiled piece of heaven blown upon and determined by the breath of god; and both schools of theorists will scream like scalded children at a word of doubt. yet either of these views, however plausible, is beside the question; either may be right; and i care not; i ask a more particular answer, and to a more immediate point. what is the man? there is something that was before hunger and that remains behind after a meal. it may or may not be engaged in any given act or passion, but when it is, it changes, heightens, and sanctifies. thus it is not engaged in lust, where satisfaction ends the chapter; and it is engaged in love, where no satisfaction can blunt the edge of the desire, and where age, sickness, or alienation may deface what was desirable without diminishing the sentiment. this something, which is the man, is a permanence which abides through the vicissitudes of passion, now overwhelmed and now triumphant, now unconscious of itself in the immediate distress of appetite or pain, now rising unclouded above all. so, to the man, his own central self fades and grows clear again amid the tumult of the senses, like a revolving pharos in the night. it is forgotten; it is hid, it seems, for ever; and yet in the next calm hour he shall behold himself once more, shining and unmoved among changes and storm. mankind, in the sense of the creeping mass that is born and eats, that generates and dies, is but the aggregate of the outer and lower sides of man. this inner consciousness, this lantern alternately obscured and shining, to and by which the individual exists and must order his conduct, is something special to himself and not common to the race. his joys delight, his sorrows wound him, according as _this_ is interested or indifferent in the affair: according as they arise in an imperial war or in a broil conducted by the tributary chieftains of the mind. he may lose all, and _this_ not suffer; he may lose what is materially a trifle, and _this_ leap in his bosom with a cruel pang. i do not speak of it to hardened theorists: the living man knows keenly what it is i mean. "perceive at last that thou hast in thee something better and more divine than the things which cause the various effects, and, as it were, pull thee by the strings. what is that now in thy mind? is it fear, or suspicion, or desire, or anything of that kind?" thus far marcus aurelius, in one of the most notable passages in any book. here is a question worthy to be answered. what is in thy mind? what is the utterance of your inmost self when, in a quiet hour, it can be heard intelligibly? it is something beyond the compass of your thinking, inasmuch as it is yourself; but is it not of a higher spirit than you had dreamed betweenwhiles, and erect above all base considerations? this soul seems hardly touched with our infirmities; we can find in it certainly no fear, suspicion, or desire; we are only conscious--and that as though we read it in the eyes of some one else--of a great and unqualified readiness. a readiness to what? to pass over and look beyond the objects of desire and fear, for something else. and this something else? this something which is apart from desire and fear, to which all the kingdoms of the world and the immediate death of the body are alike indifferent and beside the point, and which yet regards conduct--by what name are we to call it? it may be the love of god; or it may be an inherited (and certainly well concealed) instinct to preserve self and propagate the race; i am not, for the moment, averse to either theory; but it will save time to call it righteousness. by so doing i intend no subterfuge to beg a question; i am indeed ready, and more than willing, to accept the rigid consequence, and lay aside, as far as the treachery of the reason will permit, all former meanings attached to the word righteousness. what is right is that for which a man's central self is ever ready to sacrifice immediate or distant interests; what is wrong is what the central self discards or rejects as incompatible with the fixed design of righteousness. to make this admission is to lay aside all hope of definition. that which is right upon this theory is intimately dictated to each man by himself, but can never be rigorously set forth in language, and never, above all, imposed upon another. the conscience has, then, a vision like that of the eyes, which is incommunicable, and for the most part illuminates none but its possessor. when many people perceive the same or any cognate facts, they agree upon a word as symbol; and hence we have such words as _tree_, _star_, _love_, _honour_, or _death_; hence also we have this word _right_, which, like the others, we all understand, most of us understand differently, and none can express succinctly otherwise. yet even on the straitest view, we can make some steps towards comprehension of our own superior thoughts. for it is an incredible and most bewildering fact that a man, through life, is on variable terms with himself; he is aware of tiffs and reconciliations; the intimacy is at times almost suspended, at times it is renewed again with joy. as we said before, his inner self or soul appears to him by successive revelations, and is frequently obscured. it is from a study of these alternations that we can alone hope to discover, even dimly, what seems right and what seems wrong to this veiled prophet of ourself. all that is in the man in the larger sense, what we call impression as well as what we call intuition, so far as my argument looks, we must accept. it is not wrong to desire food, or exercise, or beautiful surroundings, or the love of sex, or interest which is the food of the mind. all these are craved; all these should be craved; to none of these in itself does the soul demur; where there comes an undeniable want, we recognise a demand of nature. yet we know that these natural demands may be superseded, for the demands which are common to mankind make but a shadowy consideration in comparison to the demands of the individual soul. food is almost the first pre-requisite; and yet a high character will go without food to the ruin and death of the body rather than gain it in a manner which the spirit disavows. pascal laid aside mathematics; origen doctored his body with a knife; every day some one is thus mortifying his dearest interests and desires, and, in christ's words, entering maim into the kingdom of heaven. this is to supersede the lesser and less harmonious affections by renunciation; and though by this ascetic path we may get to heaven, we cannot get thither a whole and perfect man. but there is another way, to supersede them by reconciliation, in which the soul and all the faculties and senses pursue a common route and share in one desire. thus, man is tormented by a very imperious physical desire; it spoils his rest, it is not to be denied; the doctors will tell you, not i, how it is a physical need, like the want of food or slumber. in the satisfaction of this desire, as it first appears, the soul sparingly takes part; nay, it oft unsparingly regrets and disapproves the satisfaction. but let the man learn to love a woman as far as he is capable of love; and for this random affection of the body there is substituted a steady determination, a consent of all his powers and faculties, which supersedes, adopts, and commands the other. the desire survives, strengthened, perhaps, but taught obedience, and changed in scope and character. life is no longer a tale of betrayals and regrets; for the man now lives as a whole; his consciousness now moves on uninterrupted like a river; through all the extremes and ups and downs of passion, he remains approvingly conscious of himself. now to me this seems a type of that rightness which the soul demands. it demands that we shall not live alternately with our opposing tendencies in continual see-saw of passion and disgust, but seek some path on which the tendencies shall no longer oppose, but serve each other to a common end. it demands that we shall not pursue broken ends, but great and comprehensive purposes, in which soul and body may unite like notes in a harmonious chord. that were indeed a way of peace and pleasure, that were indeed a heaven upon earth. it does not demand, however, or, to speak in measure, it does not demand of me, that i should starve my appetites for no purpose under heaven but as a purpose in itself; or, in a weak despair, pluck out the eye that i have not yet learned to guide and enjoy with wisdom. the soul demands unity of purpose, not the dismemberment of man; it seeks to roll up all his strength and sweetness, all his passion and wisdom, into one, and make of him a perfect man exulting in perfection. to conclude ascetically is to give up, and not to solve, the problem. the ascetic and the creeping hog, although they are at different poles, have equally failed in life. the one has sacrificed his crew; the other brings back his seamen in a cock-boat, and has lost the ship. i believe there are not many sea-captains who would plume themselves on either result as a success. but if it is righteousness thus to fuse together our divisive impulses and march with one mind through life, there is plainly one thing more unrighteous than all others, and one declension which is irretrievable and draws on the rest. and this is to lose consciousness of oneself. in the best of times, it is but by flashes, when our whole nature is clear, strong and conscious, and events conspire to leave us free, that we enjoy communion with our soul. at the worst, we are so fallen and passive that we may say shortly we have none. an arctic torpor seizes upon men. although built of nerves, and set adrift in a stimulating world, they develop a tendency to go bodily to sleep; consciousness becomes engrossed among the reflex and mechanical parts of life; and soon loses both the will and power to look higher considerations in the face. this is ruin; this is the last failure in life; this is temporal damnation; damnation on the spot and without the form of judgment. "what shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and _lose himself_?" it is to keep a man awake, to keep him alive to his own soul and its fixed design of righteousness, that the better part of moral and religious education is directed; not only that of words and doctors, but the sharp ferule of calamity under which we are all god's scholars till we die. if, as teachers, we are to say anything to the purpose, we must say what will remind the pupil of his soul; we must speak that soul's dialect; we must talk of life and conduct as his soul would have him think of them. if, from some conformity between us and the pupil, or perhaps among all men, we do in truth speak in such a dialect and express such views, beyond question we shall touch in him a spring; beyond question he will recognise the dialect as one that he himself has spoken in his better hours; beyond question he will cry, "i had forgotten, but now i remember; i too have eyes, and i had forgot to use them! i too have a soul of my own, arrogantly upright, and to that i will listen and conform." in short, say to him anything that he has once thought, or been upon the point of thinking, or show him any view of life that he has once clearly seen, or been upon the point of clearly seeing; and you have done your part and may leave him to complete the education for himself. now the view taught at the present time seems to me to want greatness; and the dialect in which alone it can be intelligibly uttered is not the dialect of my soul. it is a sort of postponement of life; nothing quite is, but something different is to be; we are to keep our eyes upon the indirect from the cradle to the grave. we are to regulate our conduct not by desire, but by a politic eye upon the future; and to value acts as they will bring us money or good opinion; as they will bring us, in one word, _profit_. we must be what is called respectable, and offend no one by our carriage; it will not do to make oneself conspicuous--who knows? even in virtue? says the christian parent! and we must be what is called prudent and make money; not only because it is pleasant to have money, but because that also is a part of respectability, and we cannot hope to be received in society without decent possessions. received in society! as if that were the kingdom of heaven! there is dear mr. so-and-so;--look at him!--so much respected--so much looked up to--quite the christian merchant! and we must cut our conduct as strictly as possible after the pattern of mr. so-and-so; and lay our whole lives to make money and be strictly decent. besides these holy injunctions, which form by far the greater part of a youth's training in our christian homes, there are at least two other doctrines. we are to live just now as well as we can, but scrape at last into heaven, where we shall be good. we are to worry through the week in a lay, disreputable way, but, to make matters square, live a different life on sunday. the train of thought we have been following gives us a key to all these positions, without stepping aside to justify them on their own ground. it is because we have been disgusted fifty times with physical squalls and fifty times torn between conflicting impulses, that we teach people this indirect and tactical procedure in life, and to judge by remote consequences instead of the immediate face of things. the very desire to act as our own souls would have us, coupled with a pathetic disbelief in ourselves, moves us to follow the example of others; perhaps, who knows? they may be on the right track; and the more our patterns are in number, the better seems the chance; until, if we be acting in concert with a whole civilised nation, there are surely a majority of chances that we must be acting right. and again, how true it is that we can never behave as we wish in this tormented sphere, and can only aspire to different and more favourable circumstances, in order to stand out and be ourselves wholly and rightly! and yet once more, if in the hurry and pressure of affairs and passions you tend to nod and become drowsy, here are twenty-four hours of sunday set apart for you to hold counsel with your soul and look around you on the possibilities of life. this is not, of course, all that is to be, or even should be, said for these doctrines. only, in the course of this chapter, the reader and i have agreed upon a few catchwords, and been looking at morals on a certain system; it was a pity to lose an opportunity of testing the catchwords, and seeing whether, by this system as well as by others, current doctrines could show any probable justification. if the doctrines had come too badly out of the trial, it would have condemned the system. our sight of the world is very narrow; the mind but a pedestrian instrument; there's nothing new under the sun, as solomon says, except the man himself; and though that changes the aspect of everything else, yet he must see the same things as other people, only from a different side. and now, having admitted so much, let us turn to criticism. if you teach a man to keep his eyes upon what others think of him, unthinkingly to lead the life and hold the principles of the majority of his contemporaries, you must discredit in his eyes the one authoritative voice of his own soul. he may be a docile citizen; he will never be a man. it is ours, on the other hand, to disregard this babble and chattering of other men better and worse than we are, and to walk straight before us by what light we have. they may be right; but so, before heaven, are we. they may know; but we know also, and by that knowledge we must stand or fall. there is such a thing as loyalty to a man's own better self; and from those who have not that, god help me, how am i to look for loyalty to others? the most dull, the most imbecile, at a certain moment turn round, at a certain point will hear no further argument, but stand unflinching by their own dumb, irrational sense of right. it is not only by steel or fire, but through contempt and blame, that the martyr fulfils the calling of his dear soul. be glad if you are not tried by such extremities. but although all the world ranged themselves in one line to tell you "this is wrong," be you your own faithful vassal and the ambassador of god--throw down the glove and answer "this is right." do you think you are only declaring yourself? perhaps in some dim way, like a child who delivers a message not fully understood, you are opening wider the straits of prejudice and preparing mankind for some truer and more spiritual grasp of truth; perhaps, as you stand forth for your own judgment, you are covering a thousand weak ones with your body; perhaps, by this declaration alone, you have avoided the guilt of false witness against humanity and the little ones unborn. it is good, i believe, to be respectable, but much nobler to respect oneself and utter the voice of god. god, if there be any god, speaks daily in a new language by the tongues of men; the thoughts and habits of each fresh generation and each new-coined spirit throw another light upon the universe and contain another commentary on the printed bibles; every scruple, every true dissent, every glimpse of something new, is a letter of god's alphabet; and though there is a grave responsibility for all who speak, is there none for those who unrighteously keep silence and conform? is not that also to conceal and cloak god's counsel? and how should we regard the man of science who suppressed all facts that would not tally with the orthodoxy of the hour? wrong? you are as surely wrong as the sun rose this morning round the revolving shoulder of the world. not truth, but truthfulness, is the good of your endeavour. for when will men receive that first part and prerequisite of truth, that, by the order of things, by the greatness of the universe, by the darkness and partiality of man's experience, by the inviolate secrecy of god, kept close in his most open revelations, every man is, and to the end of the ages must be, wrong? wrong to the universe; wrong to mankind; wrong to god. and yet in another sense, and that plainer and nearer, every man of men, who wishes truly, must be right. he is right to himself, and in the measure of his sagacity and candour. that let him do in all sincerity and zeal, not sparing a thought for contrary opinions; that, for what it is worth, let him proclaim. be not afraid; although he be wrong, so also is the dead, stuffed dagon he insults. for the voice of god, whatever it is, is not that stammering, inept tradition which the people holds. these truths survive in travesty, swamped in a world of spiritual darkness and confusion; and what a few comprehend and faithfully hold, the many, in their dead jargon, repeat, degrade, and misinterpret. so far of respectability: what the covenanters used to call "rank conformity": the deadliest gag and wet blanket that can be laid on men. and now of profit. and this doctrine is perhaps the more redoubtable, because it harms all sorts of men; not only the heroic and self-reliant, but the obedient, cowlike squadrons. a man, by this doctrine, looks to consequences at the second, or third, or fiftieth turn. he chooses his end, and for that, with wily turns and through a great sea of tedium, steers this mortal bark. there may be political wisdom in such a view; but i am persuaded there can spring no great moral zeal. to look thus obliquely upon life is the very recipe for moral slumber. our intention and endeavour should be directed, not on some vague end of money or applause, which shall come to us by a ricochet in a month or a year, or twenty years, but on the act itself; not on the approval of others, but on the rightness of that act. at every instant, at every step in life, the point has to be decided, our soul has to be saved, heaven has to be gained or lost. at every step our spirits must applaud, at every step we must set down the foot and sound the trumpet. "this have i done," we must say; "right or wrong, this have i done, in unfeigned honour of intention, as to myself and god." the profit of every act should be this, that it was right for us to do it. any other profit than that, if it involved a kingdom or the woman i love, ought, if i were god's upright soldier, to leave me untempted. it is the mark of what we call a righteous decision, that it is made directly and for its own sake. the whole man, mind and body, having come to an agreement, tyrannically dictates conduct. there are two dispositions eternally opposed: that in which we recognise that one thing is wrong and another right, and that in which, not seeing any clear distinction, we fall back on the consideration of consequences. the truth is, by the scope of our present teaching, nothing is thought very wrong and nothing very right, except a few actions which have the disadvantage of being disrespectable when found out; the more serious part of men inclining to think all things _rather wrong_, the more jovial to suppose them _right enough for practical purposes_. i will engage my head, they do not find that view in their own hearts; they have taken it up in a dark despair; they are but troubled sleepers talking in their sleep. the soul, or my soul at least, thinks very distinctly upon many points of right and wrong, and often differs flatly with what is held out as the thought of corporate humanity in the code of society or the code of law. am i to suppose myself a monster? i have only to read books, the christian gospels for example, to think myself a monster no longer; and instead i think the mass of people are merely speaking in their sleep. it is a commonplace, enshrined, if i mistake not, even in school copy-books, that honour is to be sought and not fame. i ask no other admission; we are to seek honour, upright walking with our own conscience every hour of the day, and not fame, the consequence, the far-off reverberation of our footsteps. the walk, not the rumour of the walk, is what concerns righteousness. better disrespectable honour than dishonourable fame. better useless or seemingly hurtful honour, than dishonour ruling empires and filling the mouths of thousands. for the man must walk by what he sees, and leave the issue with god who made him and taught him by the fortune of his life. you would not dishonour yourself for money; which is at least tangible; would you do it, then, for a doubtful forecast in politics, or another person's theory in morals? so intricate is the scheme of our affairs, that no man can calculate the bearing of his own behaviour even on those immediately around him, how much less upon the world at large or on succeeding generations! to walk by external prudence and the rule of consequences would require, not a man, but god. all that we know to guide us in this changing labyrinth is our soul with its fixed design of righteousness, and a few old precepts which commend themselves to that. the precepts are vague when we endeavour to apply them; consequences are more entangled than a wisp of string, and their confusion is unrestingly in change; we must hold to what we know and walk by it. we must walk by faith, indeed, and not by knowledge. you do not love another because he is wealthy or wise or eminently respectable: you love him because you love him; that is love, and any other only a derision and grimace. it should be the same with all our actions. if we were to conceive a perfect man, it should be one who was never torn between conflicting impulses, but who, on the absolute consent of all his parts and faculties, submitted in every action of his life to a self-dictation as absolute and unreasoned as that which bids him love one woman and be true to her till death. but we should not conceive him as sagacious, ascetical, playing off his appetites against each other, turning the wing of public respectable immorality instead of riding it directly down, or advancing toward his end through a thousand sinister compromises and considerations. the one man might be wily, might be adroit, might be wise, might be respectable, might be gloriously useful; it is the other man who would be good. the soul asks honour and not fame; to be upright, not to be successful; to be good, not prosperous; to be essentially, not outwardly, respectable. does your soul ask profit? does it ask money? does it ask the approval of the indifferent herd? i believe not. for my own part, i want but little money, i hope; and i do not want to be decent at all, but to be good. chapter iv we have spoken of that supreme self-dictation which keeps varying from hour to hour in its dictates with the variation of events and circumstances. now, for us, that is ultimate. it may be founded on some reasonable process, but it is not a process which we can follow or comprehend. and moreover the dictation is not continuous, or not continuous except in very lively and well-living natures; and betweenwhiles we must brush along without it. practice is a more intricate and desperate business than the toughest theorising; life is an affair of cavalry, where rapid judgment and prompt action are alone possible and right. as a matter of fact, there is no one so upright but he is influenced by the world's chatter; and no one so headlong but he requires to consider consequences and to keep an eye on profit. for the soul adopts all affections and appetites without exception, and cares only to combine them for some common purpose which shall interest all. now respect for the opinion of others, the study of consequences and the desire of power and comfort, are all undeniably factors in the nature of man; and the more undeniably since we find that, in our current doctrines, they have swallowed up the others and are thought to conclude in themselves all the worthy parts of man. these, then, must also be suffered to affect conduct in the practical domain, much or little according as they are forcibly or feebly present to the mind of each. now a man's view of the universe is mostly a view of the civilised society in which he lives. other men and women are so much more grossly and so much more intimately palpable to his perceptions, that they stand between him and all the rest; they are larger to his eye than the sun, he hears them more plainly than thunder; with them, by them, and for them, he must live and die. and hence the laws that affect his intercourse with his fellow-men, although merely customary and the creatures of a generation, are more clearly and continually before his mind than those which bind him into the eternal system of things, support him in his upright progress on this whirling ball, or keep up the fire of his bodily life. and hence it is that money stands in the first rank of considerations and so powerfully affects the choice. for our society is built with money for mortar; money is present in every joint of circumstance; it might be named the social atmosphere, since, in society, it is by that alone men continue to live, and only through that or chance that they can reach or affect one another. money gives us food, shelter, and privacy; it permits us to be clean in person, opens for us the doors of the theatre, gains us books for study or pleasure, enables us to help the distresses of others, and puts us above necessity so that we can choose the best in life. if we love, it enables us to meet and live with the loved one, or even to prolong her health and life; if we have scruples, it gives us an opportunity to be honest; if we have any bright designs, here is what will smooth the way to their accomplishment. penury is the worst slavery, and will soon lead to death. but money is only a means; it presupposes a man to use it. the rich can go where he pleases, but perhaps please himself nowhere. he can buy a library or visit the whole world, but perhaps has neither patience to read nor intelligence to see. the table may be loaded and the appetite wanting; the purse may be full and the heart empty. he may have gained the world and lost himself; and with all his wealth around him, in a great house and spacious and beautiful demesne, he may live as blank a life as any tattered ditcher. without an appetite, without an aspiration, void of appreciation, bankrupt of desire and hope, there, in his great house, let him sit and look upon his fingers. it is perhaps a more fortunate destiny to have a taste for collecting shells than to be born a millionaire. although neither is to be despised, it is always better policy to learn an interest than to make a thousand pounds; for the money will soon be spent, or perhaps you may feel no joy in spending it; but the interest remains imperishable and ever new. to become a botanist, a geologist, a social philosopher, an antiquary, or an artist, is to enlarge one's possessions in the universe by an incalculably higher degree, and by a far surer sort of property, than to purchase a farm of many acres. you had perhaps two thousand a year before the transaction; perhaps you have two thousand five hundred after it. that represents your gain in the one case. but in the other, you have thrown down a barrier which concealed significance and beauty. the blind man has learned to see. the prisoner has opened up a window in his cell and beholds enchanting prospects; he will never again be a prisoner as he was; he can watch clouds and changing seasons, ships on the river, travellers on the road, and the stars at night; happy prisoner! his eyes have broken gaol! and again he who has learned to love an art or science has wisely laid up riches against the day of riches; if prosperity come, he will not enter poor into his inheritance; he will not slumber and forget himself in the lap of money, or spend his hours in counting idle treasures, but be up and briskly doing; he will have the true alchemic touch, which is not that of midas, but which transmutes dead money into living delight and satisfaction. _Ã�tre et pas avoir_--to be, not to possess--that is the problem of life. to be wealthy, a rich nature is the first requisite and money but the second. to be of a quick and healthy blood, to share in all honourable curiosities, to be rich in admiration and free from envy, to rejoice greatly in the good of others, to love with such generosity of heart that your love is still a dear possession in absence or unkindness--these are the gifts of fortune which money cannot buy and without which money can buy nothing. for what can a man possess, or what can he enjoy, except himself? if he enlarge his nature, it is then that he enlarges his estates. if his nature be happy and valiant, he will enjoy the universe as if it were his park and orchard. but money is not only to be spent; it has also to be earned. it is not merely a convenience or a necessary in social life; but it is the coin in which mankind pays his wages to the individual man. and from this side, the question of money has a very different scope and application. for no man can be honest who does not work. service for service. if the farmer buys corn, and the labourer ploughs and reaps, and the baker sweats in his hot bakery, plainly you who eat must do something in your turn. it is not enough to take off your hat, or to thank god upon your knees for the admirable constitution of society and your own convenient situation in its upper and more ornamental stories. neither is it enough to buy the loaf with a sixpence; for then you are only changing the point of the inquiry; and you must first have _bought the sixpence_. service for service: how have you bought your sixpences? a man of spirit desires certainty in a thing of such a nature; he must see to it that there is some reciprocity between him and mankind; that he pays his expenditure in service; that he has not a lion's share in profit and a drone's in labour; and is not a sleeping partner and mere costly incubus on the great mercantile concern of mankind. services differ so widely with different gifts, and some are so inappreciable to external tests, that this is not only a matter for the private conscience, but one which even there must be leniently and trustfully considered. for remember how many serve mankind who do no more than meditate; and how many are precious to their friends for no more than a sweet and joyous temper. to perform the function of a man of letters it is not necessary to write; nay, it is perhaps better to be a living book. so long as we love we serve; so long as we are loved by others, i would almost say that we are indispensable; and no man is useless while he has a friend. the true services of life are inestimable in money, and are never paid. kind words and caresses, high and wise thoughts, humane designs, tender behaviour to the weak and suffering, and all the charities of man's existence, are neither bought nor sold. yet the dearest and readiest, if not the most just, criterion of a man's services, is the wage that mankind pays him, or, briefly, what he earns. there at least there can be no ambiguity. st. paul is fully and freely entitled to his earnings as a tentmaker, and socrates fully and freely entitled to his earnings as a sculptor, although the true business of each was not only something different, but something which remained unpaid. a man cannot forget that he is not superintended, and serves mankind on parole. he would like, when challenged by his own conscience, to reply: "i have done so much work, and no less, with my own hands and brain, and taken so much profit, and no more, for my own personal delight." and though st. paul, if he had possessed a private fortune, would probably have scorned to waste his time in making tents, yet of all sacrifices to public opinion none can be more easily pardoned than that by which a man, already spiritually useful to the world, should restrict the field of his chief usefulness to perform services more apparent, and possess a livelihood that neither stupidity nor malice could call in question. like all sacrifices to public opinion and mere external decency, this would certainly be wrong; for the soul should rest contented with its own approval and indissuadably pursue its own calling. yet, so grave and delicate is the question, that a man may well hesitate before he decides it for himself; he may well fear that he sets too high a valuation on his own endeavours after good; he may well condescend upon a humbler duty, where others than himself shall judge the service and proportion the wage. and yet it is to this very responsibility that the rich are born. they can shuffle off the duty on no other; they are their own paymasters on parole; and must pay themselves fair wages and no more. for i suppose that in the course of ages, and through reform and civil war and invasion, mankind was pursuing some other and more general design than to set one or two englishmen of the nineteenth century beyond the reach of needs and duties. society was scarce put together, and defended with so much eloquence and blood, for the convenience of two or three millionaires and a few hundred other persons of wealth and position. it is plain that if mankind thus acted and suffered during all these generations, they hoped some benefit, some ease, some well-being, for themselves and their descendants; that if they supported law and order, it was to secure fair-play for all; that if they denied themselves in the present, they must have had some designs upon the future. now a great hereditary fortune is a miracle of man's wisdom and mankind's forbearance; it has not only been amassed and handed down, it has been suffered to be amassed and handed down; and surely in such a consideration as this, its possessor should find only a new spur to activity and honour, that with all this power of service he should not prove unserviceable, and that this mass of treasure should return in benefits upon the race. if he had twenty, or thirty, or a hundred thousand at his banker's, or if all yorkshire or all california were his to manage or to sell, he would still be morally penniless, and have the world to begin like whittington, until he had found some way of serving mankind. his wage is physically in his own hand; but, in honour, that wage must still be earned. he is only steward on parole of what is called his fortune. he must honourably perform his stewardship. he must estimate his own services and allow himself a salary in proportion, for that will be one among his functions. and while he will then be free to spend that salary, great or little, on his own private pleasures, the rest of his fortune he but holds and disposes under trust for mankind; it is not his, because he has not earned it; it cannot be his, because his services have already been paid; but year by year it is his to distribute, whether to help individuals whose birthright and outfit have been swallowed up in his, or to further public works and institutions. at this rate, short of inspiration, it seems hardly possible to be both rich and honest; and the millionaire is under a far more continuous temptation to thieve than the labourer who gets his shilling daily for despicable toils. are you surprised? it is even so. and you repeat it every sunday in your churches. "it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of god." i have heard this and similar texts ingeniously explained away and brushed from the path of the aspiring christian by the tender greatheart of the parish. one excellent clergyman told us that the "eye of a needle" meant a low, oriental postern through which camels could not pass till they were unloaded--which is very likely just; and then went on, bravely confounding the "kingdom of god" with heaven, the future paradise, to show that of course no rich person could expect to carry his riches beyond the grave--which, of course, he could not and never did. various greedy sinners of the congregation drank in the comfortable doctrine with relief. it was worth the while having come to church that sunday morning! all was plain. the bible, as usual, meant nothing in particular; it was merely an obscure and figurative school-copybook; and if a man were only respectable, he was a man after god's own heart. alas! i fear not. and though this matter of a man's services is one for his own conscience, there are some cases in which it is difficult to restrain the mind from judging. thus i shall be very easily persuaded that a man has earned his daily bread; and if he has but a friend or two to whom his company is delightful at heart, i am more than persuaded at once. but it will be very hard to persuade me that any one has earned an income of a hundred thousand. what he is to his friends, he still would be if he were made penniless to-morrow; for as to the courtiers of luxury and power, i will neither consider them friends, nor indeed consider them at all. what he does for mankind there are most likely hundreds who would do the same, as effectually for the race and as pleasurably to themselves, for the merest fraction of this monstrous wage. why it is paid, i am, therefore, unable to conceive, and as the man pays it himself, out of funds in his detention, i have a certain backwardness to think him honest. at least, we have gained a very obvious point: that _what a man spends upon himself he shall have earned by services to the race_. thence flows a principle for the outset of life, which is a little different from that taught in the present day. i am addressing the middle and the upper classes; those who have already been fostered and prepared for life at some expense; those who have some choice before them, and can pick professions; and above all, those who are what is called independent, and need do nothing unless pushed by honour or ambition. in this particular the poor are happy; among them, when a lad comes to his strength, he must take the work that offers, and can take it with an easy conscience. but in the richer classes the question is complicated by the number of opportunities and a variety of considerations. here, then, this principle of ours comes in helpfully. the young man has to seek, not a road to wealth, but an opportunity of service; not money, but honest work. if he has some strong propensity, some calling of nature, some overweening interest in any special field of industry, inquiry, or art, he will do right to obey the impulse; and that for two reasons: the first external, because there he will render the best services; the second personal, because a demand of his own nature is to him without appeal whenever it can be satisfied with the consent of his other faculties and appetites. if he has no such elective taste, by the very principle on which he chooses any pursuit at all he must choose the most honest and serviceable, and not the most highly remunerated. we have here an external problem, not from or to ourself, but flowing from the constitution of society; and we have our own soul with its fixed design of righteousness. all that can be done is to present the problem in proper terms and leave it to the soul of the individual. now the problem to the poor is one of necessity: to earn wherewithal to live, they must find remunerative labour. but the problem to the rich is one of honour: having the wherewithal, they must find serviceable labour. each has to earn his daily bread: the one, because he has not yet got it to eat; the other, who has already eaten it, because he has not yet earned it. of course, what is true of bread is true of luxuries and comforts, whether for the body or the mind. but the consideration of luxuries leads us to a new aspect of the whole question, and to a second proposition no less true, and maybe no less startling, than the last. at the present day, we, of the easier classes, are in a state of surfeit and disgrace after meat. plethora has filled us with indifference; and we are covered from head to foot with the callosities of habitual opulence. born into what is called a certain rank, we live, as the saying is, up to our station. we squander without enjoyment, because our fathers squandered. we eat of the best, not from delicacy, but from brazen habit. we do not keenly enjoy or eagerly desire the presence of a luxury; we are unaccustomed to its absence. and not only do we squander money from habit, but still more pitifully waste it in ostentation. i can think of no more melancholy disgrace for a creature who professes either reason or pleasure for his guide, than to spend the smallest fraction of his income upon that which he does not desire; and to keep a carriage in which you do not wish to drive, or a butler of whom you are afraid, is a pathetic kind of folly. money, being a means of happiness, should make both parties happy when it changes hands; rightly disposed, it should be twice blessed in its employment; and buyer and seller should alike have their twenty shillings' worth of profit out of every pound. benjamin franklin went through life an altered man, because he once paid too dearly for a penny whistle. my concern springs usually from a deeper source, to wit, from having bought a whistle when i did not want one. i find i regret this, or would regret it if i gave myself the time, not only on personal but on moral and philanthropical considerations. for, first, in a world where money is wanting to buy books for eager students and food and medicine for pining children, and where a large majority are starved in their most immediate desires, it is surely base, stupid, and cruel to squander money when i am pushed by no appetite and enjoy no return of genuine satisfaction. my philanthropy is wide enough in scope to include myself; and when i have made myself happy, i have at least one good argument that i have acted rightly; but where that is not so, and i have bought and not enjoyed, my mouth is closed, and i conceive that i have robbed the poor. and, second, anything i buy or use which i do not sincerely want or cannot vividly enjoy, disturbs the balance of supply and demand, and contributes to remove industrious hands from the production of what is useful or pleasurable and to keep them busy upon ropes of sand and things that are a weariness to the flesh. that extravagance is truly sinful, and a very silly sin to boot, in which we impoverish mankind and ourselves. it is another question for each man's heart. he knows if he can enjoy what he buys and uses; if he cannot, he is a dog in the manger; nay, if he cannot, i contend he is a thief, for nothing really belongs to a man which he cannot use. proprietor is connected with propriety; and that only is the man's which is proper to his wants and faculties. a youth, in choosing a career, must not be alarmed by poverty. want is a sore thing, but poverty does not imply want. it remains to be seen whether with half his present income, or a third, he cannot, in the most generous sense, live as fully as at present. he is a fool who objects to luxuries; but he is also a fool who does not protest against the waste of luxuries on those who do not desire and cannot enjoy them. it remains to be seen, by each man who would live a true life to himself and not a merely specious life to society, how many luxuries he truly wants and to how many he merely submits as to a social propriety; and all these last he will immediately forswear. let him do this, and he will be surprised to find how little money it requires to keep him in complete contentment and activity of mind and senses. life at any level among the easy classes is conceived upon a principle of rivalry, where each man and each household must ape the tastes and emulate the display of others. one is delicate in eating, another in wine, a third in furniture or works of art or dress; and i, who care nothing for any of these refinements, who am perhaps a plain athletic creature and love exercise, beef, beer, flannel shirts and a camp bed, am yet called upon to assimilate all these other tastes and make these foreign occasions of expenditure my own. it may be cynical: i am sure i shall be told it is selfish; but i will spend my money as i please and for my own intimate personal gratification, and should count myself a nincompoop indeed to lay out the colour of a halfpenny on any fancied social decency or duty. i shall not wear gloves unless my hands are cold, or unless i am born with a delight in them. dress is my own affair, and that of one other in the world; that, in fact, and for an obvious reason, of any woman who shall chance to be in love with me. i shall lodge where i have a mind. if i do not ask society to live with me, they must be silent; and even if i do, they have no further right but to refuse the invitation. there is a kind of idea abroad that a man must live up to his station, that his house, his table, and his toilette, shall be in a ratio of equivalence, and equally imposing to the world. if this is in the bible, the passage has eluded my inquiries. if it is not in the bible, it is nowhere but in the heart of the fool. throw aside this fancy. see what you want, and spend upon that; distinguish what you do not care about, and spend nothing upon that. there are not many people who can differentiate wines above a certain and that not at all a high price. are you sure you are one of these? are you sure you prefer cigars at sixpence each to pipes at some fraction of a farthing? are you sure you wish to keep a gig? do you care about where you sleep, or are you not as much at your ease in a cheap lodging as in an elizabethan manor-house? do you enjoy fine clothes? it is not possible to answer these questions without a trial; and there is nothing more obvious to my mind, than that a man who has not experienced some ups and downs, and been forced to live more cheaply than in his father's house, has still his education to begin. let the experiment be made, and he will find to his surprise that he has been eating beyond his appetite up to that hour; that the cheap lodging, the cheap tobacco, the rough country clothes, the plain table, have not only no power to damp his spirits, but perhaps give him as keen pleasure in the using as the dainties that he took, betwixt sleep and waking, in his former callous and somnambulous submission to wealth. the true bohemian, a creature lost to view under the imaginary bohemians of literature, is exactly described by such a principle of life. the bohemian of the novel, who drinks more than is good for him and prefers anything to work, and wears strange clothes, is for the most part a respectable bohemian, respectable in disrespectability, living for the outside, and an adventurer. but the man i mean lives wholly to himself, does what he wishes, and not what is thought proper, buys what he wants for himself and not what is thought proper, works at what he believes he can do well and not what will bring him in money or favour. you may be the most respectable of men, and yet a true bohemian. and the test is this: a bohemian, for as poor as he may be, is always open-handed to his friends; he knows what he can do with money and how he can do without it, a far rarer and more useful knowledge; he has had less, and continued to live in some contentment; and hence he cares not to keep more, and shares his sovereign or his shilling with a friend. the poor, if they are generous, are bohemian in virtue of their birth. do you know where beggars go? not to the great houses where people sit dazed among their thousands, but to the doors of poor men who have seen the world; and it was the widow who had only two mites, who cast half her fortune into the treasury. but a young man who elects to save on dress or on lodging, or who in any way falls out of the level of expenditure which is common to his level in society, falls out of society altogether. i suppose the young man to have chosen his career on honourable principles; he finds his talents and instincts can be best contented in a certain pursuit; in a certain industry, he is sure that he is serving mankind with a healthy and becoming service; and he is not sure that he would be doing so, or doing so equally well, in any other industry within his reach. then that is his true sphere in life; not the one in which he was born to his father, but the one which is proper to his talents and instincts. and suppose he does fall out of society, is that a cause of sorrow? is your heart so dead that you prefer the recognition of many to the love of a few? do you think society loves you? put it to the proof. decline in material expenditure, and you will find they care no more for you than for the khan of tartary. you will lose no friends. if you had any, you will keep them. only those who were friends to your coat and equipage will disappear; the smiling faces will disappear as by enchantment; but the kind hearts will remain steadfastly kind. are you so lost, are you so dead, are you so little sure of your own soul and your own footing upon solid fact, that you prefer before goodness and happiness the countenance of sundry diners-out, who will flee from you at a report of ruin, who will drop you with insult at a shadow of disgrace, who do not know you and do not care to know you but by sight, and whom you in your turn neither know nor care to know in a more human manner? is it not the principle of society, openly avowed, that friendship must not interfere with business; which being paraphrased, means simply that a consideration of money goes before any consideration of affection known to this cold-blooded gang, that they have not even the honour of thieves, and will rook their nearest and dearest as readily as a stranger? i hope i would go as far as most to serve a friend; but i declare openly i would not put on my hat to do a pleasure to society. i may starve my appetites and control my temper for the sake of those i love; but society shall take me as i choose to be, or go without me. neither they nor i will lose; for where there is no love, it is both laborious and unprofitable to associate. but it is obvious that if it is only right for a man to spend money on that which he can truly and thoroughly enjoy, the doctrine applies with equal force to the rich and to the poor, to the man who has amassed many thousands as well as to the youth precariously beginning life. and it may be asked, is not this merely preparing misers, who are not the best of company? but the principle was this: that which a man has not fairly earned, and, further, that which he cannot fully enjoy, does not belong to him, but is a part of mankind's treasure which he holds as steward on parole. to mankind, then, it must be made profitable; and how this should be done is, once more, a problem which each man must solve for himself, and about which none has a right to judge him. yet there are a few considerations which are very obvious and may here be stated. mankind is not only the whole in general, but every one in particular. every man or woman is one of mankind's dear possessions; to his or her just brain, and kind heart, and active hands, mankind intrusts some of its hopes for the future; he or she is a possible wellspring of good acts and source of blessings to the race. this money which you do not need, which, in a rigid sense, you do not want, may therefore be returned not only in public benefactions to the race, but in private kindnesses. your wife, your children, your friends stand nearest to you, and should be helped the first. there at least there can be little imposture, for you know their necessities of your own knowledge. and consider, if all the world did as you did, and according to their means extended help in the circle of their affections, there would be no more crying want in times of plenty and no more cold, mechanical charity given with a doubt and received with confusion. would not this simple rule make a new world out of the old and cruel one which we inhabit? [_after two more sentences the fragment breaks off._] prayers written for family use at vailima prayers written for family use at vailima _for success_ lord, behold our family here assembled. we thank thee for this place in which we dwell; for the love that unites us; for the peace accorded us this day; for the hope with which we expect the morrow; for the health, the work, the food, and the bright skies, that make our lives delightful; for our friends in all parts of the earth, and our friendly helpers in this foreign isle. let peace abound in our small company. purge out of every heart the lurking grudge. give us grace and strength to forbear and to persevere. offenders, give us the grace to accept and to forgive offenders. forgetful ourselves, help us to bear cheerfully the forgetfulness of others. give us courage and gaiety and the quiet mind. spare to us our friends, soften to us our enemies. bless us, if it may be, in all our innocent endeavours. if it may not, give us the strength to encounter that which is to come, that we be brave in peril, constant in tribulation, temperate in wrath, and in all changes of fortune, and down to the gates of death, loyal and loving one to another. as the clay to the potter, as the windmill to the wind, as children of their sire, we beseech of thee this help and mercy for christ's sake. _for grace_ grant that we here before thee may be set free from the fear of vicissitude and the fear of death, may finish what remains before us of our course without dishonour to ourselves or hurt to others, and, when the day comes, may die in peace. deliver us from fear and favour: from mean hopes and cheap pleasures. have mercy on each in his deficiency; let him be not cast down; support the stumbling on the way, and give at last rest to the weary. _at morning_ the day returns and brings us the petty round of irritating concerns and duties. help us to play the man, help us to perform them with laughter and kind faces, let cheerfulness abound with industry. give us to go blithely on our business all this day, bring us to our resting beds weary and content and undishonoured, and grant us in the end the gift of sleep. _evening_ we come before thee, o lord, in the end of thy day with thanksgiving. our beloved in the far parts of the earth, those who are now beginning the labours of the day what time we end them, and those with whom the sun now stands at the point of noon, bless, help, console, and prosper them. our guard is relieved, the service of the day is over, and the hour come to rest. we resign into thy hands our sleeping bodies, our cold hearths and open doors. give us to awake with smiles, give us to labour smiling. as the sun returns in the east, so let our patience be renewed with dawn; as the sun lightens the world, so let our loving-kindness make bright this house of our habitation. _another for evening_ lord, receive our supplications for this house, family, and country. protect the innocent, restrain the greedy and the treacherous, lead us out of our tribulation into a quiet land. look down upon ourselves and upon our absent dear ones. help us and them; prolong our days in peace and honour. give us health, food, bright weather, and light hearts. in what we meditate of evil, frustrate our will; in what of good, further our endeavours. cause injuries to be forgot and benefits to be remembered. let us lie down without fear and awake and arise with exultation. for his sake, in whose words we now conclude. _in time of rain_ we thank thee, lord, for the glory of the late days and the excellent face of thy sun. we thank thee for good news received. we thank thee for the pleasures we have enjoyed and for those we have been able to confer. and now, when the clouds gather and the rain impends over the forest and our house, permit us not to be cast down; let us not lose the savour of past mercies and past pleasures; but, like the voice of a bird singing in the rain, let grateful memory survive in the hour of darkness. if there be in front of us any painful duty, strengthen us with the grace of courage; if any act of mercy, teach us tenderness and patience. _another in time of rain_ lord, thou sendest down rain upon the uncounted millions of the forest, and givest the trees to drink exceedingly. we are here upon this isle a few handfuls of men, and how many myriads upon myriads of stalwart trees! teach us the lesson of the trees. the sea around us, which this rain recruits, teems with the race of fish; teach us, lord, the meaning of the fishes. let us see ourselves for what we are, one out of the countless number of the clans of thy handiwork. when we would despair, let us remember that these also please and serve thee. _before a temporary separation_ to-day we go forth separate, some of us to pleasure, some of us to worship, some upon duty. go with us, our guide and angel; hold thou before us in our divided paths the mark of our low calling, still to be true to what small best we can attain to. help us in that, our maker, the dispenser of events--thou, of the vast designs, in which we blindly labour, suffer us to be so far constant to ourselves and our beloved. _for friends_ for our absent loved ones we implore thy loving-kindness. keep them in life, keep them in growing honour; and for us, grant that we remain worthy of their love. for christ's sake, let not our beloved blush for us, nor we for them. grant us but that, and grant us courage to endure lesser ills unshaken, and to accept death, loss, and disappointment as it were straws upon the tide of life. _for the family_ aid us, if it be thy will, in our concerns. have mercy on this land and innocent people. help them who this day contend in disappointment with their frailties. bless our family, bless our forest house, bless our island helpers. thou who hast made for us this place of ease and hope, accept and inflame our gratitude; help us to repay, in service one to another, the debt of thine unmerited benefits and mercies, so that when the period of our stewardship draws to a conclusion, when the windows begin to be darkened, when the bond of the family is to be loosed, there shall be no bitterness of remorse in our farewells. help us to look back on the long way that thou hast brought us, on the long days in which we have been served not according to our deserts but our desires; on the pit and the miry clay, the blackness of despair, the horror of misconduct, from which our feet have been plucked out. for our sins forgiven or prevented, for our shame unpublished, we bless and thank thee, o god. help us yet again and ever. so order events, so strengthen our frailty, as that day by day we shall come before thee with this song of gratitude, and in the end we be dismissed with honour. in their weakness and their fear, the vessels of thy handiwork so pray to thee, so praise thee. amen. _sunday_ we beseech thee, lord, to behold us with favour, folk of many families and nations gathered together in the peace of this roof, weak men and women subsisting under the covert of thy patience. be patient still; suffer us yet a while longer;--with our broken purposes of good, with our idle endeavours against evil, suffer us a while longer to endure, and (if it may be) help us to do better. bless to us our extraordinary mercies; if the day come when these must be taken, brace us to play the man under affliction. be with our friends, be with ourselves. go with each of us to rest; if any awake, temper to them the dark hours of watching; and when the day returns, return to us, our sun and comforter, and call us up with morning faces and with morning hearts--eager to labour--eager to be happy, if happiness shall be our portion--and if the day be marked for sorrow, strong to endure it. we thank thee and praise thee; and in the words of him to whom this day is sacred, close our oblation. _for self-blame_ lord, enlighten us to see the beam that is in our own eye, and blind us to the mote that is in our brother's. let us feel our offences with our hands, make them great and bright before us like the sun, make us eat them and drink them for our diet. blind us to the offences of our beloved, cleanse them from our memories, take them out of our mouths for ever. let all here before thee carry and measure with the false balances of love, and be in their own eyes and in all conjunctures the most guilty. help us at the same time with the grace of courage, that we be none of us cast down when we sit lamenting amid the ruins of our happiness or our integrity: touch us with fire from the altar, that we may be up and doing to rebuild our city: in the name and by the method of him in whose words of prayer we now conclude. _for self-forgetfulness_ lord, the creatures of thy hand, thy disinherited children, come before thee with their incoherent wishes and regrets: children we are, children we shall be, till our mother the earth hath fed upon our bones. accept us, correct us, guide us, thy guilty innocents. dry our vain tears, wipe out our vain resentments, help our yet vainer efforts. if there be any here, sulking as children will, deal with and enlighten him. make it day about that person, so that he shall see himself and be ashamed. make it heaven about him, lord, by the only way to heaven, forgetfulness of self, and make it day about his neighbours, so that they shall help, not hinder him. _for renewal of joy_ we are evil, o god, and help us to see it and amend. we are good, and help us to be better. look down upon thy servants with a patient eye, even as thou sendest sun and rain; look down, call upon the dry bones, quicken, enliven; re-create in us the soul of service, the spirit of peace; renew in us the sense of joy. end of vol. xvi printed by cassell & company, limited, la belle sauvage, london, e.c. company "a," corps of engineers, u. s. a., -' , in the mexican war. by gustavus w. smith, formerly lieutenant of engineers, and bvt. captain, u. s. army. the battalion press, . preface. executive document, no. , united states senate, december , , contains a communication from the secretary of war, transmitting to congress the official reports of commanding generals and their subordinates in the mexican war. the secretary says: "the company of engineer soldiers, authorized by the act of may , , has been more than a year on active duty in mexico, and has rendered efficient service. i again submit, with approval, the proposition of the chief engineer for an increase of this description of force." (senate-ex. doc. no. , , p. .) table of contents. page preface. chap. i.--enlistment--instruction--detention on the rio grande--march to victoria and tampico--landing at vera cruz--death of captain swift. chap. ii.--engaged in operations against vera cruz. chap. iii.--after the surrender of vera cruz to the occupation of puebla. chap. iv.--from puebla to churubusco. chap. v.--capture of the city of mexico. chap. vi.--in the city of mexico; return to west point. appendix a.--brief extracts, from wilcox's history of the mexican war, . appendix b.--promotions of enlisted men of the company. chapter i. enlistment--instruction--detention on the rio grande--march to victoria and tampico--landing at vera cruz--death of captain swift. previous to the war with mexico there existed among the people of the united states a strong prejudice against maintaining even a small regular army in time of peace. active opposition to a permanent, regular military establishment extended to the west point academy, in which cadets were trained and qualified to become commissioned officers of the army. that academy was then a component part of the military engineer corps. for years the chief of the corps had, in vain, urged upon congress, the necessity for having, at least one company of enlisted engineer soldiers as a part of the regular army. in the meantime he had, however, succeeded in persuading the government at washington to send--by permission of the government of france--a selected captain of the u. s. engineer corps to the french school of engineer officers at metz; for the purpose of having in the u. s. army, an officer qualified to instruct and command a company of engineer soldiers in case congress could be induced to authorize the enlistment of such a company. captain alexander j. swift was the officer selected to be sent to metz. on his return to the united states, he was assigned to temporary duty at west point awaiting the long delayed passage of an act authorizing the enlistment of a company of u. s. engineer soldiers. that act was passed soon after the commencement of hostilities with mexico. it provided for the enlistment of an engineer company of men, in the regular army. the company to be composed of sergeants, corporals, artificers, second class privates, and musicians; all with higher pay than that of enlisted men in the line of the army. captain swift was assigned to the command; and, at his request, i was ordered to report to him as next officer in rank to himself. at my suggestion, brevet second lieutenant george b. mcclellan, who had just been graduated from the military academy, was assigned as junior officer of the company. at that time i had been an officer of engineers for four years; my rank was that of second lieutenant. all the first lieutenants, and some of the second lieutenants, of that corps, were then in sole charge of the construction of separate fortifications, or were engaged in other important duties. captain swift was not disposed to apply for the assignment of any of those officers to be subalterns under him in a company of soldiers. i had taught mcclellan during his last year in the academy, and felt assured that he would be in full harmony with me in the duties we would be called upon to perform under captain swift. it is safe to say that no three officers of a company of soldiers ever worked together with less friction. the understanding between them was complete. there were no jars--no doubts or cross purposes--and no conflict of opinion or of action. in the beginning i was charged with the instruction of the company as an infantry command, whilst the captain took control of the recruiting, the collection of engineer implements--including an india rubber ponton bridge--and he privately instructed mcclellan and myself, at his own house, in the rudiments of practical military engineering which he had acquired at metz. in the meantime we taught him, at the same place, the manual of arms and infantry tactics which had been introduced into the army after he was graduated at the military academy. in practical engineer drills the captain was always in control. after the men were passably well drilled in the "infantry school of the company"; the time had come for him to take executive command on the infantry drill ground. he did this on the first occasion, like a veteran captain of infantry until "at rest" was ordered. whilst the men were "at rest", mcclellan and myself quietly, but earnestly, congratulated him upon his successful _début_ as drill officer of an infantry company. he kindly attributed to our instruction in his house, whatever proficiency he had acquired in the new tactics which had then been recently introduced. but, after the company was again called to "attention" and the drill was progressing, whilst marching with full company front across the plain, the men all well in line, to my surprise the captain ordered "faster", and added "the step is much too slow". of course we went "faster". in a short time the captain ordered "faster still, the step is very much too slow". this order was several times repeated, and before the drill ended we were virtually "at a run". after the drill was over and the company dismissed from the parade ground, i asked the captain why he had not given the commands "quick time" and "double quick", instead of saying "faster" and "still faster". he said he did not intend the step should be "quick time"--much less "double quick". he only wanted the rate to be in "common time-- steps a minute"; and added: "you had not reached that rate when the drill ended". i insisted that he must be mistaken, and told him we were marching in "common time" or very near it, when he first gave the order, "faster". he persisted that he was right in regard to the rate of the step--said "that he had carefully counted it, watch in hand"; and added: "you were, at the last, not making more than steps to the minute". i was satisfied that he was mistaken; but he relied implicitly upon the correctness of his count and the accuracy of his watch. mcclellan and i proceeded to the company quarters, of which i still had charge. on the way we referred to the matter of the step, and both of us were at a loss to account for the misapprehension we were sure the captain labored under in regard to it. i asked mcclellan to take out his watch and count whilst i marched in "common time". i made steps per minute--and repeated it more than once. it presently dawned upon us that our captain, whilst consulting his watch, had counted only one foot in getting at the number of steps: and that we were really making steps to the minute when he counted . the mystery was solved, the captain had counted "the left foot" only. when we next went to his house for instruction in details of the school of the engineer soldier, i asked him how many steps we were making a minute when he first ordered "faster". he said "about ". i replied: "that's it. we have found out what was the matter. you counted only the left foot. we were marching in 'common time' when you ordered us to move 'faster'; and you pushed us to nearly twice that rate". "the cat was out of the bag." the captain saw it at once and laughed heartily over the error he had fallen into in the latter part of his "first appearance" as captain, in drilling the company as infantry. he made no such mistake thereafter; and the men never knew of his "count", watch in hand. on the th of september, , we sailed from new york, rank and file, for brazos santiago, under orders to report to general taylor, commanding the u. s. army in mexico. we landed at brazos on the th of october, remained at that point for several days, proceeded thence to the mouth of the rio grande and arrived at carmargo on the nd of november. there the company was delayed for several weeks because transportation for the engineer train to the headquarters of the army at monterey, was not then available. the company left carmargo for brazos, on the th of november, under orders to proceed to tampico by sea, but was ordered to return to matamoros with a portion of its tools, and march, via victoria, to tampico--the bulk of its train to be transported to the latter place by water. whilst detained at carmargo instruction in the school of the engineer soldier was kept up, and infantry drills were constantly practiced. during that time several thousand troops were in camp near carmargo, and the men of the engineer company learned that they were, by the line of the army, styled: "the pick and shovel brigade". their officers advised them not to care for this epithet but, "take it easy, continue to endeavor to become _model_ infantry, and engraft on that a fair knowledge of the duties of the engineer soldier". they were assured that "for heavy work", details would have to be made from the line of the army; and these details would, for the time, constitute the real "pick and shovel brigade" under the control of engineer officers, assisted by trained engineer soldiers. when the time came for close fighting the engineer company would be at the front. the troops stationed on the rio grande during the fall of , suffered greatly from mexican diarrhoea, fevers and other diseases. several men of the engineer company died, and captain swift and twenty of the men were left in hospital at matamoros, when the company finally left the latter place. before giving an account of our first march in the enemy's country, it may be well to state here, that with two exceptions, the enlisted men of the engineer company were native born, and all but four of them were raw recruits. each of those four had served, with credit, during one or more terms of enlistment in the regular army. three of them were promptly made sergeants, and the fourth was a musician (bugler). all of the recruits but one, were very carefully selected material, out of which to form, as soon as practicable, skilled engineer soldiers. the one exception was a short, fat, dumpy, long island dutchman--a good cook, specially enlisted by captain swift to cook for the men. he was given the pay and rank of artificer of engineers. the men looked upon him more as a servant of theirs than as a fellow soldier. he was well satisfied with his position, prided himself on his special duties, rather looked down upon "soldiers"--and was impudent by nature. all went well enough with the "cook" until he was required to take his place in the ranks, at regular bi-monthly "muster, and inspection" for pay. his performance on that occasion was so grotesquely awkward that i directed he should be put through the "squad-drill" by one of the sergeants, who was a thoroughly competent, but rather severe, drill-master. the "cook" felt that his rights were invaded, in requiring him to submit to be drilled. the sergeant made no progress in teaching him. after three days' trial, he reported to me that he was mortified, and ashamed, to have to admit he could do nothing with "that cook"; and he asked to be relieved from the duty of drilling him. in reply to my question: "can't you make him obey you?" he replied: "no--the only thing i can do is to kill him"; and added: "when that kind of thing has to be done, in this company, my understanding is, the lieutenant in command is the only one who has the right to kill". i relieved the sergeant, and told him i would take the "cook" in hand at the next drill. on the following day, i marched him off into the dense chaparral, on the bottom lands near matamoros. after following obscure paths, about three miles in their windings through the jungle, i halted him in a small open space a few hundred yards from the company camp. he thought no doubt, we were five miles from camp--in a boundless wilderness--whilst, in fact, we were at no time five hundred yards away. i told him of the report that had been made to me of his disobedience, informed him that i had brought him into the chaparral for the purpose of compelling him to obey me; called his attention to the fact that we were in the enemy's country in time of war; all of our lives were in peril, and that persistent disobedience on the part of any officer or soldier to the legal authority of those over him, was punishable with death; that i did not propose to place him before a court martial; but, would kill him, if he did not implicitly obey an order i proposed then and there to give him. i measured paces in front of him and placed a small white chip on the ground, called him to "attention", ordered him to place his eyes on that chip, and told him if he removed them from it before i gave the command "rest", i would run him through with my rapier. i then drilled him at the manual of arms for about minutes. large beads of perspiration rolled down his face--he began to totter on his feet--and i gave the command "rest". he had not taken his eyes from the chip. at the command "rest", he drew a long sigh of relief and uttered a subdued but prolonged "o-h". i asked him if he now thought he could obey the sergeant. he replied: "yes, i will obey anybody". i told him i would temporarily withdraw what i had said about killing him, and would put him on his good behavior. i drilled him about two hours longer; and then took him, by a circuitous route, through the jungle, back to camp. he was obedient enough thereafter. when the war had ended and i was relieved from duty with the company, one of the men told me that "the cook", on his return from the drill i had given him said: "the lieutenant took me way off, ever so far, in the chaparral, and told me he took me there to kill me if i didn't mind him. the little devil meant it, and would have done it too, if i had fooled with him like i had done with the sergeant." except this _case_, of "the cook", there had been no difficulty in bringing the men of the company to a high standard of drill and discipline as an infantry company, and a reasonable degree of proficiency in the school of the engineer soldier. but, on their first march into the enemy's country, they were called upon to do an immense amount of hard work not specially referred to in their preliminary instruction. the march from matamoros to victoria and tampico. by special orders from general taylor, brought by major george a. mccall to captain swift, the latter was charged with the duty of repairing the road from matamoros to victoria, and making it practicable for artillery and the baggage train; and to do this, if possible, so that the whole command might make its prescribed daily marches and arrive at victoria on a named day. captain swift was authorized to call upon the commander of the forces, on this march, for such assistance as might be needed to perform the work; and was directed to do no more to the road than was barely sufficient to enable the trains to pass over it. it was not expected that we would ever have occasion to pass through that region again; and it was not proposed to make a permanent road for the benefit of mexicans. captain swift being sick in hospital, the foregoing instructions were given to me, as commander of the company, by major mccall, who, in the capacity of adjutant-general of the forces under general patterson, accompanied him on this march. under orders from general taylor, the company of engineers, reduced to two officers and forty-five enlisted men for service, marched from matamoros on the st of december, , with a column of volunteers under general patterson, to join general taylor's army at victoria. we arrived at the latter place on the th of january, . a great deal of work had been done by details of volunteers and the engineer company in making the road practicable for artillery and baggage wagons. without dwelling upon daily operations, the following statement of the manner in which we made our way across a difficult stream may be of interest. about noon one day i was informed by major mccall, who had ridden ahead of the working party, that there was an exceedingly difficult "river-crossing" about one mile in front, and that he feared we would be detained there for, perhaps, two days. i galloped forward to the place designated. it looked ugly. the banks of the stream were something more than feet high and quite steep. guiding my horse down to the water's edge, i crossed the river which was from two to three feet deep, and about one hundred yards wide. the bottom was fair enough, until within a few yards of the opposite shore, where it was soft mud. getting through this with some difficulty i rode to the top of the bank on the far side. to make an ordinary practicable road across that stream would require two or three day's work of several hundred men. it seemed a clear case for the free use of drag-ropes to let the wagons down into the stream on the near side, and haul them up the opposite bank. it was plain to me that with a working party of two hundred men--which was the greatest number we could supply with tools--a straight steep ramp could be cut on both banks in six or eight hours hard work. the greatest difficulty would be encountered in getting out of the stream on the far side. returning quickly to where i had left major mccall, i asked him to give me a working party of about men, told him i would find use for that number and that in my opinion, with that force, the wagon train could be put across the stream before dark. the commanding general thought my requisition for the working detail was extravagant, as we scarcely had tools enough for a quarter of that number of men. but the detail was ordered, as called for, to report to me. in the meantime the engineer company and its train was taken to the crossing, and the character of the work to be done there was explained to the men. leaving lieutenant mcclellan with a portion of the company to take charge of the near bank, directing him to halt there about of the working party and send about to me on the opposite bank, i crossed the stream with the rest of the company and explained to them the work to be done on that side, particularly the means to be used in getting out of the river. on each side of the stream the working party was divided into three "reliefs", or relays--with one hundred men or more held in reserve, to meet contingencies. the working party arrived in good season, tools were promptly distributed to the first "relief" on each side of the river, and the men were told that, if they would work as at a "corn-shucking-match", or as if the "house was on fire", they would be let off in an hour, or less, depending on the rapidity and effectiveness of their work. it was to be a race against time. i wanted all the work there was in them, and wanted it inside of an hour. before the hour was up the "first relief" on each side of the river, was ordered to stop work, drop their tools, get out of the road and take to the bushes. the "second relief" was immediately marched into the vacated places, seized the tools, and worked like the first--and on the same conditions. so with the "third relief"; and, inside of three hours from the time the work began, the engineer wagons were crossing the river. they soon moved on, leaving the rest of the forces to follow at their leisure. the volunteer officers afterwards complained to me that the "wild work" on the banks of that river, had "scattered" their men so badly, it was several days before they could be again got into their proper places. this case was an exception--a frolic. the usual daily work on the road was more regular and continuous, without disorder. it may perhaps not be out of place here to mention, that about the time i sent the "first relief" into the bushes, and set the "second relief" to work under the directions of men of the engineer company, the commander of the forces, with his staff, arrived on the bank where mcclellan was in charge, and asked for me. he was told that i was on the opposite bank. just at that time the confusion and wild yells of the "first relief" and the loud cheers of the "second relief" when told that they, too, would be let off inside of an hour, provided they would work as if engaged in a "corn-shucking-match", astounded the general, and had to him the appearance of disorder, perhaps mutiny. on asking lieutenant mcclellan what it meant, the latter replied: "it is all right; lieutenant smith has the larger portion of the engineer company with him on that bank; and i can see him, and men of the company near him in the road, all of whom seem to be quietly giving instructions to the new working party". after starting the "second relief" to digging in the road, i had gone to the brow of the bank overlooking the work which was being done, mostly by my own men in the river, where the road was to leave it. the engineer sergeant in charge of that work informed me that he was then in immediate need of about twenty additional men. the reserve working force was not far from me. i called out for a sergeant and twenty men, without arms or accoutrements, to come to me. pointing to the river, just under the place at which i was standing, i directed the sergeant of this reserve party to take his men down at once and report to the engineer sergeant in charge there. the bank was precipitous. the sergeant of the reserve working party said that he would take his men back about one hundred yards, and go down by the road on which the "second relief" was working. i demurred, and told him again, to take his men straight to where they were needed. he still hesitated. i pushed him over the brow of the bank, and he went headlong into the river. i then ordered his men to follow him. they did it with a cheer and regular "comanche-whoop"--sliding down the slope, which was too steep to stand on. this scene, too, was witnessed from across the river by the general of the forces and his staff. i did not know they were there; but if i had, it would have made no difference; i was in charge of the working party, and in haste to finish that _special job_. on our arrival at victoria, the company was relieved from duty under general patterson, and i was directed to report to the headquarters of general taylor. on the th of january the company was ordered to report to general twiggs. with two companies of the line to furnish additional details for labor when required i was charged with the duty of making the road between victoria and tampico practicable for wagons. these three companies left victoria on the th. the following extracts from my official report of the operations of the engineer company for the month of january, , illustrate, in part, the difficulties met with. "the first day, (out from victoria,) we had three bad boggy brooks to cross; besides a great deal of cutting to do with axes in order to open the road; and many bad ravines and gullies to render passable. to make a bridge, across a boggy stream, with no other material than the short, knotty, hard and crooked chaparral bush, was no easy matter. the first day's march was about ten miles--we encamped about sunset after a very hard day's work." in order to shorten the route and save the forces one day's march, we were, for several days, working on a mule path "cut-off" from the main road. "january th. the mule path was infamous. no wagon had ever traveled that road--the rancheros have a tradition of a bull cart that, it is said, once passed that way. i believe, however, that the story is not credited. we worked from dawn of day until dark and encamped about six miles from where we started in the morning and about the same distance from the camp we wished to reach that day." "january th. another day's tremendous hard work." "january th. we had again a very severe day's work." "january th. road improved very decidedly, but still a good deal to do. we managed, by getting a little ahead with our repairs after the army encamped for the night, to get along without seriously delaying the column." we arrived at tampico on the rd. the distance from victoria to tampico is miles; whole distance from matamoros to tampico, by way of victoria, is miles. although the service was arduous, the men came through it in good health, and were all the better soldiers for the practical schooling acquired in that miles of road making. after this experience, ordinary marches and drills were to them, very light matters. tampico to vera cruz. from tampico we sailed for lobos island and vera cruz, on a small schooner, the captain of which was a brave little frenchman, who was not acquainted with the mexican gulf coast, and was not provided with accurate instruments for taking observations. late one afternoon the clouds rolled away, and we distinctly saw the snow-clad peak of orizaba. this was the first intimation to us that we were "somewhere", near vera cruz. in a very short time we saw opposite to us a large fleet of vessels at anchor. we were south of vera cruz and were passing anton lizardo, the place to which we were bound. but a reef was between us and the anchorage where the fleet was quietly lying. the captain of the schooner said he could cross the reef. taking his place in the rigging from where he could better observe the breakers and the currents, the schooner tacked here and there, rapidly and repeatedly, under the orders of the little frenchman; and we were soon clear of the reef and breakers. it was now nearly dark. in a few moments after reaching the anchorage ground, we glided up a gentle slope, without perceptible shock; and the bow of the vessel was almost entirely out of water. in less than twenty minutes thereafter a boat from one of our men-of-war pulled alongside; and when the officer in charge learned who we were, he said he would report at once to the naval commander; and had no doubt that the company with its effects would have to be landed on an adjacent island, while the schooner was being lightened and hauled off into deep water. he said the movements of the little schooner, through the heavy surf, across the dangerous reef, had been watched from the naval vessels with intense anxiety, and expectation that we would be wrecked and all hands lost. this feeling was changed to admiration when it was seen that the schooner was being very skillfully handled in the difficult channel; and all rejoiced when they saw the unknown little craft safely in smooth water; but were surprised, immediately after, to see her put on a course that would inevitably run her aground. we found that captain swift with the convalescents from matamoros on another vessel, had arrived before us. in the meantime lieutenant j. g. foster, of the engineer corps, had been assigned to duty with the company. he was with captain swift. i at once reported to the latter, and he resumed command of the company; but the men remained on separate vessels. captain swift was still very sick; to all appearance more feeble than when we left him at matamoros. all the men he brought with him were convalescent. in a few days after our arrival at anton lizardo, an order was issued by general scott for the transports to move up next morning, towards vera cruz, with a view to landing the army on the main shore, opposite the island of sacrificios, two or three miles south of the city. on the morning of the day we were to make the landing the whole company was transferred to another vessel; and all were again together. early in the previous night, mcclellan, who had just been aboard the vessel on which captain swift arrived, informed me that the latter proposed to lead the company ashore. worth's division was to land first, and the engineer company was temporarily assigned to that division. mcclellan added: "the captain is now too feeble to walk across the cabin of his vessel without assistance--the effort to lead the company in this landing will be fatal to him, and i told him i thought he ought not to attempt it. but, he looks upon me as a boy,[ ] and i have no influence with him in this matter. you ought to advise him against this thing. if he attempts it, it will certainly kill him." i fully agreed with mcclellan in reference to the physical condition of the captain; and the probable, if not certain, result of an attempt on his part to lead the company in the landing. but for me to advise him not to go ashore with us, was to request him to give me the command of his company in this important enterprise. i told mcclellan that i felt a delicacy about the matter which made me hesitate to advise the captain to give me the command of the company. he replied: "yes, but this case is beyond mere delicacy. the act of leading the company ashore will kill him; and i think you can persuade him not to undertake it. you ought to try. i am sure he will not misconstrue your motive." urged thus, i pulled over to the captain's vessel, after dark found him alone in the cabin, and quickly told him why i came. he listened patiently to all i had to say; thanked me cordially for the interest i took in his physical welfare; said he fully appreciated the kindness shown; understood the motive which actuated the advice given; and added: "my mind is made up; i will lead the company in this landing; and would do so even if i knew that the bare attempt would certainly cost me my life." the next afternoon, the captain, standing by the gangway, directed the embarkation of about men in the smaller of the two surf boats in which the company was to land. just as that boat was ready to pull away to make room for the larger boat, i said to him: "i suppose i am to go with this detachment of the company; and if so i must get aboard now". he replied "no. i wish you to go in the larger boat with me". to which i said: "all right", and added: "mcclellan goes with the detachment?" the captain said, "yes." when the larger boat for the rest of the company came along side i relieved the captain at the gangway and superintended the embarkation of the men in that boat. the captain was lowered over the side of the vessel in a chair; and i, when all else was ready to pull off, scrambled down into the closely packed boat, and took my place in the bow. each boat was rowed by sailors from the fleet under the direction of a naval officer. we had reason for anxiety in regard to the resistance we might meet with from mexican batteries that could easily have been sheltered behind the sand hills immediately overlooking the open beach on which the landing was to be made. a single cannon-shot striking one of the closely packed surf-boats would probably have sent it, and all on board, to the bottom. the anxiety of the soldiers was to get ashore before such a fate should befall them. they cared very little for anything that might happen after they were on land; but wished to escape the danger of having the boats sunk under them by mexican batteries. when we were within five or six hundred yards of the beach all were startled by the whistling of shells and cannon balls close about our heads. this fire was soon understood to come from our naval gunboats, and aimed at small parties of mexican lookouts on shore. no resistance was made to the landing of worth's division. when we were within two or three hundred yards of the beach, i made my way, over the heads of the men to the stern of the boat where the captain was seated; and said to him i thought the time had come for him to get to the bow, if he still intended to lead the company in going ashore. for a moment the most painful expression i ever saw depicted on a human countenance marked his face. he rallied, however, almost immediately, and said: "i must, at the last moment, relinquish my command"; and added "i turn the command over to you until the company is formed in line on the beach". i made my way quickly back to the bow; ordered the right file of the company, two stalwart corporals--thorough soldiers, to go to the stern of the boat, take their places near the captain, keep their eyes on me after they reached him, spring into the water when they saw me jump from the bow, seize the captain, place him on their shoulders or heads, and bring him to me in the line on shore without a wet thread on him. i informed the corporals that i had been placed in full command by captain swift; warned them he would probably resist their bringing him ashore; but no matter what he said or did, they must obey my orders. they did it. the corporals were athletes--over six feet in height, young and active. in the captain's then physical condition he was as helpless as an infant in their hands. the water where they went overboard was nearly up to their necks; but when they brought the captain to me he was as dry as whilst sitting in the boat. he had resisted them more violently than i anticipated. in vain they explained to him that they were instructed by me to take him ashore without his touching the water. he ordered them to put him down, used all his force to compel them to do so, repeated his orders in no measured terms, and continued to denounce the corporals after they had placed him on his feet by my side. he was wild with rage. i at once relinquished to him the command of the company, and said: "captain, the corporals are not in fault. they simply obeyed my order whilst i was, by your authority, in command of the company. blame me, if you will, but exonerate them." he apologised to the corporals for kicking, striking, and otherwise abusing them, and thanked them for the service they had rendered him. the termination of this incident made an indelible impression on the men in favor of their captain. that night the company slept among the sand hills a few hundred yards from the shore, undisturbed, except by a flurry of firing which occurred about p. m., between a mexican detachment and the light battalion of worth's division. this firing continued for a few minutes, and then all was quiet for the rest of the night. about sunrise next morning, the company moved several hundred yards, into its position on the sand hills, on the right of worth's division in the line of investment, facing vera cruz which was about two miles distant. the captain showed wonderful increase of vitality after he reached the shore. he conducted the company to its assigned place in the line of investment without much apparent difficulty in walking through the sand. but three hours exposure to the hot sun was more than he could bear; his strength was gone. he lost consciousness and was, by my order, carried to the beach on an improvised litter. the sergeant of the party was instructed to report to the naval officer in charge of the surf boats, and in my name, request that captain swift be taken as soon as practicable, to the steamer which was the headquarters of general scott. that request was promptly complied with; but the captain's vitality was exhausted. he was sent to the united states on the first steamer that left vera cruz after the landing was effected, and died in new orleans within twenty-four hours after his arrival at that place. thus, the army and the country lost the services of one of the best officers of the u. s. corps of military engineers; and the engineer company lost their trained captain. footnote: [ ] at that time, mcclellan was about years of age. chapter ii. engaged in operations against vera cruz. within a short time after captain swift was taken to the beach, i received an order, from general worth, directing me to withdraw the engineer company from the line of investment and report to general patterson. the latter instructed me to locate and open a road through the chaparral to the old malibran ruins. this was accomplished by the middle of the afternoon. general pillow who was to occupy a position beyond malibran, requested me to take charge of a working party of his troops and, with the engineer company, locate and open a road along his line to the bare sand hills on his left. in this work we were somewhat disturbed by the fire of mexican detachments. on the th, the work of locating and opening the road along the line of investment was continued, the working party being still a good deal annoyed by both infantry and artillery fire. at p. m., i reported to general patterson that the road was opened, through the chaparral, to the bare sand hills. he ordered me to report, with the engineer company, to general worth; and the latter directed me to report to the general headquarters. on the same day i was ordered by colonel totten, chief engineer, to find and cut off the underground-aqueduct which conveyed water into vera cruz. that business was effectually accomplished by the engineer company on the th.[ ] from that time, until the commencement of work upon the batteries and trenches, the engineer company and its officers were engaged in reconnoitring the ground between the picket line of our army and the fortifications of the city. my reports were made each night to the chief engineer. the night of the th, he pointed out to me, on a map of the city and its fortifications, the general location in which it was desired to place the army gun battery, on the southern prolongation of the principal street of the city, and within about six hundred yards of its fortifications. he directed me, with the engineer company, to closely examine that ground. i was informed by him, at the same time, that captain r. e. lee, of the engineer corps, had discovered a favorable position for a battery, of six heavy naval guns, on the point of a commanding sand ridge, about nine hundred yards from the western front of the city; but no final decision would be made in regard to the naval battery until the army battery could be definitely located. he said general scott was getting impatient at the delay; and i was directed to find, as soon as possible, a position that would satisfy the conditions prescribed, by the chief engineer, for an army battery. i explained those conditions to mcclellan and to foster; and informed them that i would assign one-third of the company to each of them as an escort--take one-third myself--and we would all three start, at daylight next morning, in search of a location for the required battery. it was necessary that we should be extremely careful not to get to fighting each other in the dense chaparral. we found a location that complied with the conditions. in reporting this fact to the chief engineer, i added: "the communication with the battery will be very difficult--will require a great deal of work--and will be dangerous". he ordered me to take the engineer company to the selected ground, next morning, and lay out the battery; and said he would direct lieutenant g. t. beauregard, who had supervised the construction of the field fortifications at tampico, to assist in the work. at p. m. that day the battery and magazine had been traced out, all necessary profiles carefully adjusted; and, the whole completed, ready to commence throwing up the works. we had not been discovered by the mexicans--though we could plainly see their sentinels on the walls; and occasionally hear words of command. after allowing the company to rest for a couple of hours we started to return to camp. in going forward we had the mexicans before us; and by exercising great care, at certain places, could avoid being seen. when our backs were turned to vera cruz i felt confident that we would soon be discovered and fired upon. i had cautioned the men to be as careful as possible; but, in spite of their best efforts, we were seen, and a heavy fire of artillery was opened upon us. the order to move at double-quick was immediately given. the company was conducted about three hundred yards, to a cut in a low sand ridge, that had been formed by a road crossing that ridge. all got safely into the cut. the mexican artillery fire, aimed at us, was continued for about twenty minutes. we had then before us an open level plain for five hundred yards. soon after the fire upon us had ceased, i ordered the men to scatter and run rapidly across the plain until they reached a designated place of shelter behind high sand hills. beauregard and i brought up the rear in this movement. the mexicans re-opened their guns upon us whilst we were crossing the plain and continued to fire for some time after we reached the shelter above referred to. when i reported the result of that day's work to the chief engineer, i urged him to permit a further examination to be made, for a location of the army gun battery, before attempting to construct the one we had just laid out. he consented, and we made further reconnaissance the next day. in the meantime the pickets of worth's division had been considerably advanced. on returning from an examination at the extreme front that day i came across a detachment of the fifth infantry not far from the cemetery. whilst explaining the object of my search to a group of four or five young officers, a person whom i took to be a veteran sergeant, said to me that he knew a good position for a battery, only a few hundred yards from where we then were. i asked him to describe it to me. from the description he gave i thought the ground referred to would be a favourable site; and asked him to tell me definitely how to reach it. he offered to guide me to the place. on getting to the position i found that the conformation of the ground constituted almost a natural parapet for a six gun battery--requiring but little work to complete it for use. it afforded immediate shelter for men and guns. it was not on the prolongation of the main street of the city, and it was farther from the enemy's works than the site where a battery had already been laid out. but the communications with the proposed new location were shorter, and could easily be made much safer--in every way better than was possible in the former case. i thanked my guide for pointing out the position; and told him i thought it would be adopted by the chief engineer. after our return to the group of young officers, my "guide" was soon called away; and, i then asked one of them the name of that "fine old sergeant" who had pointed out such a good location for the battery. to my amazement he replied: "that was major scott, the commander of our regiment". the major was enveloped in an ordinary soldier's overcoat and wore an old, common slouched hat. i had mistaken the "famous martin scott" for a "fine old sergeant" of the line. on my return to camp i reported all the facts to the chief engineer. the position first selected and laid out, for the army gun battery, was abandoned; and the location pointed out by major martin scott was adopted. the work of throwing up batteries, digging trenches, and making covered communications with them, was commenced on the night of the th by large working parties detailed from the line. after that time, the officers of the engineer company, including myself, were placed on general engineer service--supervising the construction of the siege works. all the engineer officers then with the army, except the chief, were in regular turn detailed for that duty; each having some of the men of the engineer company to assist him. after the work upon the army gun battery, the mortar batteries and the trenches had been fairly commenced, i was transferred to the naval battery and took my regular turn, with captain r. e. lee, and lieutenant z. b. tower, in superintending its construction. i was in charge of that work the day it opened its guns upon the fortifications of the city, having relieved captain lee that morning. seeing him still in the battery, about the time the firing commenced, i asked him if he intended to continue in control; adding, "if so, i report to you for instructions and orders". he replied: "no. i am not in charge. i have remained only to see my brother, lieutenant sydney smith lee of the navy, who is with one of the heavy guns. my tour of service is over. you are in control; and, if i can be of any service to you whilst i remain here, please let me know". there had previously been a difference of opinion between captain lee and myself in regard to the dimensions that should be given to the embrasures. the chief engineer decided in favor of captain lee, and the embrasures were changed and made to conform to his views. in a very short time after the firing began one of the embrasures became so badly choked that it could not be used until the _debris_ could be removed. hastily renewing the blindage of brush-wood that had been used to conceal the work from view of the enemy during the construction, the detail of engineer soldiers then on duty, in the battery, cleared the embrasure of the obstructions, removed the blindage, and the gun resumed its fire. just after that incident, i asked captain lee what he now thought in regard to the proper dimensions for the embrasures. he replied: "they must be made greater when the battery is repaired to-night." the naval detachment had only forty rounds of ammunition; which was expended in about three hours, and the firing had to cease until the arrival of the next naval detachment. the latter when it came into the battery, had only forty rounds of ammunition and was to serve until relieved, the next afternoon by a third naval detachment. before the ammunition of the first detachment was expended the embrasures were all in a very bad condition--the battery was almost entirely unserviceable; and before the second detachment arrived i caused the embrasures to be filled up, until the battery could be repaired that night and put in good condition for re-opening the next day. the second naval detachment came into the battery about the middle of the afternoon. the naval captain in command, without consulting me, ordered the embrasures to be cleared at once, with the intention of immediately opening fire. perceiving what was being done by the sailors in re-opening the embrasures, i ordered them to stop; and asked by whose authority they were acting. on being informed that their orders came from the commander of the detachment, i asked them to point him out to me. i immediately introduced myself to him, as the engineer officer in full charge of the construction of the battery, and told him if the embrasures were cleared the battery would still be unfit for service--that it could not be repaired until that night, and would then be put in better condition than it was when it first opened. the army gun battery would be ready next morning; and its fire, combined with that of the naval battery, after the latter was put in good condition, would be very effective. but, if the naval detachment opened fire that afternoon, the battery being unfit for service, its ammunition would be exhausted before night without hurting the enemy; and the battery would necessarily be silent the next day, when the army battery would open its fire. the naval captain insisted that the embrasures should be cleared at once, and the firing resumed. i protested against his clearing the embrasures and told him that, but for the appearance of the thing, i would leave the battery and take my men with me if he persisted in carrying out his intentions. i added: "i will remain here until regularly relieved, but will continue to _protest_ against the course you propose to pursue". he then told me that it was "the general's" order that he should open fire that afternoon as promptly as possible. i asked him why he had not told me of that order in the first place; and added: "it is not customary for general scott to give orders to engineer officers through officers of the navy. but, if you had told me in the beginning that he had ordered the battery to commence firing as soon as possible after you reached it, i would have accepted his order--coming to me through you." to this he replied; "i did not say the order came from general scott." i asked: "whom did you mean when you said 'the general.'" he told me that he meant "general patterson." to which i replied: "i receive no orders in reference to this battery except from general scott or the chief engineer of the army." the naval captain finally said he would not open fire until next morning; provided i would report the circumstances to general scott. i told him it was not usual for me to report my action direct to the general-in-chief: but, i would report all the facts to the chief engineer as soon as i was relieved and had returned to camp, and he would report them to general scott. when i commenced to make my report to the chief engineer he stopped me; and said he was instructed to order me to report in person, to general scott as soon as i reached camp. i obeyed the order; and was very coldly and formally told by "the general": he had been informed it was my fault that the naval battery had not opened fire against vera cruz that afternoon. i answered: "i did prevent the fire being opened; but, that act was not a fault on my part; and i can convince you of the latter fact if you will give me a hearing". he replied--still very coldly--"i hope you can do so". i then related to him, in full, all that had occurred--as briefly stated above--between the commander of the naval detachment and myself. my reasons for opposing the opening of the fire of the battery seemed to produce little or no favorable impression on general scott until i reached that part of the narrative in which i replied to the naval captain's statement that he meant general patterson when he said "_the general_". i gave general scott the exact words i had used in replying to the naval commander. at this he rose from his seat--came to where i was standing, and clasping one of my hands in both of his; said: "thank god i have young officers with heads on their shoulders and who know how to use them". he added: "your opinion, and your action, in this matter, would do credit to a field marshal of france"! to which i made no reply, but thought to myself: "if there was a sergeant in the engineer company who, in view of the plain facts of this case, would not have known that the naval battery ought not to open fire that afternoon, i would reduce him to the ranks before night." the following extracts from my official report of these operations may not be amiss in this connection: "whenever we have acted as a company i have been most ably and efficiently supported by lieutenants mcclellan and foster; and i am proud to say that the non-commissioned officers and men of the company have shown great willingness and skill in the discharge of the important duties assigned them. great part of our labors have been performed under fire. on such occasions i have had every reason to be satisfied with the cool deportment and conduct of the company. "in conclusion i regret that i have to state, a serious blow was inflicted on the military pride of the engineer company in _not_ allowing them to participate in the ceremonies of the surrender, when it was well understood that the troops having had most to do in the attack were selected to take a prominent part in the proceedings." we all felt that, if our distinguished captain had been with us, we would have been called on to take part in those ceremonies. the chief engineer, colonel joseph g. totten, in his report of operations against vera cruz, says: "the obligation lies upon me also to speak of the highly meritorious deportment and valuable services of the sappers and miners, [engineer company] attached to the expedition. strenuous as were their exertions, their number proved to be too few, in comparison with our need of such aid. had their number been four-fold greater, there is no doubt the labors of the army would have been materially lessened and the result expedited." (ex. doc. no. , p. ). footnote: [ ] in illustration of the character of the work done during the first two or three days after the landing, the following quotations from general scott's official report are not irrelevant. he says: "the environs of the city outside the fire of its guns, and those of the castle, are broken into innumerable hills of loose sand, from twenty to two hundred and fifty feet in height, with almost impassable forests of chaparral between." "in extending the line of investment around the city the troops, for three days have performed the heaviest labors in getting over the hills and cutting through the intervening forests." ("ex. doc. no. " p. .) chapter iii. after the surrender of vera cruz; to the occupation of puebla. from the capitulation of vera cruz, on the th of march, until we left that place on the th of april, the engineer company was principally engaged in assisting engineer officers in making surveys of the fortifications and surrounding ground, in dismantling our own batteries, magazines, &c.; and aiding the quartermaster's department in landing and placing in depot the general engineer train of the army. in the meantime, on the th of april, i reported, through the senior engineer, to the adjutant-general of the forces, that the engineer company would be ready to move with the advance division of the army on the th, if transportation for its train could be furnished. transportation, together with orders to move with the advance division, were applied for. "the reply was that general scott would, at the proper time, order such transportation for the engineer company as he deemed sufficient--and would, when it was his pleasure, order the company forward."[ ] twiggs's division left on the th; patterson's on the th; on the th worth's division was ordered to move on the th; quitman's brigade had been previously sent on an expedition to alvarado; the garrison of vera cruz was designated. thus, every soldier in the army, except the engineer company, had received instructions either to go forward or to remain. on the night of the th, in my evening report to the adjutant of engineers, i asked the senior engineer[ ] then serving with the army; when and where the engineer company was ordered; what i was ordered to do; and what transportation, if any, i was to have. on these subjects not one word had been stated, in either written or printed orders, that had come to my knowledge. on the morning of the th, general scott consented that the engineer company should, if possible, move with the general headquarters, which left at p. m. that day. i then applied direct to the chief quartermaster for transportation. he told me that it was impossible to let me have any teams at that time--all the good teams had been taken by the army, general worth was getting the last. a positive order from headquarters, was then procured by the adjutant of engineers, requiring the quartermaster's department to furnish transportation for the engineer train, etc. the teams, such as they were, came into our camp about dark on the th. that night the wagons were loaded; and we started half an hour before daylight on the th. the mules were wild, the teamsters could not speak english, some of them had never harnessed an animal; and it was soon apparent that the men of the company would have to put their muskets in the wagons and give their undivided attention to the mules. at p. m., after struggling through the deep sand, west of the city, we struck the firm beach, and could make better progress, for about three miles, to vergara, where the road leaves the coast, and again passes through deep sand. in the meantime one team had become broken down and useless before we got beyond the city. in order to procure another i had to take some of my own men into the mule pen. three mexicans were given me to lasso the mules, and five men were required to put them in harness--seasick, wild, little animals. one teamster deserted; one had his hand, and another had his leg broken; and a number of mules in different teams, were crippled. at vergara, half the load of each wagon was thrown out, before we entered upon steep ridges and deep sand immediately after leaving the beach. all the men were engaged in helping along the half loaded wagons. that night we slept in the sand ridges. on the th, we reached santa fé, eight miles from vera cruz, threw out the half loads, and returned to vergara. before we again reached the beach, the men had actually to roll the empty wagons up every hill, the mules not being able to drag them. by p. m., we were again at santa fé, having killed three mules, and the men being worked nearly to death. fortunately for us, several good mules that had escaped from preceding army trains, came out of the chaparral to our feed troughs, were caught, and "pressed" into engineer service. from santa fé the road was much better, but at every hill the men had to take to the wheels and help the mules--this too, after throwing out half the load at the foot of some of the steeper hills. in this way, we reached the national bridge, at p. m. on the th. general worth's division was about starting from that place to make a night march to plan del rio. he informed me that our army would attack the enemy, at the cerro gordo pass, on the afternoon of the th; and said he desired that the engineer company should accompany his division. i informed him that my men and animals were utterly exhausted and could not go any further without several hours rest. but i assured him that we would be in plan del rio by noon of the next day. we rested at the national bridge until . p. m., on the th and reached plan del rio, about a. m., on the th. at cerro gordo. soon after our arrival at plan del rio, i was ordered to detail an officer and ten men of the engineer company to report to general pillow for temporary service with his division. lieutenant mcclellan was placed in charge of that detail. with the remainder of the company, i was directed to report to captain r. e. lee, then acting as chief engineer of twiggs's division; who instructed me to allow the men to rest, whilst i accompanied him to the front, where twiggs's division was about going into action. captain lee informed general twiggs that the engineer company was at plan del rio, and had been ordered to serve with his division. i was directed by general twiggs to return at once, and bring the company to the front as soon as possible. the action of the th was over before the engineer company arrived. captain lee directed me, with a portion of my men and a large detailed working party, to construct a battery that night, in a position he had selected on the heights we had gained that afternoon. this was a work of some difficulty, owing to the rocky nature of the ground and the small depth of earth--in some places none, and nowhere more than a few inches. about a. m. on the th i sent one of my men to the foot of the hill to awaken lieutenant foster, who was sleeping there with the company, and tell him he must relieve me for the rest of the night. after putting foster in charge i started to join the company--and became sound asleep whilst walking down the hill. stumbling into a quarry hole, i found myself sprawling on a dead mexican soldier--his glazed eyes wide open, within a few inches of mine. for a moment i felt that horror of a corpse which many persons have, at times, experienced. the probability that, in a short time after daylight--in storming the strong position of the enemy--i might be as dead as the man upon whom i was lying, forced itself upon me. before i could regain my feet streams of men were rushing past me in the darkness; and i heard and recognised, the voice of lieutenant peter v. hagner, of the ordnance, calling in no measured tone or language, upon these stampeded men to stop. whilst promptly aiding hagner to bring the fugitives to a halt, i forgot the dead mexican, and the whole train of thought connected with the corpse. when something like order was restored on the hillside i learned from lieutenant hagner that he had been detailed to take one of our heavy guns up the hill to the battery. a regiment of volunteers had been placed at his disposal to man the drag-ropes. their arms had been left at the foot of the hill. on finding his way blocked by trees, hagner had sent to procure axes from the engineer train; and in the meantime the regiment at the drag-ropes had been permitted to lie down. of course they went to sleep. suddenly awakened by a false alarm that the mexicans were upon them, they rushed down the hill to get their arms. hagner soon procured the required axes and the gun was delivered at the battery in good time. at daylight i was again at the battery. a slight epaulment had been finished for three pieces of artillery, the platforms were laid, and the guns in position. i was then instructed by captain lee, to send ten men to report to him for special service; to order lieutenant foster with eight additional men, to report to him (lee) for the purpose of opening a road for the light artillery around the foot of the heights; and i was ordered, with the rest of the company, to report to colonel harney, who was then in command of persifor smith's brigade, of twiggs' division. i was instructed to accompany that brigade when it moved forward to attack the enemy in position on a hill immediately in front of, and higher than that on which our battery had been constructed. the mexicans were in strong force on the higher hill. from our lower position we could not clearly see their lines nor determine how they were fortified. the hill they occupied was flat on top and their lines were set back from the crest of the precipitous slope which faced us. the storming brigade was ordered to halt and reform just before reaching the top of the higher hill. at this point they were below the plane of the enemy's fire, and were when lying down, perfectly protected. in this position they were ordered to rest, until the order should be given to rise, charge and carry the enemy's works by open assault. when the line was thus formed, i requested colonel harney not to give the order to charge until i could go on the plateau, get a clear view of the enemy's works, and report their character. i soon informed him that their main line was not more than forty or fifty yards from where our men were then lying, that the fortifications were very incomplete, offered no effective obstacle, and we could dash over the works without a halt. i then ordered my men to drop their tools and use their muskets. whilst i was making this report to colonel harney, our attention was drawn to quite a sharp fire that the mexicans had suddenly opened from a point close to the left flank and in the prolongation of our line. i told him i was certain there were no fortifications in that position; and i had seen no troops there. the fire increased from that direction, and colonel harney ordered me to proceed rapidly with my men to the left of our line, direct two companies on that flank to wheel at once, to the left; and when he gave the order to charge, these two companies and the engineers would move to the left against the force that was firing upon us from that side. these dispositions on our left were made in a very few moments, and the order to charge was given immediately thereafter. the brigade sprang up, dashed over the short intervening space, and were almost instantly inside of the mexican incomplete works. after a short, but bloody, hand to hand struggle, in which bayonets, swords, pistols, and butts of muskets were freely used, the mexicans retreated in great disorder. the troops that had been faced to the left just before the order to charge was given, immediately found themselves in the midst of a detachment of mexicans, in a nest of surface quarry holes which gave them protection from distant fire and effectually concealed them from view until we were among them. the struggle here was hand to hand, and sharp for a short time. but they were driven from their quarry holes, back on their main line which gave way, and their own guns were turned upon them before they could get off the field. thus, persifor smith's brigade, under colonel harney, carried, and held possession of, the key-point of the battlefield of cerro gordo. after the battle the various details of engineer soldiers joined in the pursuit of the enemy, were collected together at encerro, and the company remained with twiggs division until it reached jalapa. at this place it was furnished by the chief quartermaster with the finest mule teams in the army. this gave great satisfaction to the men who had struggled so hard to get the engineer train forward, through deep sand, from vera cruz. to add to their elation, they had now left the "hot lands" of the coast behind them, had reached a temperate climate, , feet above the level of the sea, had escaped the dread _vomito_ of vera cruz, and had participated closely in the great victory gained by scott's army at cerro gordo. from jalapa, worth's division led the way, the engineer company at its head. during the halt of a few days, at perote, i procured the transfer of first sergeant david h. hastings, from the third artillery to the engineer company. he was considered one of the best sergeants in the army, and was at once, made first sergeant of the engineer company. previous to that time we had only an acting first sergeant. the company entered puebla with worth's division, and on the arrival of general scott at that place we were again ordered to report to general headquarters. during the three months delay of the army, at puebla, awaiting reinforcements before moving into the valley of mexico, the regular instruction of the company--both as infantry and as engineer soldiers--was resumed. besides the "school of the sapper" as taught them before they left the united states, the men were now instructed, theoretically and practically, in the "school of the miner". they were engaged too in work upon the fortifications of puebla; and had practice in loop-holing walls, and received instruction for placing towns, villages, etc. in a state of defense. whilst at puebla the company received the sad news of the death of their captain. general scott, in his official report of the battle of cerro gordo, says; "lieutenant g. w. smith led the engineer company as part of the storming force [under colonel harney], and is noticed with distinction". (ex. doc. no. , p. ). general twiggs, in his official report of the same battle, states: "lieutenant g. w. smith, of the engineers, with his company of sappers and miners, joined colonel harney's command in the assault on the enemy's main work, and killed two men with his own hand". (ex. doc. no. , p. ). in colonel harney's official report of this battle it is stated: "lieutenant g. w. smith, of the engineers, with his company, rendered very efficient service in his own department, as well as in the storming of the fort". (ex. doc. no. , p. ). footnotes: [ ] taken from my official report for the month of april, . g. w. s. [ ] colonel joseph g. totten. chief engineer, had left vera cruz and returned to his duties in washington city. major john l. smith then became senior engineer with general scott's forces. chapter iv. from puebla to churubusco. on the th of august, , the advance of general scott's army, twiggs' division, the engineer company leading, left puebla and commenced the forward movement into the valley of mexico. the company served with that division, until worth's division was placed in the lead during the turning movement made by the army around lake chalco. in that movement the engineer company was at the head of worth's division. the road ran between the western border of the lake and a high range of hills which, in some places, rose from the water's edge. the road was narrow and rough; and had been obstructed by rolling immense masses of stone upon it from the almost overhanging cliffs. these obstructions were of considerable height; they completely blocked our way; and at several points ditches had been cut across the road. general worth directed the light battalion, under colonel c. f. smith, to advance and drive off the mexicans who were firing upon us--ordered me to make the road passable for artillery and wagons as soon as possible--and notified me that the leading brigade would assist in that work when called upon. i immediately asked for a detail of men; put them to work, at once, under the direction of the officers and men of the engineer company, and everything was progressing rapidly, when, to my surprise, lieutenant j. c. pemberton, aide to general worth, came up to me and insisted that the whole character of the operations should be changed. whilst he was elaborating his views i cut him short by asking if he had any orders for me from general worth. in the meanwhile the latter had reached the front, without either pemberton or i being aware of his presence. before the aide had time to reply to my question, general worth, in a very peremptory tone called out "come away from there mr. pemberton, and let mr. smith alone. this is his business--not yours". in a few hours, the road was put in such condition that, by the use of drag-ropes and men at the wheels, we were enabled to pass artillery and wagons over the obstructions; and the column moved on without further material delay. after reaching san augustine, and passing beyond, the forward movement, now on the main road, or causeway, leading from acapulco to the city of mexico, was checked by fortifications about six hundred yards in our front. these fortifications crossed the road at san antonio, and were occupied by the enemy in large force. the afternoon of the th of august, was spent in reconnoitring that position. about a. m., on the th, i received an order to return to san augustine with the engineer company and its train. in making our way from the head of worth's division, along the main road, towards the rear, it was somewhat difficult to arouse the men of that division, who were sleeping on the road, and get them to clear the way for the passage of our wagons. no explanation of the order for our return had been given. just after the dawn of day, and before we were clear of the division, two soldiers on the side of the road, were lighting a fire for the purpose of preparing coffee. as we passed them, one said to the other: "we are not going to fight to-day: twiggs's division is going to fight". the other of the two replied, sneeringly: "what do you know about it?" to which the first answered: "don't you see those young engineer officers, with the engineer company and their wagons? they are going back, to be sent on another road with twiggs's division, we are not going to fight to-day". as we passed out of hearing of the two soldiers i said to mcclellan, who was riding by my side: "did you hear that?" he answered "yes and i consider it the handsomest compliment that could be paid to the engineer company. the private soldiers of this army understand that we are sent where the hardest work and hardest fighting are to be done--and always at the head of the leading division". we reached san augustine a little after sunrise, august . i will now quote direct from my official report of these operations. "orders were [at once] received, from the headquarters of the army, directing me to report to captain r. e. lee, of the corps of engineers, with the company under my command, and [i] was ordered by captain lee to take ten of my men, and select certain tools from the general engineer train, in addition to those carried along with the company. i turned over the command of the engineer company to lieutenant mcclellan, who, under the direction of captain lee, proceeded at once to commence the work on the road from san augustine to contreras." "in about one hour and a half, i rejoined the command with the necessary implements for [a large working force in] opening the road. captain lee directed me to retain the men i then had with me, and to take charge of a certain section of the road, to bring forward my wagons as rapidly as possible, and to see that the road was practicable before i passed any portion of it. at this time my company was divided into five sections, each under an engineer officer directing operations on [different portions of] the road". at contreras. general scott, in his official report, says, "by three o'clock, this afternoon, [august th.] the advanced divisions came to a point where the new road could only be continued under the direct fire of pieces of the enemy's artillery [most of them of large calibre] placed in a strong entrenched camp to oppose our operations, and surrounded by every advantage of ground, besides immense bodies of cavalry and infantry". in my official report it is stated that; "the head of the column having halted, i reached the front in time to receive instructions from captain lee to halt the company, collect the scattered parties, and to examine the road inclining to the left, while he went to the right. lieutenants mcclellan and foster had been for some hours detached. having gone about four hundred yards, i heard just ahead sharp firing of musketry; and immediately after met captain mcclellan, of the topographical engineers, and lieutenant mcclellan, of the engineer company, returning on horseback--they had come suddenly on a strong picket, and were fired upon. lieutenant mcclellan had his horse shot under him. information of the enemy's picket being in our vicinity was reported to general twiggs, who ordered a regiment of rifles forward. there being several engineer officers present when the rifles came to the front, i returned to my company, which had been for a short time left without an officer. captain lee about this time, sent back for captain magruder's battery, which was conducted by lieutenant foster, and placed in position by lieutenant mcclellan". "the third infantry was ordered to support the battery. i moved forward with this regiment, taking my company and pack mules, loaded with tools, and placed my command under such shelter as could be found on the left, near the position occupied by the third infantry, and in rear of the battery. meeting with lieutenant mcclellan, i directed him still to remain with the battery, but to order lieutenant foster to rejoin the company. in a few moments this officer reported to me, and brought information that the troops were preparing to storm the enemy's position." "riley's brigade had moved in advance by our right. leaving the mules and tools, i moved the company forward, falling in with the brigade of general [persifor] smith. captain lee being present, with his consent, i requested the general to allow the engineer company to fight in his brigade. he told me to take the head of the column, and to direct myself towards a church in a village, on the left of the enemy's battery--between it and the city. whilst passing down the hill and crossing the ravine, the enemy were rapidly appearing [reinforcements from the direction of the city] on an eminence beyond the church. general smith directed me to take my company as an escort, reconnoitre the village, and find out whether colonel riley's brigade was in the vicinity. i continued some distance beyond the church; and returned without seeing the brigade under colonel riley, which had, as i understood afterwards, advanced very near [the rear of] the enemy's battery. the reinforcements of the enemy upon the hill in our front were rapidly increasing. they had at this time probably ten thousand men, on the height, formed in line of battle. towards dark colonel riley's brigade returned and joined the troops under the command of general smith: too late, however, to allow time for forming the troops to attack the enemy [on the hill] in our front. lieutenant mcclellan joined me about this time in our movement on the village. lieutenant foster, who was on horseback, became detached with a few of the men, and did not rejoin me until after the action on the morning of the th." "general smith, very soon after dark, informed me that the enemy's main battery would be stormed, [in rear], at daylight on the morning of the th. this would open the road for artillery, and our communications with [the main army under] general scott would be re-established. i received orders to hold the engineer company ready to move at a. m. and to take my place on the right of the rifles. on the morning of the th there was considerable delay in the movement of the brigade [raw troops] under general cadwallader, by which general smith's brigade, now under the command of major dimmick, first artillery, was detained very nearly an hour. part of the eleventh regiment [cadwallader's brigade] lost its way, caused the voltigeurs to halt, thus throwing the brigade under major dimmick still further from riley's, which had moved very soon after o'clock. at the request of general cadwallader, major dimmick ordered me to turn over the command of my company to the officer next in rank, and to move forward and conduct the troops that had lost their way. the whole force was by sunrise, or little after, halted in a sheltered position in rear of the enemy's battery". (ex. doc. no. , appendix p. ). i reported the cause of the delay to general smith and requested instructions to rejoin my company; but he said he desired that i should remain with him for a while. by his order, the three brigades were soon put in motion. i again asked him to permit me to rejoin my proper command. he replied "not yet" and added: "i will soon give you instructions". because of a dense fog the delay in reaching the position in rear of the mexican works was no material disadvantage. the fog began to disappear about the time i reported to general smith. he was then on a ridge at a point, about yards in rear of the mexican works. the three brigades were passing around the extremity of that ridge, several hundred yards in rear of the general. all was quiet in the lines of the enemy. there was another ridge south of the one on which general smith was standing, and separated from it by a deep and very narrow valley. the sides of both ridges were precipitous; their tops sloped gently to the enemy's line. general smith informed me that riley's brigade would pass partly beyond the extremity of the second ridge; then face to the left, and attack a strong mexican detachment which was in position on that ridge, several hundred yards in rear of their works. riley was ordered to drive that detachment and pursue it closely into the mexican main lines. cadwallader's brigade would go on when riley faced to the left; and, as soon as he passed riley, cadwallader would also face to the left and come into action on riley's right. smith's own brigade would turn to the left before reaching the extremity of the second ridge. the third infantry and first artillery would advance in the deep valley between the two ridges; whilst the rifle regiment, with the engineer company leading, would ascend the steep slope of the second ridge, and get into position on the flank, or rear, of the mexican detachment which riley was to attack in front. in the meantime the head of smith's brigade had come within view, near the foot of the steep slope of the second ridge, and was moving towards the mexican main line. general smith pointed out to me the route to be taken to reach the top of the second ridge; and ordered that the engineer company and rifles should bear to the right, and on getting near the mexican detachment, remain concealed, and quiet, until riley's brigade became well engaged; then join in the attack and pursuit of that detachment. with these specific instructions, i was ordered to rejoin my company; and lieutenant beauregard was directed to take general charge of the movements of smith's brigade. when beauregard and i reached the top of the second ridge we found we were yards, or less, in rear of the mexican detachment, which was facing riley. all was quiet. in a very few moments riley's fire commenced. the engineer company, followed by the rifle regiment was then forming in line, under cover, in rear of the mexican detachment, whose attention was concentrated on riley, in their front. we were between that detachment and the mexican works. a small portion only of the rifle regiment was in line, when the firing with riley became very severe, and the order was given for the engineer company and rifles to rise and fire into the backs of the enemy. that fire was very destructive. the mexicans were astounded; faced squarely about, and in a moment precipitately retreated. in my official report it is stated that: "colonel riley's advance became engaged with a very strong picket, some yards or more from the rear of the [enemy's] battery, near the crest of the ridge; the engineers and rifles came up at once in position to take the picket in rear, delivered a deadly volley within yards, cheered and rushed on. the enemy's force fled; the head of our column crossed the line of their retreat, which brought the right of the column [engineer company and rifles] conducted by lieutenant beauregard, in contact with the seventh infantry, which formed the left of colonel riley's brigade. i went into the enemy's battery with the colors of the seventh infantry, my company immediately behind me. the enemy, or at least a portion of them, stood to their guns well, and delivered a fire of grape into our troops when the head of the column was within yards of their pieces. our troops followed the retreating enemy without halting until they were beyond the reach of our musketry. lieutenant beauregard then strongly advised that the troops be halted and formed. a short time afterwards general twiggs, came up. the pursuit was resumed. at san angel we had an unimportant skirmish". (ex. doc. no. , appendix, p. ). the following additional quotations from my official report are not deemed irrelevant: "in the action of the morning of the th--the battle of contreras--my men acted with great gallantry; their promptness in obeying every order, and the effect with which they used their muskets, entitle them all to the highest praise. in my report to the chief engineer in the field, i shall make special mention of all who, to my knowledge, particularly distinguished themselves. i will mention here, first sergeant d. h. hastings, of the engineer company, who, by his gallant conduct and soldiery bearing, in this action, richly deserves promotion to the rank of commissioned officer in the army. sergeant hastings was slightly wounded by my side in the battery. sergeant [s. h.] starr attracted my particular attention by his gallant and efficient conduct. sergeant starr was the ranking non-commissioned officer with the detachment of the engineer company which accompanied colonel harney's command at the battle of cerro gordo. i would recommend him for promotion [to the grade of commissioned officer in the army]." "artificer w. h. bartlett attracted my particular attention by [his] cool and steady gallantry, artificer a. s. read shot the color bearer of the twelfth regiment of artillery, and secured the color." "lieutenant foster was at this time, as i have before remarked, detached with a portion of the company; and, at the head of his men, led the ninth and twelfth regiments of infantry in their attack on the flank of the retreating column at contreras." "lieutenant mcclellan, frequently detached, and several times in command of the engineer company, is entitled to the highest praise for his cool and daring gallantry, on all occasions, in the actions of both the th and th." (ex. doc. no. , appendix, p. .) in the pursuit, we passed through the village of san angel; and near that place, were again halted. during that halt, i noticed a large, high building, in an extensive open field, five or six hundred yards to the north. i was satisfied that from the top of that building, with a powerful field glass, which was a portion of the engineer company equipment, i would be able to get a good view of the level country for miles around, and obtain quite definite knowledge of the positions and movements of the main mexican forces. i communicated my wishes to major loring; and asked him if he felt authorized to support the engineer company, with the rifle regiment, in a close reconnaissance of the building i pointed out. he laughingly replied: "i have been directed by general smith to follow you and your company--of course i will go with you". we had not proceeded more than two hundred yards towards the building when we were overtaken by lieutenant van dorn, aide to general smith, who brought an order requiring the rifle regiment and the engineer company to return to the head of the column on the road. i told van dorn the purpose i had in view, asked him to explain the matter to general smith, and expressed my conviction that he would approve the movement, when he knew its object. van dorn replied: "general smith was very peremptory. i am directed to see that you and major loring, with your respective commands, return at once". on our way back, van dorn said that general pillow had reached the front and taken control; and his belief was that general pillow had ordered general smith to recall the engineer company and the rifle regiment. a short time thereafter we moved from san angel to coyoacan, where the head of the column again halted; and was soon joined by general scott. there is good reason to believe that observations, which could easily have been made from the roof of the high building above referred to, would have resulted in obtaining such information in regard to the mexican position at the convent of churubusco and at the _tête-de-pont_, as would have enabled general scott to complete the rout of the mexican army without incurring the additional loss of nearly one thousand men in killed and wounded. at churubusco. the following quotations are taken from my official report: "between and o'clock, p. m., [august , ] i received orders to move, from the village of [coyoacan] immediately after the rifle regiment, on a road intersecting the road from san antonio to mexico, in order to cut off the enemy already retreating from san antonio. "i had not gone two hundred yards when i received orders to countermarch and move on another route intersecting the road from san antonio to the city nearer to mexico. [the latter road led nearly due east, parallel to the front of the earthworks at the convent, distant from those works about yards]. the regiment of riflemen continued on the road on which i first started. [this road led south-east from coyoacan]. the company took its place [again] at the head of the column [twiggs's division]. the column was halted by general twiggs, and i was directed by him to send an officer in advance to see the position of a battery reported to be not far in front. lieutenant mcclellan was sent on one road; and lieutenant stevens of the engineers, was directed by general twiggs, to take another. both officers soon returned and reported a battery in front of a convent, the roof and steeples of which were in plain view of the head of the column and within yards. the roof was crowded with troops; the battery was masked by intervening trees and corn-fields. general twiggs then directed these officers to make a closer reconnaissance and ordered my company as an escort. having proceeded yards, we saw [mexican] troops on our right, left, and in front. a lancer was taken prisoner. lieutenant stevens directed me to take the prisoner to the general and request an additional escort of two companies. we were at this time about yards from the battery, but it was still almost masked from view. i delivered the prisoner and the message to general twiggs, and returned at once to my company which i had left in charge of lieutenant foster. lieutenant stevens joined general twiggs whilst i was with him. when i resumed command of the company, lieutenant mcclellan reported to me that _our troops were already engaged in our front_; having, apparently, turned the battery and convent by our right. one of general twiggs's staff, [lieutenant w. t. h. brooks, a. a. adjutant general, twiggs's division,] was present and informed us that the rifles with captain lee of the engineers, were reconnoitring the same works, and had gone to our right considerably farther from the battery than we then were. we all concurred in opinion that the rifles were engaged with a vastly superior force. there was at this time no firing of artillery. i ordered lieutenant mcclellan to report the result of his observations to general twiggs. he did so, and on the recommendation of lieutenants stevens and mcclellan, in which i concurred, the first regiment of artillery was ordered to support the rifles. the firing on the right increased; it was evident that several thousands of the enemy were pouring a heavy musketry fire into our troops on the right. the tops of the convent and the surrounding walls were lined with troops; the roof was literally covered. lieutenant stevens was of opinion that a few rounds of grape would disperse these masses and relieve our troops already engaged [on the right] from a destructive plunging fire. he went back to the general, leaving myself the senior engineer then in front of the [convent] battery. the fire had now become very brisk upon my [reconnoitring] party; having placed the company under the best shelter at hand, with lieutenant foster i proceeded to examine the works to determine the number, character and position of the pieces of artillery. nothing heavier than a or -pounder had yet been fired." (ex. doc. no. , appendix, p. .) in my official report it is further stated that: "the troops had become engaged in our front within ten minutes after a reconnaissance had been ordered by general twiggs, and before the officer whom i was escorting had been able to make a single observation". in my official copy of that report, i find the following sentence, which is not in the printed report: "deeply do i regret that the attack, in advance of the reconnoitring party, precipitated the attack on our side, and involved us in action against we knew not what". the force which became engaged, far to our right--before the reconnaissance, supported by the engineer company, fairly commenced, was the advance of worth's division pursuing the mexicans who had abandoned their strong works at san antonio. captain james l. mason, engineer of worth's division, says, in his official report, that the works attacked by that division, and "so gallantly stormed, had not been reconnoitred". the engineers in front of the convent, being informed that the rifles with captain lee had gone to our right considerably farther from the battery, advised that the rifles be supported by an additional regiment. the same engineers advised that one gun be sent to the front to drive the mexicans from the roof of the convent, and thus relieve our troops on the right from a destructive plunging fire. the additional escort of two companies, asked for by the reconnoitring engineers, had not come to the front. after lieutenant stevens had gone back to general twiggs, to have one gun with a few rounds of proper ammunition sent forward for the purpose of clearing the roof of the convent, the firing in our front, on the san antonio road, had materially increased; and the fire from the convent, upon the engineer company, was becoming troublesome. there had been, to me, unexpected delay in bringing the one gun forward; and i determined, as already stated, to place the men under the best shelter at hand, and endeavor to make, in person, a closer examination of the works. resuming quotations from my official report--it is therein stated: "at this time the first artillery came up to where i was. the lamented and gallant burke, at the head of the leading company, asked which direction they were to take. i inquired what were his orders. he said that the regiment was ordered to support the rifles. i pointed to the smoke, which was all we could see by which to determine the position of our troops engaged in a corn-field on our right; told him that they reached their present place by moving farther to the rear, out of range of the works; and remarked to him that the fire through which he would have to pass in the direction he was going was very severe. he replied that they were ordered to move by that road to support the rifles. the first artillery filed by and soon encountered, at a distance of yards from the enemy, the heaviest fire of artillery and musketry, followed almost immediately after [by that] brought to bear upon taylor's battery, which had been ordered to fire upon the convent; and, in selecting a place suitable for managing the guns, had most unfortunately been placed, entirely exposed, directly in front of a well constructed battery with heavy pieces firing in embrasure." "as the first artillery filed by me, i ordered my company to be formed, determined to go on with the reconnaissance; and if possible, send back to the general, [twiggs,] accurate information in reference to the works of the enemy and the position of our own troops, which at that time i could not understand. in moving forward, i was opposite the centre of the [first] artillery which inclined more to the left, toward the battery, whilst i kept nearer the [principal road leading almost due east from coyoacan]. the ground was level, but some shelter was afforded to small bodies of men, by the ditches, maguey plant, etc. i ordered my men to separate, to shelter themselves as much as possible, [and] to keep within supporting distance of me. i proceeded about two hundred yards. i ordered every man to shelter himself in a small ditch which was fortunately near us; immediately after i heard the fire of taylor's battery passing directly over my head. [when that fire commenced we were] in the corn-field, about half-way between taylor's battery and the enemy. requiring my command to lie close, with lieutenant foster, i made my way to an old ruined wall in the open space east of the corn-field, and from that position sent lieutenant foster to general twiggs to report the extent of the line engaged on the right, that we were directly in front of the works [which were now in plain view], and that, in my opinion, the whole force under general twiggs's command should turn the enemy's position by our left. another battery [of the enemy] was seen distinctly to our right and far in rear of the churubusco battery, apparently enfilading our line engaged on the right. general twiggs had already sent colonel riley's brigade to turn the position by our left, and take the battery by the gorge. when lieutenant foster returned, i withdrew the company to a position of more safety, and joined general smith and lieutenant stevens, who were near the place from which i started with the first artillery. i remained there [under general smith's order] until after the action." (ex. doc. no. , appendix, pp. - .) that point was about yards south-west of the convent. there were several adobe houses near, and from it a road along which there were some huts, led to the convent, and another road, almost due east, passed in front of the convent. in moving forward i had kept nearer the latter road, the first artillery nearer the former. the point i reached in the open, east of the corn-field, was within less than yards of the works at the convent, and there was every indication that these works did not extend along the western side of that building. the place at which i joined general smith and lieutenant stevens, after i returned from beyond the corn-field, was that at which it had been proposed to place one gun, under cover of the adobe hut; run it out by hand; fire, and run it under shelter again to reload. by this means, a few rounds of grape, canister, and shrapnel, could have cleared the roof of the convent. in more senses than one, the firing of taylor's battery through the ranks of the engineer company, in the corn-field, was a surprise to me. i learned from lieutenant stevens that, when he applied for one gun to be sent to the front, those in authority had deemed it best to send forward a whole battery, and place it in an open field, square in front of the fortifications. the battle of churubusco was commenced, and mostly fought, haphazard, against the front of the mexican fortified lines, without giving time for proper reconnaissance. general scott, in his official report of the battle, says: "lieutenant stevens of the engineers, supported by lieutenant g. w. smith's company of sappers and miners, of the same corps, was sent to reconnoitre the strongly fortified church or convent of san pablo in the hamlet of churubusco--one mile off [from coyoacan]. twiggs with one of his brigades [smith's, less the rifles] and captain taylor's field battery, were ordered to follow and to attack the convent. major smith, senior engineer, was despatched to concert with twiggs the mode of attack, and twiggs's other brigade [riley's] i soon ordered to support him." (ex. doc. no. , p. .) major john l. smith, senior engineer, says: "lieutenant stevens in the reconnaissance of the position of churubusco, was assisted by lieutenant mcclellan and escorted by the company of sappers and miners. this company also participated in the operations of the right [of twiggs's division]". (ex. doc. no. , p. .) major dimmick, commanding the first regiment of artillery, says: "about o'clock, m., the battalion was ordered to attack the position of the enemy at the church, reported by the engineers at the time to have but one piece of artillery. the point of attack selected by the senior engineer officer was masked by a corn-field, in front of which i deployed the battalion and ordered it to advance, when almost instantly a shower of musketry, grape and round shot poured upon us, under which the battalion advanced". "the right had advanced to within one hundred yards of a regular bastion front, the curtain of which had four pieces in embrasure, besides nearly a thousand infantry, both of which kept up such a constant stream of fire that i could not advance further in line; i therefore ordered the men to cover themselves as well as possible. the left of the battalion advanced to within seventy yards of the work, being exposed to the fire of two pieces of artillery, _en barbette_, in addition to the fire of a considerable force of infantry and some of them still nearer, so that they had a destructive fire on the cannoniers and infantry; which position the battalion maintained until the enemy were driven from their guns and bastion, when they were followed into their work and surrendered." (ex. doc. no. , appendix, p. .) captain francis taylor, commanding light battery, says: "on reaching churubusco, we came in sight of a church, where the enemy was posted, having, as was supposed, an entrenched battery thrown across the road. troops were soon thrown forward to attack this place; and, after a short time, i was ordered to place the battery in a position where it was thought i could drive the enemy from the roof and walls of the church, and sustain the other troops in their efforts to carry this place by storm. on taking the position assigned me, i found we were exposed to a most terrible fire of artillery and musketry, of a regular entrenchment, covering the front of the church to which we were opposite, and which the intervening indian corn hid from our sight at the time. here i opened my battery, and it was served with great precision for about an hour and a half, notwithstanding it was exposed, during that time, to a constant shower of grape, round shot, shell and musketry. at last, finding my loss was becoming very great, and having succeeded in driving the enemy from the roof and walls of the church, and given to our troops such support as was in my power, i determined to withdraw the pieces". (ex. doc. no. , appendix, p. ). the connection between the reconnaissance of the engineers, and the operations of the first artillery and taylor's battery at churubusco, has already been described in extracts taken from my official report. in his official report, general persifor f. smith says: "lieutenant g. w. smith, in command of the engineer company, and lieutenant mcclellan, his subaltern, distinguished themselves throughout the whole of the three actions [ th and th at contreras; and at churubusco]. nothing seemed to them too bold to be undertaken, or too difficult to be executed; and their services as engineers were as valuable as those they rendered in battle at the head of their gallant men. lieutenant foster, being detached from his company during the action at contreras, did not fall under my notice; but in the action on the th and at churubusco, he was equally conspicuous for his gallantry". (ex. doc. no. , p. ). general twiggs, in his official report, says: "to lieutenant g. w. smith, of the engineers, who commanded the company of sappers and miners, i am under obligations for his services on this and on other occasions. whenever his legitimate duties with the pick and spade were performed, he always solicited permission to join in the advance of the storming party with his muskets, in which position his gallantry, and that of his officers and men, was conspicuously displayed at contreras as well as cerro gordo." (ex. doc. no. , p. .) chapter v. capture of the city of mexico. during the armistice, which was entered into just after the battle of churubusco, and terminated on the th of september, the engineer company was quartered in the village of san angel. on the th of september i received orders to move the company, its train, and the general engineer train of the army to tacubaya. molino del rey. that night i was ordered to detail an officer and ten men of the engineer company to report to general worth. lieutenant foster was placed in charge of this detail. he and his men were on the right of the storming party of five hundred picked men, of worth's division, which led the attack against molino del rey on the morning of the th. in that attack lieutenant foster was very severely wounded and disabled. chapultepec. on the th of september, i received orders to furnish details of men from the company to assist engineer officers in supervising the construction of batteries against chapultepec. i was placed in charge of battery no. , on the tacubaya road, against the southern face of the castle; and lieutenant mcclellan in charge of battery no. , against the southwestern angle. on the night of the th, the details were all called in, and i was directed to furnish implements to the different storming parties which were to assault the castle of chapultepec on the morning of the th. san cosme garita. at p. m., that day, i received orders to join the siege train, and report to general worth whose column was to attack the city by the san cosme route. at p. m., i reported to general worth, who was then with his forces, in the suburbs of the city, on the san cosme causeway, at the point where it changes direction, at an angle of nearly ninety degrees, and is then nearly straight for about six hundred yards to the fortified garita in our front. he informed me that lieutenant stevens had just been severely wounded and this made me the senior engineer with worth's division. he directed me to go forward in person, closely examine the condition of affairs at the front, endeavor to determine the best method of operating against the fortified garita, and report to him the result of my observations as soon as possible. he directed me, particularly, to have in view the question whether it would be advisable to bring the siege guns forward against the embrasured battery at the garita. just as i was leaving him, he said: "if you find there are two different methods by which the garita can be carried, one in a shorter time at a sacrifice of men, the other in longer time, but a saving of men, choose the latter". and he added: "there have been too many valuable lives, of officers and men, lost recently in my division, for nothing". though he did not specify the action referred to, he meant the battle of molino del rey. under these instructions, i proceeded to the extreme front, made the requisite examination of our position and that of the enemy, and soon came back. i reported that the houses on the left of the causeway were built up continuously to the battery at the garita, we could easily break through the walls from house to house; and, under perfect cover, reach the top of a three-story building, with flat roof and stone parapet, within yards of the battery. a fire of musketry from that roof would make the works untenable; and we could thus in a short time drive the enemy from the fortified garita, and secure a good lodgement within the city, without material loss and without using the siege guns. general worth directed me to bring forward the engineer company, which was with the siege train a short distance to the rear, and commence operations on the proposed plan; and at the same time ordered that clarke's brigade should render any assistance i might call for. an hour or more before sunset we reached the top of the house above referred to. from that position the inside of the enemy's works could be plainly seen almost to the foot of the interior slope of the parapet. our first fire upon the mexicans, who were unconscious of the impending peril, was very deadly. those who were not killed or disabled by that fire seemed dazed for an instant; but in a few moments, they precipitately retreated, leaving the san cosme garita without a single defender in the works. one of their pieces of artillery was withdrawn a few hundred yards, but was then abandoned. immediately after that first fire, a portion of the force with me on the roof became engaged with the enemy who appeared on house tops in rear of their battery. we soon drove them from their position. the other portion of our men fell back to the stairs, made their way to the lower story, broke open the thick, heavily barred, strong door, passed into the street, entered the abandoned works, and pursued the enemy. in the meantime, some of our troops from the right of the causeway had come forward and, a very small number of them, were slightly in advance of us in reaching the abandoned battery. colonel garland, commander of the first brigade of worth's division, on the right of the causeway, says, in his official report: "the enemy then took position at the garita san cosme, where they were supported by two pieces of artillery which raked the streets with grape and canister. finding a secure position to the right of the second defence, [about yards in front of the garita], i reorganized the command as it came up; mounted a howitzer on the top of a convent, which, under the direction of lieutenant [u. s.] grant, quartermaster, th infantry, and lieutenant lendrum, rd artillery, annoyed the enemy considerably. about this time, report was made to me that considerable progress had been made by the troops on the other side of the street by means of crowbars and pickaxes, working through houses and yards. this caused me to watch closely for the first movement of the enemy indicative of retreat. the moment this was discovered, the th infantry, followed by detachments of the nd and rd artillery, under colonel belton, rushed up the road, when they entered the work simultaneously with the forces operating to the right and left, captain mckenzie's storming party slightly in advance". (ex. doc. no. , appendix, p. .) referring to this operation, general worth, in his official report, says; "the moment had now arrived for the final and combined attack upon the last stronghold of the enemy in my quarter; it was made, by our men springing, as if by magic, to the tops of the houses into which they had patiently and quietly made their way with the bar and pick, and to the utter surprise and consternation of the enemy, opening upon him, within easy range, a destructive fire of musketry. a single discharge, in which many of his gunners were killed at their pieces, was sufficient to drive him in confusion from the breastworks; when a prolonged shout from our brave fellows announced that we were in possession of the garita of san cosme and already in the city of mexico". (ex. doc. no. , p. .) the american army having thus captured the fortifications of the capital of the enemy's country, a magnificent city of nearly , inhabitants, a secure lodgement was immediately effected in large houses, on the left of the street, a few hundred yards from the garita. i then proceeded, with the engineer company and an infantry detachment, several hundred yards farther; and found a strong position, on the right of the street where the troops could rest protected from fire. going farther to the front, i discovered that, yards in advance there was a large convent, on the left of the street, occupied by a strong force. the next cross street, the paseo, had batteries upon it. these facts were reported to general worth, who ordered forward two brigades--one to occupy each of the positions selected--and, directed me to place those troops, station the picket-guards, and then, with lieutenant mcclellan, report at his headquarters which was several hundred yards within the garita. the aqueduct, in the middle of the street along which we advanced, was an open stone trough, supported at a height of ten feet, or more, by pillars and arches. there was a good deal of firing down the street from mexican detachments; but, by taking shelter under the arches, between the pillars, our men, in small groups, were quite well protected. a little before dark, whilst i was under one of the arches at the extreme front, endeavoring to get a closer view of the enemy at the convent and on the paseo, i was joined by lieutenant sydney smith, of the fourth infantry, who had borne several messages from me to general worth during the afternoon. in a few moments after he joined me we heard horses feet rapidly approaching us from the direction of the citadel. these horsemen were captured, and proved to be three mexican officers, one of whom was adjutant-general on the staff of santa anna. accompanied by lieutenant mcclellan, i reported to general worth at p. m., and was ordered by him to suspend operations for the night and resume them at daylight. he received us both very kindly, expressed satisfaction with the manner in which the works at the garita had been carried, and approved of all the dispositions that had been subsequently made of the troops at the front. i called his attention again to the convent, told him that the large mexican force in that position might give us a great deal of trouble next morning, and asked him to permit me, with the engineer company supported by a detachment of about five hundred men, to pass the convent that night, get into a strong position beyond it, and thus induce the enemy to abandon that position before morning; and said i thought it probable a detachment of five hundred men could reach the main plaza of the city, that night, without material difficulty; and that, in case this force encountered serious opposition, they could take possession of some one of the many large, strong buildings on the way, and hold their own against the whole mexican army until relief could reach them. general worth not only refused to comply with my request; but, ordered both myself and lieutenant mcclellan to remain at his headquarters until a. m., at which hour he said he would have us called, and we could then go to the front and resume our duties. that arrangement left the engineer company, for the night, at the extreme front, without an officer. in spite of my earnest remonstrances general worth insisted that we should remain. on the latter point he was inexorable. i finally asked him if i was under arrest. he said "no" and added: "you soon will be if you show further hesitation in obeying my order for you to remain here". being awakened by one of general worth's aides, i asked if it was already o'clock. it seemed to me that i had not been asleep five minutes. the aide said: "it is about o'clock. a deputation from the civil authorities has just informed general worth that santa anna's army evacuated the city before midnight, and they offered to surrender the city. they have been passed on to general scott, at tacubaya; and general worth wishes to see you at once". the latter told me more fully about the deputation and their proposal to surrender; expressed some doubt in reference to the evacuation of the city by the mexican army; directed me to return to the front; take the engineer company and a detachment of infantry; proceed carefully forward, using every precaution; and report to him the slightest indication that the city had not been evacuated. i was directed to examine closely every large building and strong position along our route; and not pass them until thoroughly satisfied that they were not occupied by mexican soldiers. this forward movement commenced about a. m. there was some delay in determining whether the strong convent, mentioned above, had been evacuated. accounts on that subject were conflicting; but a thorough examination of the whole position showed that it was abandoned. i reported that fact to general worth, and informed him that we would move on with great care, in strict compliance with his instructions. all buildings of importance were broken open. none of them were occupied by the enemy. from time to time, i reported these facts to general worth; and, at daylight, i informed him that, from a church steeple near the alameda, i could see that the citadel, which had stopped the advance of general quitman's troops early in the afternoon of the th, was deserted. at that time, lieutenant mcclellan reported to me there were no signs of the enemy in any portion of the alameda; and i suggested to general worth that his whole division be moved forward. in the meantime, with the engineer company and the infantry detachment, i passed beyond the alameda, breaking open, as before, and examining all strong buildings on our route. we had gone more than two blocks in advance of the alameda, and were closely approaching the main plaza and the national palace, when i received a positive order to countermarch my command, and report to general worth at the alameda. i demurred, and told the aide, who bore the order, that i had obeyed all of general worth's cautionary instructions; that there was no enemy in our front, and no reason for calling us back. the aide replied: "the order is positive. you must go back." i then gave the order to countermarch. on our way, the aide, who was a classmate and intimate friend of mine, said to me; "general worth is very cross, he is angry. my opinion is that he has received orders from the headquarters of the army which have riled him up badly". a few days later i learned from general worth that he received a peremptory order from general scott not to permit any one under his command to pass beyond the alameda, until further instructions were received from the general-in-chief. for several hours after the engineer company took its place on the right of worth's division, at the alameda, all seemed to be quiet in the city. general quitman's troops, from the belen gate, had passed the abandoned citadel, reached the main plaza, and took possession of the national palace. later, general scott, with his staff officers and mounted escort, entered the city. about that time a shot was fired, evidently aimed at general worth, from a narrow street or lane, opposite the head of the division. the shot missed worth, but very severely wounded colonel garland. general worth, immediately ordered me to take the engineer company, go into the lane, find the man who fired the shot, and hang him. within fifty yards we found the man who i believed fired the shot, a rope was placed around his neck, but i did not order my men to hang him. i had no _positive_ proof against him. i took the man to general worth, reported the circumstances of the case, in full; stated the reasons for my belief that the prisoner fired the shot which severely wounded colonel garland; and added: "in the absence of specific proof against this man i have brought him to you, and await your further instructions". to which general worth replied, in a cold and haughty manner: "this is not the way in which my orders are obeyed by officers of _my division_". colonel duncan, who was close beside general worth, both mounted, whilst i was on foot, said, at once, before i could make any reply to the foregoing censure: "general worth, you are wrong; lieutenant smith is right. under the circumstances he ought not to have hanged this man. it is for you, the major-general commanding these forces, to decide that matter. give the order. you see he and his men are ready to obey you. give the order". in the meantime, the men of the engineer company, without instructions from me, had passed the rope over an adjacent large lantern iron; and stood ready to string the man up. general worth did not give the order. the man was not hanged. in less than an hour after colonel garland was wounded, lawless bands of armed mexicans commenced firing from the parapet roofs of houses, from church steeples and windows, in various parts of the city, upon our troops in the open streets. an order was then given, by general scott, for worth's forces to move beyond the alameda and join with the rest of the army, in putting down the rising of armed outlaws who made this murderous attack upon us eight or ten hours after the city surrendered. in these operations the engineer company was with worth's division until the recall was sounded late that afternoon. general scott, in his official report, says: "i communicated, about daylight [on the th], orders to worth and quitman to advance slowly and cautiously [to guard against treachery] towards the heart of the city, and to occupy its stronger and more commanding points. quitman proceeded to the great plaza or square, planted guards and hoisted the colors of the united states on the national palace, containing the halls of congress and executive apartments of federal mexico. in this grateful service, quitman might have been anticipated by worth, but for my express orders halting the latter at the head of the _alameda_, [a green park] within three squares of that goal of general ambition". (ex. doc. no. , p. .) general worth, in his official report, says: "at a. m., on the th, my troops and heavy guns advanced into the city, and occupied the alameda to the point where it fronts the palace, and there halted at o'clock, the general-in-chief having instructed me to take a position and await his further orders. shortly afterwards a straggling assassin-like fire commenced from the house-tops, which continued, in various parts of the city through the day, causing us some loss. the first shot, fired at a group of officers at the head of my column, struck down colonel garland, badly wounded. about the time of our entrance into the city, the convicts in the different prisons, to the number of some thirty thousand men, were liberated by order of the flying government, armed and distributed in the most advantageous houses, including the churches, convents, and even the hospitals, for the purpose of exciting, if possible, the city to revolt". in speaking of the general operations of his forces in the capture of the city, general worth adds: "officers and men of every corps carried themselves with wonted gallantry and conduct. of the staff; lieutenants stevens, smith, and mcclellan, engineers, displayed the gallantry, skill and conduct, which so eminently distinguished their corps". (ex. doc. no. , pp. - .) general scott adds: "captain lee, engineer, so constantly distinguished, also bore important orders from me [september ] until he fainted from a wound and the loss of two nights' sleep at the batteries. lieutenants beauregard, stevens, and tower, all wounded, were employed with the divisions, and lieutenants g. w. smith and g. b. mcclellan with the company of sappers and miners. those five lieutenants of engineers, like their captain, won the admiration of all about them". (ex. doc. no. , p. .) major john l. smith, senior engineer, says: "lieutenant smith reports all the sappers who were engaged on the th and th, to have conducted themselves with intelligence and intrepidity altogether satisfactory; but, he mentions the orderly sergeant, hastings, who was wounded, as being eminently distinguished, and he mentions also artificer gerber, as having been particularly distinguished". (ex. doc. no. , p. .) without dwelling upon details of the fighting in the streets and houses on the th, it may be stated that, a short time before the recall was sounded, when orderly sergeant hastings fell, lieutenant mcclellan seized the sergeant's musket, fired at, and killed the man who shot hastings. in a few moments thereafter the company passed the dead body of that "liberated", _convict_ mexican. the unoccupied private house in which we were quartered that night was near the place at which the man, who shot colonel garland, had been left tied to a lantern iron with a rope around his neck. when we returned the man was gone. nothing further was said or done upon our side, in his _case_. an hour or more after we were comfortably "settled in our new home", i noticed that mcclellan was very quiet for a considerable time, evidently thinking of matters which deeply interested him. an occasional marked change seemed to come over the spirit of his dream. finally i awakened him from his reverie, saying: "a penny for your thoughts. i have been watching you for half an hour or more, and would like much to know, honor bright, what you have been thinking about". to which he replied: "i have been making a 'general review' of what we have gone through since we left west point, one year ago this month, bound for the 'halls of the montezumas'; have been again on the rio grande, that grave-yard of our forces; have gone over the road from matamoros to victoria and tampico, where we had so much hard work; went through the siege of vera cruz, where we were left out in the cold during the ceremonies of surrender, and later, had to make our way as best we could, with the engineer train through the horrid sand; glanced at cerro gordo, where it was my misfortune to be with general pillow's 'whipped community'; stopped again with our friends, the monks, in the convent at puebla; crossed over the mountains; came by way of san antonio, contreras, churubusco, chapultepec and the san cosme garita, into this city. here we are--the deed is done--i am glad no one can say 'poor mac' over me". the capture of the city, and its occupation by general scott's army, virtually ended the war made by the united states against mexico. chapter vi. in the city of mexico--return to west point. after the street fighting on the th, the city was quiet and remained so. the men of the company were fairly entitled to a good rest and a new outfit of clothing; but the quartermaster could not then furnish the latter. at their request, i authorized them to purchase a better quality of cloth than that furnished by the government, and to have finer material for trimmings than the coarse cotton braid allowed by the regulations. the clothing was made by good tailors and paid for by the men. in the course of a month or six weeks, the company was provided with handsome, well-fitting uniforms. in the meantime, drills were suspended for about a month. during that period the only duty required of the men, other than that of ordinary guard over their quarters and the engineer train of the army, was that of details to assist engineer officers in making surveys of the recent battlefields. in the latter part of october, the surveys of the battlefields being completed, and the men provided with new and well-fitting uniforms, infantry drills were resumed. an order was issued requiring the company to be formed without arms, the next day, in the alameda, for squad drill. immediately thereafter, one of my most trusted sergeants informed me that this order caused great dissatisfaction in the company. he said the men felt they would be degraded if now turned back to the beginning--at squad drill without arms--thus placing them in the position of raw recruits, whilst the rest of the army were being exercised at brigade and division drill, "evolutions of the line," with all attendant "pomp and circumstance". the sergeant warned me that the state of feeling in the company would, in his opinion, lead to serious trouble if the order was carried into effect. i thanked him for the information. when the men were formed on the drill ground next day, i told them i was aware of their opposition to the order; but, that i was under the impression i commanded that company, and if there was a man amongst them who felt disposed to dispute my legal authority he was requested to step to the front. no one moved. i then directed the artificers and privates to go to their quarters, and inform the sergeant of the guard they had my permission to be absent until evening parade. turning to the non-commissioned officers, i stated that, in my judgment, there was no occasion for them to feel degraded if drilled by their own officers at squad drill without arms. i drilled the sergeants, mcclellan the corporals. whilst the non-commissioned officers were being thus drilled, the men were allowed daily liberty from quarters. later, the non-commissioned officers drilled the men in squads under the supervision of the officers. instruction and practice in the infantry "school of the company" was then resumed; and, after a time, each non-commissioned officer was required, in turn, to take his place by my side and drill the company. on those occasions, the men were warned that no inattention or remissness on their part would be tolerated; no matter how lenient with them i might choose to be when commanding in person. it is safe to say that within six weeks from the time squad drills without arms were commenced in the engineer company, in the city of mexico, that company as infantry, was better drilled than any other in the army. in that respect, and in discipline, they were pattern soldiers. regular instruction in the "school of the engineer soldier" was then resumed. from raw recruits, on the rio grande, disturbed by the epithet, "pick and shovel brigade" applied to them, at that time, by the soldiers of the line, the engineer company had become veterans of more than half a dozen important battles; had always been in the front of the fighting; and had often been called upon to direct large working parties of soldiers, detailed to use the "pick and shovel". about two months after we entered the city of mexico, it was reported to me, by the sergeant of the guard, that artificer gerber was then absent, two hours beyond the time limit of his pass. i directed the sergeant to send gerber to me, in my quarters, as soon as he returned. frederick w. gerber was one of the four men, enlisted by captain swift, who had served in the old regular army. he was enlisted as musician, and was the finest bugler in the service. he was soon made company clerk, and had thorough knowledge of routine "company papers". he was german by birth. as company clerk his duties brought him in close relations with the commander of the company; and i soon formed a very high estimate of his qualities as a soldier--and as a man in every respect; except that he would, on occasion, at intervals, when off duty, indulge too freely in strong drink. i had repeatedly threatened to deprive him of his warrant as artificer, if he did not quit drinking to excess; but i was reluctant to do so, especially because his promotion to that grade was in reward for distinguished gallantry in the attack on the "key-point" of the mexican position at the battle of cerro gordo. when it was reported to me that he had not returned within the time of his "pass", i was quite sure he was again "on a spree". it was several hours later when he reported to me as ordered by the sergeant of the guard. i was alone when he entered my room. he had evidently been drinking to excess; but was to some extent recovering. i charged him with being drunk; told him he had behaved so well in that respect lately that i had made up my mind to recommend his being promoted to the grade of corporal; and even to that of sergeant, when opportunity was afforded me, and added: "you know i cannot make such recommendation whilst you continue this habit of getting drunk". he replied: "the lieutenant is mistaken; i am not drunk, and, if he will allow me, i will satisfy him on that point; and explain to him how i happened to overstay my pass". i told him to go on with his explanation. he said that soon after he left the company quarters, early that morning, with permission to be absent for four hours, he met with a sergeant he had known as a private in the old regular service long before the war. they were glad to see each other, took a few drinks, and then hired a carriage for a drive of several hours in the great city they had helped to capture. he added: "during the drive the sergeant got mad and threatened to have me arrested. i told him that 'no d----d infantry sergeant had rank enough to arrest an artificer of engineers'. he then offered to fight me. we stopped the carriage, got out, drew our swords, and i told him to come on, and we would soon settle the matter. he attacked me, and i disarmed him, kept his sword, made him get into the carriage, drove to general twiggs's headquarters, reported to the sergeant of his guard, told him what had occurred; and asked him to hold, as a prisoner, the sergeant that had attacked me". "but he, being also an infantry sergeant, released the sergeant i had brought there, made me a prisoner, and demanded my sword. i gave it to him; but, when he ordered me to give up the sword i had captured, i told him i would see him d----d first; and i kept it. i then asked to be taken before general twiggs. they told me he was out". "in three or four hours general twiggs returned, and when he was passing through the sally-port, the guard all in line, at present-arms, saluting him, i rushed in front of his horse, and calling him by name, told him his guard had made me a prisoner, and i asked for justice at his hands. he ordered me to get out of his way. still standing in front of his horse, i again asked for justice. to which he replied: 'who in the h--ll are you?' when i told him who i was, he said: 'how is it that you are a prisoner in my guard-house?' i told general twiggs the whole story: and showed him the infantry sergeant's sword i had captured; and which his guard tried to make me give up. general twiggs then asked me if i was willing to hand that sword to him. i gave it to him at once; and he ordered the sergeant of the guard to release me and give me back my own sword. i then came straight home." after hearing gerber's story, on which i placed implicit reliance, i strongly advised him to let liquor alone in future: and, again told him i would gladly have him promoted, if he would quit drinking. some time after we returned to the united states, and i had left the company, i learned that, during the time gerber was closeted with me, opinion in the company was divided, and ran high in regard to the course i would take in his case. all the men knew that he was deservedly a great favorite of mine. some of them said i would let him off; others that i would deprive him of his warrant as artificer, and otherwise punish him. these conflicting opinions as to what i would do in gerber's case, were freely backed by heavy bets among the men. when he joined them, all were anxious to know what "the lieutenant" was going to do--"what did he say?" to which he replied: "it is none of your business". for some time they could get nothing more from him. but he finally said: "d----n it, if you must know; the lieutenant told me he would make me a corporal". the sergeant who gave me the facts just related, added: "previous to that time, gerber was believed, by the whole company, to be a perfectly truthful man. but many of the men thought he lied on that occasion. although he has been truthful ever since, there is still, amongst us, very grave suspicion in regard to the correctness of his assertion that you then told him you would make him a corporal. i would like very much to know the truth in regard to that matter". i replied: "gerber told the truth". it will be shown later, by extracts from official correspondence, that i was not permitted to recommend for promotion, in the company, any of the gallant men under my command who were so highly distinguished in the various battles that occurred in the valley of mexico. so i had no opportunity to have gerber made a corporal--much less a sergeant.[ ] the following extracts from correspondence, and from my monthly reports, give a brief official account of the affairs of the company after the capture of the city of mexico. on the th of october, , i addressed to lieutenant i. i. stevens, adjutant of engineers, for the information of the senior engineer in the field, and the general in chief, a letter from which the following quotations are taken: "by the last advices that i have received i learn that only six engineer recruits have been made in the united states since september, . during that time the effective strength of the company in the field has been reduced from seventy-one to thirty-six. something must be done. i have endeavored to reenlist good men whose terms of enlistment in other corps had expired; i have tried to get transfers of good men, and succeeded in obtaining but one. the senior engineer, believing that more could be done, attempted it himself--he procured none". "at vera cruz my men were worked too hard; many of them are suffering yet from disease contracted there. time, labor and life would have been saved if we had had the proportion of engineer soldiers usual in the armies of civilized nations. at cerro gordo, when i could furnish ten men [for details], fifty, at least, were necessary. in the operations in this valley, the same necessity has been felt for a larger number of soldiers of this character. there ought to be more companies of engineer soldiers in this army. certainly, measures should be taken to complete the number of men allowed in the only company now authorized. i know of none so likely to succeed as sending an officer and non-commissioned officers [to the united states] on this duty". in my official report for the month of november, , it is stated: "the system of instruction now being pursued is the following: from a. m. until : a. m., recitations and instruction of the whole company, under direction of both officers, in _manuel du sapeur_, together with lectures and recitations on field fortifications. from a. m. until : p. m., [infantry drill]. from p. m. until p. m., recitations in arithmetic and practice in writing. each officer has a section in arithmetic, and gives a general superintendence to a section in writing. instruction in writing is given by sergeants". "i have nothing new to offer either in reference to the property, the enlistment of men, or the settlement of the accounts of the late captain swift. all, in my opinion, matters of importance; but already referred to, [in previous reports and correspondence], perhaps, too often". "it is just one year since, by the casualties of service, the command of this company devolved upon myself as the senior officer for duty with the engineer troops. during this time the interests of the general engineer service, particularly of the non-commissioned officers and men, have materially suffered for want of an officer of rank at the head of the company. in the french service _two_ captains are assigned to every company of this character, and the companies are all [well] instructed before they take the field. i earnestly recommend that four officers of engineers be assigned to duty with this company. the commander should be an officer of rank; his position permanent. in case the chief engineer should order an officer into the field to take command of company a, engineers, i respectfully request that i may be ordered to the united states as soon as relieved from this duty". on the st of february, , i reported that the course of instruction, adopted for the company, "had been continued, with satisfactory progress on the part of non-commissioned officers and men". on the th of february, , in a letter to colonel totten, chief engineer, washington, d. c., transmitting copies of certain papers, i stated: "i would respectfully refer you to my communication of october th, , addressed to the then adjutant of engineers, in which i strongly urged that the interest of the engineer service required that an officer and non-commissioned officers should be ordered to the united states for the purpose of obtaining recruits for this company. such is the course pursued in every other arm of service: and i hesitate not to say that, had my recommendation, as commander of the engineer company, been acted upon favorably, at that time, we would now have in this city, a full company. i have referred often to the wants of the company, without favorable action having been had on my recommendations. we are not furnished with men, not allowed to take the usual and, in my opinion, necessary means of procuring recruits. i respectfully request to be relieved from the command of the engineer company without further delay than is necessary for the arrival of the captain commander in this city". owing to casualties of service, i had almost continually commanded the company, its train, and the general engineer train of the army for more than a year. my rank was that of second lieutenant--low on that list. i was conscious that my rank or _lack_ of rank, rather, was, in some essential respects, a detriment to the company. it was believed that the war was over; but, in freely expressing willingness to give up the command i had long exercised, to which i had no claim based upon rank, i did not hesitate to say that: "if the war should be continued, and an additional company of engineer soldiers was authorized to be raised, thus creating an engineer battalion, i would be more than willing to command it in the field: _provided_, i was made major, by brevet, and assigned to duty with that rank". in my official report for the month of march, , it is stated: "during the month, daily instruction [of the company] in branches pertaining to engineering has been omitted, i have thought it best to pay more attention to their improvement in writing and arithmetic. the infantry exercises are continued". on the st of may, i reported: "during the month of april the course of instruction and drill pursued in march has been continued, with satisfactory results". "three _privates_ of this company have been appointed [by the government at washington] commissioned officers. three _sergeants_, all men of intelligence, education and character, have been recommended [by me], in compliance with law, for commissions; they having all been repeatedly distinguished for gallant and high soldierly conduct in battle. [as yet] none of these sergeants have received [appointments]". when it became generally known in the army that the mexican government had agreed to the proposed treaty of peace, and that the formal ratification would soon be consummated, i requested the senior engineer, captain r. e. lee, to direct me to sell the tools, etc., of the engineer train, in the city of mexico: order me to proceed to the coast by the first opportunity, for the purpose of looking up, and accounting for, a large amount of engineer property for which the estate of the late captain a. j. swift was responsible; and authorize me to turn over the command of the engineer company to lieutenant mcclellan, when i started for the coast. in compliance with captain lee's instructions, the tools were sold. they brought more than they had originally cost in the united states. i left the city of mexico the day the treaty of peace was signed on the part of the mexicans; and accompanied general persifor f. smith to vera cruz, at which place he was charged with making all preparations for the transportation of the army to the united states. before leaving the city of mexico i turned over the command of the engineer company to lieutenant mcclellan. i was detained in vera cruz about two weeks, obtaining information in regard to, and making disposition of, the public property in that vicinity, for which captain swift's estate was then held responsible. the accounting officers of the government in washington, had charged against him, on their books, the value of large amounts of property which had been shipped to, but never received by him. several vessels, partly loaded with portions of that property, were shipwrecked by northers during the siege of vera cruz. in the time i spent at that place after the war ended, i obtained knowledge which enabled me to clear up all accounts against the estate of captain swift. the amount of that nominal indebtedness far exceeded the value of his property; which would have been unfairly sacrificed to the government, and have left his name unjustly tarnished as that of a defaulter, if conclusive evidence of the facts in the case had not been furnished to the accounting officers. the engineer company, under lieutenant mcclellan, accompanied by all the engineer officers from the city of mexico, left that city on the th of may, , and marched to vera cruz. from the latter place the company was transported by steamer to new york city; arrived at west point, n. y., on the nd of june; reported to the superintendent of the military academy, and was immediately ordered to report to captain george w. cullum, of the engineer corps, as its new commander. i remained about a week in vera cruz after the company sailed; arrived at west point in july; and was ordered to report to captain cullum. a short time thereafter, i asked to be relieved from duty with the company; and applied for six months leave of absence. the leave was granted, and it was understood that, on its expiration, i would be ordered to other engineer service. before the expiration of my leave, the war men of the company procured the passage of an act by congress, authorizing their discharge from the service. under that act nearly all the men of the company, who had served in mexico, immediately obtained their discharge from the army. this virtually reduced the company to the detachment of recruits which had been collected and retained at west point. at the expiration of my leave of absence i was formally relieved from further direct service with the engineer company; and at the request of the chief engineer, consented to undertake the enlistment of new recruits to fill the places in the company vacated by the war men, who had been discharged. that business was finished within a few months. i was then ordered on other engineer duty and, thus, my connection with the engineer company ended. footnote: [ ] frederick w. gerber, was enlisted in co. "a." june , , after previous service in the th infantry, which he joined in , and under the act of march , , was discharged april , . he was reenlisted the same day and continued in the service until his death at the post of willets point, n. y., november , . he was appointed artificer, april , , corporal, august , , sergeant, february , , and was sergeant major of the battalion of engineers from february , , to the date of his death. appendix a. brief extracts, from wilcox's history of the mexican war, . "general patterson was ordered to march [december, ,] from matamoros to victoria with three regiments of volunteers, two pieces of artillery, and the engineer company under lieut. g. w. smith". (p. .) vera cruz. "this line of investment, through the chaparral and over the sand hills, was located by lieut. g. w. smith, of the engineers, assisted by lieut. g. b. mcclellan, and a roadway along the line was made under the supervision of these two lieutenants with the engineer company and a party of several hundred soldiers". (p. .) cerro gordo. "on the arrival of the engineer company and train at plan del rio [april th, ], lieut. g. b. mcclellan with a party of ten men reported to general pillow, and lieut. g. w. smith with [the rest of] his men and a portion of the train to general twiggs". "that night [ th] one -pounder and two -pound howitzers were placed in position on the atalaya, the battery being constructed under the supervision of lieut. g. w. smith, assisted by lieut. john g. foster of the engineers, the location of the battery having been determined by capt. r. e. lee". (p. .) from puebla to the valley of mexico. "riley's brigade was guided by capt. lee, assisted by lieut. john g. foster with ten men of the engineer company". (p. - .) "it was the rule with general scott that one of the only two regular divisions should always be in front. the engineer company headed the column. there was but one company of engineer soldiers in the united states army". (p. .) in the valley of mexico. "beyond san gregorio, the border of xochimilco was skirted, and here obstructions in the road were first encountered, a ditch having been dug across it, and large stones rolled down from the hillside; but these obstacles were soon overcome by the engineer company with a detail from the leading brigade, while the mexicans, who were firing from the heights above, were driven off by colonel c. f. smith's light battalion". (p. .) contreras. "the engineer company was recalled from worth, and with a working party of men, was ordered to make the road to padierna practicable for artillery". (p. .) "when smith's brigade advanced as described, the engineer company, under lieut. g. w. smith, went into action with the third infantry of that brigade". (p. .) "general smith moved to his right and front across the _pedrigal_, the rifles, with the engineer company at their head, leading". "at : a. m. of the th [august, ], the troops under general smith began to form and take their places preparatory to the march which would bring them on valencia's rear. leading the rifles in front of the brigade was the engineer company". (p. .) "the engineer company and the rifles, being already in position in rear of the mexican detachment, then rose and firing a volley upon it, and riley continuing on upon them, they faced about, broke, and fled in the utmost precipitation to the main line in rear, pursued by riley, the rifles and engineer company". (p. .) churubusco. "at coyoacan general scott joined, having previously ordered his columns to halt there. lieut. i. i. stevens, ordered about the same time to advance on the direct road and reconnoitre, was supported by the engineer company under lieut. g. w. smith. this reconnaissance covered the convent of san pablo in the village of churubusco". (p. - .) chapultepec. "battery no. was constructed under lieut. g. w. smith's supervision, and battery no. under lieut. g. b. mcclellan's. details were made from quitman's division to assist the engineer company in the construction of these works, but although directed to report immediately after dark they did not arrive until near a. m., of the th; hence these works, which were to have been finished before daylight, were hardly commenced by that time. the engineers were however, indefatigable, and the batteries were completed rapidly". (p. .) city of mexico. "lieut. g. w. smith, with the company and train under his command, reported to general worth on the [san cosme] causeway, [in the afternoon, september th], was informed that the wounding of lieut. stevens made him [smith] the senior engineer of the attack then going on, and was instructed to go to the front, closely and carefully examine the state of affairs, return as soon as practicable, and report the best method of conducting the attack". he reported "that infantry alone on the left of the road could capture the gate, without artillery and with little loss, by making its way through the houses. he was ordered to take the engineer company and tools, return to the front, and carry out the plan proposed". (p. .) "the mexicans did not remain long in front of worth; after dark the signal for retreat of one command was given, and being heard by all, they left the buildings and scattered in all directions, their officers being unable to restrain them. in a little while, however, they repaired to the citadel. in one of the pavilions a council was held. santa anna presided, explained the untoward incidents of the day, and asked the opinions of those present as to whether or not the defence of the capital should be prolonged. there was discussion and opposition, but, santa anna announced his decision in these emphatic words: 'i resolve that this night this city must be evacuated'". (p. - .) "at o'clock a. m. of the th commissioners from the municipal government of the city approached the advanced post of worth's command, were passed to his headquarters, and by him sent to general scott's headquarters in tacubaya". (p. .) "general worth then directed the two engineer officers, serving with his command, to proceed to the front and with a detachment of infantry and the engineer company, closely examine all strong buildings, and direct operations toward the main plaza and national palace. the senior engineer being directed to make known promptly any indication that the rumored evacuation was incorrect, reported that everything indicated that the mexican army had abandoned the city". (p. .) appendix b. promotions of enlisted men of the company. tepe agualco, mexico, _may , _. _colonel joseph g. totten_, _chief engineer_, _washington city_. sir: "i have the honor to inform you that, on the th of april, first sergeant hastings of 'k' company, third artillery, was, by order of general worth, transferred to the engineer corps, subject to the approval of the commander-in-chief. "sergeant hastings has the reputation of being one of the best first sergeants in the army. he was for or years orderly sergeant in the second infantry. he is an intimate friend of sergeant everett;[ ] is a well educated man, very intelligent; a remarkably fine looking soldier, a good drill sergeant. "by birth he is an irishman--he came to this country quite young, and was brought up in po'keepsie, n. y. "we were very much in want of an orderly sergeant. i think there can be no doubt but we have secured a prize. "i would be glad if you would send a sergeant's warrant for david h. hastings. i respectfully recommend the following promotions and appointments in the engineer company: corporal benjamin w. coit, acting lance sergeant since st of february, to be sergeant from february st, : artificer charles a. viregg, lance corporal since st of february, to be corporal from february st, : artificer ethan t. sheldon, lance corporal since st of february, to be corporal from february st, : artificer william a. noyes, to be corporal from the th of april, : "privates charles a. pierce, jacob t. smith, benjamin l. boomer, edwin m. holloway, james brannan, joseph a. mower, david p. weaver, thomas bigley, seth h. taylor, and charles a. porter, to be artificers from the th of march, : "musician frederick w. gerber to be artificer from the th of april, : "privates augustus b. hussey, james b. vansant, and william s. bliss, to be artificers from the th of march, : "corporal william bartlett, reduced to the grade of artificer, may st, : "artificer hiram b. yeager to be corporal from may st, : "artificer charles w. bont reduced to the grade of second class private from may st, : "i respectfully call to the attention of the chief engineer the fact that, in accordance with his suggestion, i have delayed making the above recommendations, and now urge them as my deliberate opinion. i hope they will be favorably acted upon. "my monthly return for april shows a total of sixty-two. my recommendations make, in the company, six sergeants, six corporals, one musician, twenty-three artificers and twenty-six second class privates". very respectfully, your obdt. servt., gus. w. smith, _lieut., comdg. engr. co._ the foregoing recommendations were approved and the appointments were received whilst the company was in the city of puebla. soon after the war ended, sergeants hastings, starr and everett were promoted to be commissioned officers in the "old regular army" of the united states. later, sergeant warren l. lothrop was given a commission in that army. footnote: [ ] thornton s. everett was property sergeant of the engineer company; had charge of its train from the time of his enlistment in the company until its return to west point; and, in addition, had charge, in mexico, of the general engineer train of the army. +------------------------------------------------+ | transcriber's note: | | | | typographical errors corrected in the text: | | | | page a changed to at | | page camargo changed to carmargo | | page camargo changed to carmargo | | page montly changed to monthly | | page chapparel changed to chaparral | | page chapparal changed to chaparral | | page referrred changed to referred | | page extravagent changed to extravagant | | page chapparal changed to chaparral | | page relinguished changed to relinquished | | page chapparal changed to chaparral | | page chapparal changed to chaparral | | page chapparal changed to chaparral | | page twigg's changed to twiggs's | | page chapparal changed to chaparral | | page twigg's changed to twiggs's | | page hights changed to heights | | page quite changed to quiet | | page coyocan changed to coyoacan | | page coyocan changed to coyoacan | | page coyocan changed to coyoacan | | page come changed to came | | page posession changed to possession | | page amonnts changed to amounts | | page seige changed to siege | | page indebtness changed to indebtedness | | page chapparal changed to chaparral | +------------------------------------------------+ transcriber's note: this etext was produced from analog science fact & fiction july . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed. new apples in the garden some problems are perfectly predictable--yet not in the sense that allows a preprogrammed machine to handle them-- by kris neville illustrated by george schelling * * * * * eddie hibbs reported for work and was almost immediately called out on an emergency. it was the third morning in succession for emergencies. this time a section of distribution cable had blown in west los angeles. blown cable was routine, but each instance merited the attention of an assistant underground supervisor. eddie climbed down the manhole with the foreman of the maintenance crew. there were deep pull marks on the lead sheath above where the cable had blown. "where'd they get it?" he asked. "it came in from a job on the east side." "sloppy work," eddie said. "water got in the splice?" "these new guys...." the foreman said. eddie fingered the pull marks. "i think she's about shot anyway. how much is like this?" "a couple of hundred feet." "all this bad?" "yep." eddie whistled. "about fifteen thousand dollars worth. well. cut her back to here and make splices. stand over them while they do it." "i'll need two men for a week." "i'll try to find them for you. send through the paper." "i can probably find maybe another thousand miles or so that's about this bad." "don't bother," eddie said. that was eddie's productive work during the morning. with traffic and two sections of street torn up by the water people, he did not get back to his office until just before lunch. he listened to the stock market reports while he drove. he learned that spiraling costs had retarded the modernization program of general electronics and much of their present equipment was obsolete in terms of current price factors. he was also told to anticipate that declining sales would lead to declining production, thereby perpetuating an unfortunate cycle. and finally he was warned that general electronics was an example of the pitfalls involved in investing in the so-called high growth stocks. eddie turned off the radio in the parking lot as the closing dow-jones' report was starting. during lunch, he succeeded in reading two articles in a six-week-old issue of _electrical world_, the only one of the dozen technical journals he found time for now. at : word filtered into the department that one of the maintenance crew, ramon lopez, had been killed. a forty-foot ladder broke while atop it lopez was hosing down a pothead, and he was driven backward into the concrete pavement by the high-pressure water. eddie tried to identify the man. the name was distantly familiar but there was no face to go with it. finally the face came. he smoked two cigarettes in succession. he stubbed the last one out angrily. "that was a tough one," his supervisor, forester, said, sitting on the side of eddie's desk. normally exuberant, he was left melancholy and distracted by the accident. "you know the guy?" "to speak to." "good man." "after i thought about it a little bit," eddie said, "i remembered he was transferring tomorrow. something like this brings a man up short, doesn't it?" "a hell of a shame. just a hell of a shame." they were silent for a minute. "how was the market this morning?" forester asked. "up again. i didn't catch the closing averages." "i guess that makes a new high." "third straight day," eddie said. "hell of a shame," forester said. "yeah, lopez was a nice guy." "well...." forester's voice trailed off in embarrassment. "yeah, well...." "i wanted to remind you about the budget meeting." eddie glanced at his watch. "hour and a half?" "yeah. you know, i feel like ... never mind. what about the burial transformers, you get on it yet?" "the ones we're running in the water mains for cooling? they're out of warranty. none of the local shops can rewind them until the manufacturer sends out a field engineer to set them up for the encapsulation process." "how long is that going to take?" forester asked. "they tell me several months. still doesn't leave us with anything. the plant says they've fixed the trouble, but between them and the rewind shop, they can buck it back and forth forever." "i guess we'll have to go back to the pad-mounted type." "people with the gold medallion homes aren't going to like the pads by their barbecues." forester uncoiled a leg. "draw up a memorandum on it, will you, eddie?" he stood up. "that thing sure got me today. there's just entirely too many of these accidents. a ladder breaking. i don't know." eddie tried to find something intelligent to say. finally he said, "it was a rough one, all right." * * * * * after forester left, eddie picked up, listlessly from the top of the stack one of the preliminary reports submitted for his approval. the report dealt with three thousand capacitors purchased last year from an eastern firm, now bankrupt. the capacitors were beginning to leak. eddie called the electrical laboratory to see what progress was being made on the problem. the supervisor refreshed his memory from the records. he reported: "i don't have any adhesive man to work on it. purchasing has half a dozen suppliers lined up--but none have any test data. i don't know when we'll get the time. we're on a priority program checking out these new, low-cost terminations." "can't we certify the adhesive to some aiee spec or something?" eddie asked. "i don't know of any for sealing capacitors, eddie. not on the maintenance end, at least." "maybe purchasing can get a guarantee from one of the suppliers?" "for the hundred dollars of compound that's involved? what good would that do us?" eddie thanked him and hung up. he signed the preliminary report. he turned to the next one. at : forester came by and the two of them made their way between the jig-saw projections of maple and mahogany to the conference room. fourteen men were involved in the conference, all from operating departments. they shuffled in over a five minute period, found seats, lit cigarettes, talked and joked with one another. when one of the assistants to the manager came in, they fell silent. "gentlemen," he said, "i think i'd better get right to the point today. the construction program in the valley has now used up two bond issues. the voters aren't going to approve a third one." he paused for effect then continued briskly: "i see by the morning's _times_ that the mayor is appointing a watch-dog commission. i guess you all saw it, too. the department of water and power of the city of los angeles is going to be badly--and i mean badly--in the red at the end of the fiscal year. "we're in hot water. "we do not seem to be getting through to the operating departments regarding the necessity for cost reduction. i have here last month's breakdown on the bunker hill substation kv installation. most of you have seen it already, i think. i had it sent around. now--" the analysis continued for some ten minutes to conclude with an explosion: "we've got to impose a ten per cent across the board cut on operating expenses." one of the listeners, more alert than the rest, asked, "that go for salaries?" "for personnel making more than eight hundred dollars a month it does." there was a moment of shocked silence. "you can't make that stick," one of the supervisors said. "half my best men will be out tomorrow looking for better offers--and finding them, too." "i'm just passing on what i was told." the men in the room shuffled and muttered under their breaths. "o.k., that's the way they want it," one of the supervisors said. "i've brought along the notices for the affected personnel. please see they're distributed when you leave." after the meeting, forester walked with eddie back to his desk. "you be in tomorrow, eddie?" "i guess i will, les. i really don't know, yet." "i'd hate to lose you." "it's going to make it pretty rough. a man's fixed expenses don't come down." "i'll see what i can do for you, maybe upgrade the classification--" "thanks, les." back at his desk, eddie looked at his watch. nearly time for the safety meeting. lost-time injuries had been climbing for the last four months. while waiting, he signed a sixty-three page preliminary report recommending a program for the orderly replacement of all transmission and distribution cable installed prior to . it was estimated that the savings, in the long run, would total some quarter of a billion dollars. the initial expense, however, was astronomical. after the safety meeting, eddie prepared another memorandum indicating the acute need for a better training program and an increase in maintenance personnel. shortage of qualified technicians was chronic. at four twenty-five, the night supervisor phoned in to say he was having engine trouble with his new car and would be delayed until about six o'clock. eddie agreed to wait for him. eddie dialed home to let his wife, lois, know he would be late again. a modulated low-frequency note told him the home phone was out of order. ray morely, one of the night-shift engineers, came in with coffee. "you still here, eddie?" "yeah, until wheeler makes it. his car's down." "market hit a new high." "yeah. i guess you heard about the meeting today?" ray sipped coffee. "budget again? i missed the day crew. i got hung up in traffic and was a little late." "a pay cut goes with it, this time." "you're kidding?" "been by your desk yet?" "no." "i'm not kidding. ten per cent for those making above eight hundred." "nobody's going to put up with that," ray said. "we're in an engineering shortage. we've got icbms rusting in their silos all over the country because we can't afford the engineering maintenance--that's how bad it is. everybody'll quit." "i don't think they'll make it stick. ramon lopez, one of the truck crew, was killed today hosing down a high-voltage pothead." "no kidding?" eddie told him about the accident. "that was a rough one to lose, wasn't it?" the phone rang. ray said, "i'll get it." he listened for a minute and hung up. "there's an outage in the silver lake area. the brakes on a bus failed and took out an overhead section." eddie sat back. "no sense in you going. with work traffic on the surface streets until the freeway gets fixed, they won't get the truck there until : or so." "right." ray drank coffee reflectively. "you going looking?" "i'm an old-timer. i got a lot of seniority. how about you?" "i got bills. it's going to cost me near a hundred a month--that's a steep bite." "i still think they'll back off." "they'll have to," ray said. "if not right now, when the pressure gets on. you ask me, we've got them by the short hair." he settled into the chair. "i see it as an organic phenomenon. when society gets as complex as ours, it has to grow more and more engineers. but there's a feedback circuit in effect. the more engineers we grow, the more complex society becomes. each new one creates the need for two more. i get a sort of feeling of--i don't know--vitality, i guess, when i walk into, say, an automated factory. all that machinery and all that electronic gear is like a single cell in a living organism--an organism that's growing every day, multiplying like bacteria. and it's always sick, and we're the doctors. that's job security. we're riding the wave of the future. i don't think they'll make a salary cut stick." "i hope you're right," eddie said. * * * * * eddie checked out at : , when the night supervisor finally arrived. as he left the building, he noted that a burglar alarm down the street had gone off; probably because of a short circuit. the clanking set his nerves on edge. apprehensively he felt a rising wind against his cheeks. at home, he was greeted with a perfunctory kiss at the door. "honey," lois told him, "you took the check book, and i didn't have any money." "something come up? i'm sorry." "we're all out of milk. the milk man didn't come today. their homogenizing machinery broke down. i phoned the dairy about nine; and then, of course, the phone has been on the blink since about eleven or a little before, so i couldn't ask you to bring some home." "i kept trying to get you." "i figured you had to work late again, when you weren't here at six, and i knew you'd be here when you got here." eddie sat down and she sat on the chair arm beside him. "how did it go today?" he started to tell her about the wage cut and ramon lopez; but then he didn't want to talk about it. "so-so," he said. "there was an outage over in the silver lake area just before i left." "fixed yet?" "i doubt it," he said. "probably a couple of more hours." "gee," she said, "when i think of all that meat in the deep freezer...." "i wouldn't stock so much," he said. "i really wouldn't." she twisted away from him. "honey. i'm jittery. something's ... i don't know. in the air, i guess." the wind rattled the windows. * * * * * while lois was warming dinner, his son came in. "hi, eddie." "hi, larry." "eddie, when we gonna get the tv fixed?" eddie put down the newspaper. "we just don't have a hundred dollars or so right now." he searched for matches on the table by the chair. "lois, oh, lois, where're the matches?" she came in. "they were all out friday at the store, and i keep forgetting to lay in a supply. use my lighter over there." "about the tv--" lois was wiping her hands on the paper towel she had brought with her. "replacement parts are hard to find for the older sets," she said. "anyway. i read today channel three finally went off the air. that leaves only two and seven. and the programs aren't any good, now, are they? all those commercials and all?" "they do use a lot of old stuff i've already seen," the son admitted, "but every once in a while there's something new." "let's talk about it some other time, larry, o.k.?" eddie said. "how's that? it's almost your bed-time. studies done?" "all but the library report." "well, finish it, and--" "i got to read the book down there. two classes assigned it and they don't have the copies to let us check out. and i want to ask you about something, eddie." "daddy's tired. his dinner's on. come on, eddie. i'll set it right now. and larry, you've already eaten...." * * * * * after dinner, eddie got back to the paper, the evening _times_. it was down to eight pages, mostly advertising. there was a front-page editorial reluctantly announcing a price increase. "they raise the price once more, and we'll just quit taking it," lois said. "you read about the airplane crash in florida? wasn't that terrible? what do you think caused it?" "metal fatigue, probably," eddie said. "it was a twenty-year-old jet." "the company said it wasn't that at all." "they always do," eddie said. "i don't guess the payroll check came today or you'd have mentioned it." "payroll's still all balled up. somebody pressed a wrong button on the new machine and some fifty thousand uncoded cards got scattered all over the office." "oh, no! what do the poor people, who don't have bank accounts, do?" "just wait, like we wait." "you had a bad day," lois said. "i can tell." "no...." eddie said. "not really, i guess." "still working on saturday?" "i guess so. nothing was said. maybe it'll get easier after the end of the month." "you said it was all that new construction work in the valley that's making you so shorthanded." "that's part of it." "they're not scheduled to finish until ... when, sometime next year, isn't it?" "the end of ' right now." "eddie! listen to me! i hardly ever see you any more. you're not going to have to put in all this overtime for the next two years!" "of course not," eddie said. "maybe after this month, that's all, and the work load will level off." * * * * * larry, dressed for bed, came in. "eddie?" "your father's tired." "i want to ask him something." "what is it, larry?" eddie asked. "eddie, you know the little culture i was running for science class? something's wrong. will you look at it?" "daddy's...." "i'll look at it, lois." eddie accompanied his son to his son's room. "what do you think is wrong, dad?" "well, let's see...." "what is it?" larry asked. "what made it stop growing?" eddie did not answer for a minute. then: "you start with one or two ... well, it's like this, larry. i'm afraid it's dead. they grow exponentially. figure out how much money you'd have at the end of a month if you started with just a penny and doubled your money every day. in just a little while, you'd have all the money in the world. figure it out sometime. things that grow exponentially, they just don't know when to quit. and your culture, here, it grew until the environment could no longer support it and all at once the food was eaten up and it died." "i ... see.... something like that could just grow until it took over the whole world, couldn't it?" again eddie was silent for a moment. then he rumpled his son's hair. "that's science fiction, larry." * * * * * later, while they were listening to fm, there was a news break reporting a fire out of control in south los angeles. "that's near becky's, i'll bet," she said. "i better phone." the phone was still out of order. "i sure feel cut off without a phone." after an interlude of music, lois said, "larry wants to be an engineer, now. i guess after what you said, maybe that's a pretty good thing." eddie looked up from his cigarette. "why this all of a sudden?" "one of his teachers told him what you said--there's a growing engineering shortage." "i thought he wanted to be an astronaut." "you know larry. that was last week. his teacher said we're not going to start up the space program again. it's too expensive. we just don't have the technical man-power and materials to spare." "we are in.... but these kids, young kids they're turning out--they aren't getting the education today. and if anything, i sometimes think it almost makes our jobs even worse, correcting their mistakes. i sometimes wonder where it's all going to stop." there was more news from the fire front. fire fighters were having a very difficult time. two water mains had broken and the pressure was dropping. the fire was reported to have been caused by the explosion of a gas main. rising winds did not promise to abate until dawn. [illustration] "i sure wish i could get through to beck," lois said. "oh, i guess i told you, did i? her sister has hypoglycemia, they found out. that's why she's been tired all the time." "never heard of it." "low blood sugar. it's caused by an overactive gland on the pancreas. and treatment is just the opposite of what you'd think, too. i'll bet you'd never guess. if you increase the amount of sugar in the diet, the gland becomes just that much more active to get rid of it and the hypoglycemia gets worse. it's what i'll bet you engineers call a feedback. isn't that what you call it? well ... the way doctors treat it is to _reduce_ the amount of sugar you eat. and after a little bit, the pancreas gets back its normal function, and the patient gets well. i told you you'd never guess!" after a long time, eddie said, very softly, "oh." * * * * * just after midnight, they went to bed. "i've been ..." lois began and then stopped. "i don't know. jumpy. the market was up again today. another all-time high. do you think there'll be another crash? like 'way back in ." she could feel him lying tense beside her in the darkness. "no," he said slowly, "i don't think so. i don't think there'll be a crash." in spite of the warmth of the room, she could not suppress an involuntary shudder whose cause was nameless. suddenly, she did not want to ask any more questions. the wind was rattling the windows. * * * * * [illustration: cover art] [frontispiece: "the slight figure that swayed to the stride of a galloping horse"--_chapter xxix_] thurston of orchard valley _by_ harold bindloss author of "by right of purchase," "lorimer of the northwest," "alton of somasco," etc. with frontispiece by w. herbert dunton a. l. burt company publishers ------ new york copyright, , by frederick a. stokes company _all rights reserved_ _february, _ contents chapter i. "thurston's folly" ii. a disillusion iii. geoffrey's first contract iv. geoffrey makes progress v. the legends of crosbie ghyll vi. millicent's reward vii. the breaking of the jam viii. a rest by the way ix. geoffrey stands firm x. savine's confidence xi. an inspiration xii. geoffrey tests his fate xiii. a test of loyalty xiv. the work of an enemy xv. a great undertaking xvi. millicent turns traitress xvii. the infatuation of english jim xviii. the bursting of the sluice xix. the abduction of black christy xx. under the stanley pines xxi. reparation xxii. a reprieve xxiii. the ultimatum xxiv. an unexpected ally xxv. millicent's revolt xxvi. a reckless journey xxvii. mrs. savine speaks her mind xxviii. leslie steps out xxix. a revelation thurston of orchard valley chapter i "thurston's folly" it was a pity that geoffrey thurston was following in his grandfather's footsteps, the sturdy dalefolk said, and several of them shook their heads solemnly as they repeated the observation when one morning the young man came striding down the steep street of a village in the north country. the cluster of gray stone houses nestled beneath the scarred face of a crag, and, because mining operations had lately been suspended and work was scarce just then, pale-faced men in moleskin lounged about the slate-slab doorsteps. above the village, and beyond the summit of the crag, the mouth of a tunnel formed a black blot on the sunlit slopes of sheep-cropped grass stretching up to the heather, which gave place in turn to rock out-crop on the shoulders of the fell. the loungers glanced at the tunnel regretfully, for that mine had furnished most of them with their daily bread. "it's in t' blood," said one, nodding toward the young man. "ay, headstrong folly's bred in t' bone of them, an' it's safer to counter an angry bull than a thurston of crosbie ghyll. it's like his grandfather--roughed out of the old hard whinstane he is." a murmur of approval followed, for the listeners knew there was a measure of truth in this; but it ceased when the pedestrian passed close to them with long, vigorous strides. though several raised their hands half-way to their caps in grudging salute, geoffrey thurston, who appeared preoccupied, looked at none of them. notwithstanding his youth, there were lines on his forehead and his brows were wrinkled over his eyes, while his carriage suggested strength of limb and energy. tall in stature his frame looked wiry rather than heavily built. his face was resolute, for both square jaw and steady brown eyes suggested tenacity of purpose. the hands that swung at his sides had been roughened by labor with pick and drill. yet in spite of the old clay-stained shooting suit and shapeless slouch hat with the grease on the front of it, where a candle had been set, there was a stamp of command, and even refinement, about him. he was a thurston of crosbie, one of a family the members of which had long worked their own diminishing lands among the rugged fells that stretch between the west riding and the solway. the thurstons had been a reckless, hard-living race, with a stubborn, combative disposition. most of them had found scope for their energies in wresting a few more barren acres from the grasp of moss and moor; but several times an eccentric genius had scattered to the winds what the rest had won, and geoffrey seemed bent on playing the traditional _rôle_ of spendthrift. there were, however, excuses for him. he was an ambitious man, and had studied mechanical science under a famous engineer. perhaps, because the surface of the earth yielded a sustenance so grudgingly, a love of burrowing was born in the family. copper was dear and the speculative public well disposed towards british mines. when current prices permitted it, a little copper had been worked from time immemorial in the depths of crosbie fell, so geoffrey, continuing where his grandfather had ceased, drove the ancient adit deeper into the hill, mortgaging field by field to pay for tools and men, until, when the little property had well-nigh gone, he came upon a fault or break in the strata, which made further progress almost impossible. when thurston reached the mouth of the adit, he turned and looked down upon the poor climbing meadows under the great shoulder of the fell. beyond these, a few weatherbeaten buildings, forming a rude quadrangle pierced by one tall archway, stood beside a tarn that winked like polished steel. he sighed as his glance rested upon them. for many generations they had sheltered the thurstons of crosbie; but, unless he could stoop to soil his hands in a fashion revolting to his pride, a strange master would own them before many months had gone. an angry glitter came into his eyes, and his face grew set, as, placing a lighted candle in his hat, he moved forward into the black adit. twenty minutes had passed when thurston stood on the brink of a chasm where some movement of the earth's crust had rent the rocks asunder. beside him was a mining engineer, whose fame for skill was greater than his reputation for integrity. both men had donned coarse overalls, and melhuish, the mining expert, held his candle so that its light fell upon his companion as well as upon the dripping surface of the rock. moisture fell from the wet stone into the gloomy rift, and a faint monotonous splashing rose up from far below. melhuish, however, was watching thurston too intently to notice anything else. he was a middle-aged man, with a pale, puffy face and avaricious eyes. he was well-known to speculative financiers, who made much more than the shareholders of certain new mining companies. "it's interesting geologically--wholly abnormal considering the stratification, though very unfortunate for you," said melhuish. "i give you my word of honor that when i advised you to push on the heading i never expected this. however, there it is, and unless you're willing to consider certain suggestions already made, i can't see much use in wasting any more money. as i said, my friends would, under the circumstances, treat you fairly." thurston's face was impassive, and melhuish, who thought that his companion bore himself with a curious equanimity for a ruined man, did not see that thurston's hard fingers were clenched savagely on the handle of a pick. "i fancied you understood my opinions, and i haven't changed them," said geoffrey. "i asked you to meet me here to-day to consider whether the ore already in sight would be worth reduction, and you say, 'no.' you can advise your friends, when you see them, that i'm not inclined to assist them in a deliberate fraud upon the public." melhuish laughed. "you are exaggerating, and people seem perfectly willing to pay for their experience, whether they acquire it over copper, lead or tin. besides, there's an average commercial probability that somebody will find good ore after going down far enough, and your part would be easy. you take a moderate price as vendor, we advancing enough to settle the mortgage. sign the papers my friends will send you, and keep your mouth shut." "and their expert wouldn't see that fault?" asked geoffrey. melhuish smiled pityingly before he answered: "the gentlemen i speak of keep an expert who certainly wouldn't see any more than was necessary. the indications that deceived me are good enough for anybody. human judgment is always liable to error, and there are ways of framing a report without committing the person who makes it. may i repeat that it's a fair business risk, and whoever takes this mine should strike the lead if sufficient capital is poured in. it would be desirable for you to act judiciously. my financial friends, i understand, have been in communication with the people who hold your mortgages." geoffrey thurston's temper, always fiery, had been sorely tried. dropping his pick, he gripped the tempter by the shoulder with fingers that held him like a vice. he pressed melhuish backward until they stood within a foot of the verge of the black rift. melhuish's face was gray in the candle-light as he heard the dislodged pebbles splash sullenly into the water, fathoms beneath. he had heard stories of the vagaries of the thurstons of crosbie, and it was most unpleasant to stand on the brink of eternity, in the grasp of one of them. suddenly geoffrey dropped his hands. "you need better nerves in your business, melhuish," he said quietly. "one would hardly have fancied you would be so startled at a harmless joke intended to test them for you. there have been several spendthrifts and highly successful drunkards in my family, but, with the exception of my namesake, who was hanged like a jacobite gentleman for taking, sword in hand, their despatches from two of cumberland's dragoons, we have hitherto drawn the line at stealing." "i'm not interested in genealogy, and i don't appreciate jests of the sort you have just tried," melhuish answered somewhat shakily. "i'll take your word that you meant no harm, and i request further and careful consideration before you return a definite answer to my friends' suggestions." "you shall have it in a few days," geoffrey promised; and melhuish, who determined to receive the answer under the open sunlight, and, if possible, with assistance near at hand, turned toward the mouth of the adit. because he thought it wiser, he walked behind geoffrey. the afternoon was not yet past when thurston stood leaning on the back of a stone seat outside a quaint old hall, which had once been a feudal fortalice and was now attached to an unprofitable farm. because the impoverished gentleman, who held a long lease on the ancient building, had let one wing to certain sportsmen, several of geoffrey's neighbors had gathered on the indifferently-kept lawn to enjoy a tennis match. miss millicent austin sat in an angle of the stone seat. her little feet, encased in white shoes, reposed upon a cushion that one of the sportsmen had insisted on bringing to her. her hands lay idly folded in her lap. the delicate hands were characteristic, for millicent austin was slight and dainty. with pale gold hair and pink and white complexion, she was a perfect type of saxon beauty, though some of her rivals said the color of her eyes was too light a blue. they also added that the blue eyes were very quick to notice where their owner's interests lay. an indefinite engagement had long existed between the girl and the man beside her, and at one time they had cherished a degree of affection for each other; but when the merry, high-spirited girl returned from london changed into a calculating woman, geoffrey was bound up, mind and body, in his mine, and millicent began to wonder whether, with her advantages, she might not do better than to marry a dalesman burdened by heavy debts. they formed a curious contrast, the man brown-haired, brown-eyed, hard-handed, rugged of feature, and sometimes rugged of speech; and the dainty woman who appeared born for a life of ease and luxury. "beauty and the beast!" said one young woman to her companion as she laid by her racquet. "i suppose he has the money?" "unless his mine proves successful i don't think either will have much; but if miss austin is a beauty in a mild way, he's a noble beast, one very likely to turn the tables upon a rash hunter," was the answer. "and yet he's stalking blindly into the snare. alas, poor lion!" "you seem interested in him. i'm not partial to wild beasts myself," remarked her companion, and the other smiled as she answered: "hardly that, but i know the family history, and they are a curious race with great capabilities for good or evil. it all depends upon how they are led, because nobody could drive a thurston. it is rather, i must confess, an instinctive prejudice against the woman beside him. i do not like, and would not trust, miss austin, though, of course, except to you, my dear, i would not say so." the young speaker glanced a moment towards the pair, and then passed on with a slight frown upon her honest face, for thurston bent over his companion with something that suggested deadly earnestness in his attitude, and the spectator assumed that millicent austin's head was turned away from him, because she possessed a fine profile and not because of excessive diffidence. nor was the observer wrong, for millicent did little without a purpose, and was just then thinking keenly as she said: "i am very sorry to hear about your misfortune, geoffrey, but there is a way of escape from most disasters if one will look for it, you know, and if you came to terms with them i understand those london people would, at least, recoup you for your expenditure." "you have heard of that!" exclaimed geoffrey sharply, displeased that his _fiancée_, who had been away, should betray so accurate a knowledge of all that concerned his business affairs. "of course i did. i made tom tell me. you will agree with them, will you not?" the girl replied. "so," said geoffrey, with a slight huskiness. "i wish i could, but it is impossible, and i am not pleased that tom should tell you what i was waiting to confide to you myself. let that pass, for i want you to listen to me. the old holding will have to go, and there is little room for a poor man in this overcrowded country. as you know, certain property will revert to me eventually, but, remembering what is in our blood, i dare not trust myself to drag out a life of idleness or monotonous drudgery, waiting for the future here. the curse is a very real thing--and it would not be fair to you. now i can save enough from the wreck to start us without positive hardship over seas, and george has written offering me a small share in his australian cattle-run. you shall want for nothing, millicent, that toil can win you, and i know that, with you to help me, i shall achieve at least a competence." millicent, who glanced up at him as if she were carefully studying him, could see that the man spoke with conviction. she knew that his power of effort and dogged obstinacy would carry him far toward obtaining whatever his heart desired. she dropped her long lashes as he continued: "hitherto, i have overcome the taint i spoke of--you knew what it was when you gave me your promise--and working hard, with you to cheer me, in a new land under the open sun, i shall crush it utterly. semi-poverty, with an ill-paid task that demanded but half my energies, would try you, millicent, and be dangerous to me. what i say sounds very selfish, doesn't it--but you will come?" there was an appeal in his voice which touched the listener. it was seldom a thurston of crosbie asked help from anyone; but she had no wish to encourage geoffrey in what she considered his folly, and shook her head with a pretty assumption of petulance. "don't be sensational," she said with a wave of her hand. "you are prone to exaggeration, and, of course, i will not go with you. how could i help you to chase wild cattle? now, try to be sensible! come to terms with these company people, and then you need not go." "would you have me a thief?" asked geoffrey, gazing down upon her with a fierce resentment in his look of reproach, and the girl shrank from him a little. "no, but, so far as i understand it, this is an ordinary business transaction, and if these people are willing to buy the mine, why should you refuse?" she returned in a temporizing tone. if thurston was less in love with millicent austin than he had been, he hardly realized it then. he was disappointed, and his forehead contracted as he struggled with as heavy a temptation as could have assailed the honor of any man. millicent was very fair to look upon, as she turned to him with entreaty and anxiety in her face. nevertheless, he answered wearily: "it is not an ordinary business transaction. these people would pay me with the general public's money, and when the mine proves profitless, as it certainly will, they would turn the deluded shareholders loose on me." "there are always risks in mining," millicent observed significantly. "the investing public understands that, doesn't it? of course, i would not have you dishonest, but, geoffrey----" thurston was patient in action, but seldom in speech, and he broke out hotly: "many a woman has sent a man to his damnation for a little luxury, but i expected help from you. millicent, if i assist those swindlers and stay here dragging out the life of a gentleman pauper on a dole of stolen money, i shall go down and down, dragging you with me. if you will come out to a new country with me, i know you will never regret it. whatever is best worth winning over there, i will win for you. can't you see that we stand at the crossroads, and whichever way we choose there can be no turning back! think, and for god's sake think well! the decision means everything to you and me." again millicent was aware of an unwilling admiration for the speaker, even though she had little for his sentiments. he stood erect, with a grim look on his face, his nostrils quivering, and his lips firmly set--stubborn, vindictive, powerful. though his strength was untrained, she knew that he was a man to trust--great in his very failings, with no meanness in his composition, and clearly born for risky enterprise and hazardous toil. she was a little afraid of him, a fact which was not in itself unpleasant; but she dreaded poverty and hardship! with a shrug of the shoulder upon which he had laid his hand, she said: "i think you are absurd to-day; you are hurting me. this melodramatic pose approaches the ludicrous, and i have really no patience with your folly. a little period of calm reflection may prove beneficial, and i will leave you to it. clara is beckoning me." she turned away, and thurston, after vainly looking around for clara, stalked sullenly into the hall, where he flung himself down in a chair beside an open window. it did not please him to see millicent take her place before the net in the tennis court and to hear her laugh ring lightly across the lawn. a certain sportsman named leslie, who had devoted himself to miss austin's service, watched him narrowly from a corner of the big hall. "you look badly hipped over something, thurston," commented the sportsman presently. "i suppose it's the mine, and would like to offer my sympathy. might i recommend a brandy-and-soda, one of those cubanos, and confidence? tom left the bottle handy for you." in spite of the family failing, or, perhaps, because it was the only thing he feared, thurston had been an abstemious man. now, however, he emptied one stiff tumbler at a gulp, and the soda frothed in the second, when he noticed a curious smile, for just a moment, in the eyes of his companion. the smile vanished immediately, but thurston had seen and remembered. it was characteristic of him that, before two more seconds had passed, the glass crashed into splinters in the grate. "quite right!" exclaimed leslie, nodding. "when one feels as you evidently do, a little of that sort of consolation is considerably better than too much. you don't, however, appear to be in a companionable humor, and perhaps i had better not intrude on you." during the rest of the afternoon, thurston saw little of millicent and leslie was much with her. the weather changed suddenly when at dusk geoffrey rode home. in forecast of winter, a bitter breeze sighed across the heather and set the harsh grasses moaning eerily. the sky was somber overhead; scarred fell and towering pike had faded to blurs of dingy gray, and the ghostly whistling of curlew emphasized the emptiness of the darkening moor. the evening's mood suited geoffrey's, and he rode slowly with loose bridle. the bouquet of the brandy had awakened within him a longing that he dreaded, and though, hitherto, he had been too intent upon his task to trouble about his character, it was borne in upon him that he must stand fast now or never. but it was not the thought of his own future which first appealed to him. those who had gone before him had rarely counted consequences when tempted by either wine or women, and he would have risked that freely. geoffrey was, however, in his own eccentric fashion, a just man, and he dared not risk bringing disaster upon millicent. so he rode slowly, thinking hard, until the horse, which seemed affected by its master's restlessness, plunged as a dark figure rose out of the heather. "hallo, is it you, evans?" asked the rider, with a forced laugh. "i thought it was the devil. he's abroad to-night." "thou'rt wrang, mr. geoffrey," answered the gamekeeper. "it's thursday night he comes. black jim as broke thy head for thee is coming with t' quarrymen to poach t' covers. got the office from yan with a grudge against t' gang, an' captain franklin, who's layin' for him, sends his compliments, thinkin' as maybe thee would like t' fun." thurston rarely forgot either an injury or a friend, and, the preceding october, when tripping, he fell helpless, black jim twice, with murderous intent, had brought a gun-butt down upon his unprotected skull. excitement was at all times as wine to him, so, promising to be at the rendezvous, he rode homeward faster than before, with a sense of anticipation which helped to dull the edge of his care. chapter ii a disillusion it was a clear cold night when geoffrey thurston met captain franklin, who held certain sporting rights in the vicinity, at the place agreed upon. the captain had brought with him several amateur assistants and stablehands besides two stalwart keepers. greeting thurston he said: "very good of you to help me! our local constable is either afraid or powerless, and i must accordingly allow black jim's rascals to sweep my covers or take the law into my own hands. it is the pheasants he is after now, and he'll start early so as to get his plunder off from the junction by the night mail, and because the moon rises soon. we had better divide, and you might come with evans and me to the beeches while the others search the fir spinney." geoffrey, assenting, followed the officer across a dew-damped meadow and up a winding lane hung with gossamer-decked briars, until the party halted, ankle-deep among withered leaves, in a dry ditch just outside the wood. there were reasons why each detail of all that happened on that eventful night should impress itself upon geoffrey's memory, and, long afterwards, when wandering far out in the shadow of limitless forests or the chill of eternal snow, he could recall every incident. leaves that made crimson glories by day still clung low down about the wide-girthed trunks beyond the straggling hedge of ancient thorns, but the higher branches rose nakedly against faintly luminous sky. spruce firs formed clumps of solid blackness, and here and there a delicate tracery of birch boughs filled gaps against the sky-line between. the meadows behind him were silent and empty, streaked with belts of spectral mist, and, because it was not very late, he could see a red glimmer of light in the windows of barrow hall. but if the grass told no story it was otherwise with the wood, for geoffrey could hear the rabbits thumping in their burrows among the roots of the thorn. twice a cock-pheasant uttered a drowsy, raucous crow, and there was a blundering of unseen feathery bodies among the spruce, while, when this ceased, he heard a water-hen flutter with feet splashing across a hidden pool. then heavy stillness followed, intensified by the clamor of a beck which came foaming down the side of a fell until, clattering loudly, wood-pigeons, neither asleep nor wholly awake, drove out against the sky, wheeled and fell clumsily into the wood again. all this was a plain warning, and keeper evans nodded agreement when captain franklin said: "there's somebody here, and, in order not to miss him, we'll divide our forces once more. if you'll go in by the hall footpath, thurston, and whistle on sight of anything suspicious, i'd be much obliged to you." a few minutes later thurston halted on the topmost step of the lofty stile by which a footpath from the hall entered the wood. looking back across misty grass land and swelling ridges of heather, he could see a faint brightness behind the eastern rim of the moor; but, when he stepped down, it was very dark among the serried tree-trunks. the slender birches had faded utterly, the stately beeches resembled dim ghosts of trees and only the spruces retained, imperfectly, their shape and form. thurston was country bred, and, lifting high his feet to clear bramble trailer and fallen twig, he walked by feeling instead of sight. the beck moaned a little more loudly, and there was a heavy astringent odor of damp earth and decaying leaves. when beast and bird were still again it seemed as if nature, worn out by the productive effort of summer, were sinking under solemn silence into her winter sleep. the watcher knew the wood was a large one and unlawful visitants might well be hidden towards its farther end. he stood still at intervals, concentrating all his powers to listen, but his ears told him nothing until at last there was a rustle somewhere ahead. puzzled by the sound, which reminded him of something curiously out of place in the lonely wood, he instantly sank down behind an ash tree. the sound certainly was not made by withered bracken or bramble leaves, and had nothing to do with the stealthy fall of a poacher's heavy boot. it came again more clearly, and thurston was almost sure that it was the rustle of a woven fabric, such as a woman's dress. to confirm this opinion a soft laugh followed. he rose, deciding it could only be some assignation with a maid from the hall, and no business of his. he had turned to retreat when he noticed the eastern side of a silver fir reflect a faint shimmer. glancing along the beam of light that filtered through a fantastic fretwork of delicate birch twigs arching a drive, he saw a broad, bright disk hanging low above the edge of the moor. it struck him that perhaps the poachers had used the girl to coax information out of a young groom or keeper, and that she was now warning them. so he waited, debating, because he was a rudely chivalrous person, how he might secure the girl's companion without involving the girl's disgrace. again a laugh rose from beyond a thicket. then he heard the voice of a man. geoffrey was puzzled, for the laugh was musical, unlike a rustic giggle; and, though the calling of the beck partly drowned it, the man's voice did not resemble that of a laborer. thurston moved again, wondering whether it was not some affair of leslie's from the hall, and whether he ought not to slip away after all. the birch boughs sighed a little, there was a fluttering down of withered leaves, and he remained undecided, gripping his stout oak cudgel by the middle. then the hot blood pulsed fiercely through every artery, for the voice rose once more, harsh and clear this time, with almost a threat in the tone, and there was no possibility of doubting that the speaker was leslie. "this cannot continue, millicent," the voice said. "it has gone on too long, and i will not be trifled with. you cannot have both of us, and my patience is exhausted. leave the fool to his folly." geoffrey raised the cudgel and dropped it to his side. turning suddenly cold, he remained for a second or two almost without power of thought or motion. the disillusion was cruel. the woman's light answer filled him with returning fury and he hurled himself at a thicket from which, amid a crash of branches, he reeled out into the sight of the speakers. the moon was well clear of the moor now, and silver light and inky shadow checkered the mosses of the drive. with a little scream of terror millicent sprang apart from her companion's side and stood for a space staring at the man who had appeared out of the rent-down undergrowth. the pale light beat upon geoffrey's face, showing it was white with anger. looking from geoffrey, the girl glanced towards leslie, who waited in the partial shadow of a hazel bush. even had he desired to escape, which was possible, the bush would have cut off his retreat. geoffrey turned fiercely from one to the other. the woman, who stood with one hand on a birch branch, was evidently struggling to regain her courage. her lips were twitching and her pale blue eyes were very wide open. the man was shrinking back as far as possible in a manner which suggested physical fear; he had heard the dalesfolk say a savage devil, easily aroused, lurked in all the thurstons, and the one before him looked distinctly dangerous just then. leslie was weak in limb as well as moral fiber, and it was geoffrey who broke the painful silence. "what are you doing here at such an hour with this man, millicent?" he asked sternly. "no answer! it appears that some explanation is certainly due to me--and i mean to force it out of one of you." millicent, saying nothing, gazed at her companion, as if conjuring him to speak plainly and to end an intolerable position. geoffrey read her meaning, even though leslie, who glanced longingly over his shoulder down the drive, refused to do so. because there was spirit in her, and she had recovered from the first shock of surprise, millicent ground one little heel into the mosses with a gesture of disgust and anger when the man made answer: "i resent your attitude and question. we came out to see the moon rise on the moor, and found the night breeze nipping." geoffrey laughed harshly before he repeated: "you found the breeze nipping! there is scarcely an air astir. and you understand the relations existing between miss austin and me? i want a better reason. millicent, you, at least, are not a coward--dare you give it me?" "i challenge your right to demand an account of my actions," said the girl. with an evident effort to defy thurston, she added, after a pause, "but the explanation must have come sooner or later, and you shall have it now. i have grown--perhaps the brutal truth is best--tired of you and your folly. you would sacrifice my future to your fantastic pride--and this man would give up everything for me." the first heat of geoffrey's passion was past, and he was now coldly savage because of the woman's treachery. "including his conscience and honor, but not his personal safety!" he supplemented contemptuously. "millicent, one could almost admire you." turning to leslie he asked: "but are you struck dumb that you let the woman speak? this was my promised wife to whom you have been making love, though, for delicacy would be superfluous, it is evident that she has not discouraged you. until three days ago i could have trusted my life to her. now, i presume, she has pledged herself to you?" "yes," answered leslie, recovering his equanimity as his fears grew less oppressive. he began to excuse himself but geoffrey cut him short with a gesture. "then, even if i desired to make them, my protests would be useless," said geoffrey. "i am at least grateful for your frankness, millicent; it prevented me from wringing the truth from your somewhat abject lover. had you told me honestly, when this man first spoke to you, that you had grown tired of me, i would have released you, and i would have tried to wish you well. now i can only say, that at least you know the worst of each other--and there will be less disappointment when, stripped of either mutual or self respect, you begin life together. but i was forgetting that franklin's keepers are searching the wood. some of them might talk. go at once by the hall path, as softly as you can." the man and the girl were plainly glad to hurry away, and geoffrey waited until the sound of their footsteps became scarcely audible before he heeded a faint rustling which indicated that somebody with a knowledge of woodcraft was forcing a passage through the undergrowth. he broke a dry twig at intervals as he walked slowly for a little distance. then he dropped on hands and knees to cross a strip of open sward at an angle to his previous course, and lay still in the black shadow of a spruce. it was evident that somebody was following his trail, and the pursuer, passing his hiding-place, followed it straight on. geoffrey's was a curious character, and the very original cure for a disappointment in love, that of baffling a game watcher while his faithless mistress escaped, brought him relief; it left no time for reflection. presently he dashed across a bare strip of velvet mosses and rabbit-cropped turf, slipped between the roots of the hedge, and, running silently beneath it, halted several score yards away face to face with the astonished keeper. "weel, i'm clanged; this clean beats me," gasped that worthy. "hello, behind there. it's only mr. geoffrey, sir. didst see black jim slip out this way, or hear a scream a laal while gone by?" "i saw no one," answered geoffrey, "but i heard the scream. it was not unlike a hare squealing in a snare. you and i must have been stalking each other, evans, and black jim can't be here." the rest came up as they spoke, and captain franklin said, "you seem badly disappointed at missing your old enemy, thurston. i never saw you look so savage. i expect black jim has tricked us, after all." "i've had several troubles lately, and don't find much amusement in hunting poachers who aren't there," said geoffrey. "you will excuse me from going back with you." he departed across the meadows, at a swinging pace, and the keeper, who stared after him, commented: "something gradely wrang with mr. geoffrey to-night. they're an ill folk to counter yon, and it's maybe as well for black jim as mr. geoffrey didn't get hold on him." geoffrey saw no more of millicent, but once he visited her younger sister, a gentle invalid, who, because of the friendship which had long existed between them, said: "you must try to believe i mean it in kindness when i say that i am not wholly sorry, geoffrey. you and millicent would never have gotten on well together, and while i wish the awakening could have happened in a more creditable way, you will realize--when somebody else makes you happy--that all has been for the best." "that day will be long in coming," declared the man, grimly, and the sick girl laid a thin white hand on his hard one as she answered him. "it is not a flattering speech, and you must not lose faith in all of us," the invalid went on. "lying still here, helpless, i have often thought about both of you, and i feel that you have done well in choosing a new life in a new country. when you go out, geoffrey, you will take my fervent wishes for your welfare with you." janet austin was frail and worn by pain. her pale face flushed a little as the man suddenly stooped and touched her forehead with his lips. "god bless you for your kindly heart," he said. "a ruined man has very few friends, and many acquaintances are waiting to convince him that his downfall is the result of his own folly, but"--and he straightened his wiry frame, while his eyes glinted--"they have not seen the end, and even if beaten, there is satisfaction in a stubborn, single-handed struggle." janet austin, perhaps thinking of her own helplessness, sighed as she answered: "i do not think you will be beaten, geoffrey, but if you will take advice from me, remember that over-confidence in your powers and the pride that goes with it may cost you many a minor victory. good-by, and good luck, geoffrey. you will remember me." that afternoon, while thurston was in the midst of preparations to leave his native land, the mining engineer called upon him with a provincial newspaper in his hand. "i suppose this is your answer," he remarked, laying his finger on a paragraph. "mr. g. thurston, who has, in the face of many difficulties, attempted to exploit the copper vein in crosbie fell, has been compelled to close the mine," the printed lines ran. "we understand he came upon an unexpected break in the strata, coupled with a subsidence which practically precludes the possibility of following the lost lead with any hope of commercial success. he has, therefore, placed his affairs in the hands of messrs. lonsdale & routh, solicitors, and, we understand, intends emigrating. his many friends and former employees wish him success." "yes," geoffrey answered dryly, "i sent them the information, also a copy to london financial papers. considering the interest displayed just now in british mines, they should insert a paragraph. i've staked down your backers' game in return for your threats, and you may be thankful you have come off so easily. your check is ready. it is the last you will ever get from me." the expert smiled almost good-naturedly. "you needn't have taken so much trouble, thurston," he said. "the exploitation of your rabbit burrow would only have been another drop in the bucket to my correspondents, and it's almost a pity we can't be friends, for, with some training, your sledge-hammer style would make its mark in the ring." "thanks!" replied geoffrey. "i'm not fishing for compliments, and it's probably no use explaining my motives--you wouldn't understand them. still, in future, don't set down every man commonly honest as an uncommon fool. if i ever had much money, which is hardly likely, i should fight extremely shy of any investments recommended by your friends!" chapter iii geoffrey's first contract it was springtime among the mountains which, glistening coldly white with mantles of eternal snow, towered above the deep-sunk valley, when, one morning, geoffrey thurston limped painfully out of a redwood forest of british columbia. the boom of a hidden river set the pine sprays quivering. a blue grouse was drumming deliriously on the top of a stately fir, and the morning sun drew clean, healing odors from balsam and cedar. the scene was characteristic of what is now the grandest and wildest, as it will some day be the richest, province of the canadian dominion. the serene majesty of snow-clad heights and the grandeur of vast shadowy aisles, with groined roofs of red branches and mighty colonnades of living trunks, were partly lost upon the traveler who, most of the preceding night, had trudged wearily over rough railroad ballast. he had acquired colonial experience of the hardest kind by working through the winter in an ontario logging camp, which is a rough school. an hour earlier the man, to visit whom thurston had undertaken an eight-league journey, had laughed in his face when he offered to drain a lake which flooded his ranch. saying nothing, but looking grimmer than ever, geoffrey had continued his weary journey in search of sustenance. he frowned as he flung himself down beneath a fir, for, shimmering like polished steel between the giant trees, the glint of water caught his eye, and the blue wood smoke curling over the house on a distant slope suggested the usual plentiful colonial breakfast. although geoffrey's male forbears had been reckless men, his mother had transmitted him a strain of north-country canniness. the remnant of his poor possessions, converted into currency, lay in a canadian bank to provide working capital and, finding no scope for his mental abilities, he had wandered here and there endeavoring to sell the strength of his body for daily bread. sometimes he had been successful, more often he had failed, but always, when he would accept it, the kindly bush settlers gave him freely of their best. as he basked in the warmth and brightness, he took from his pocket a few cents' worth of crackers. when he had eaten, his face relaxed, for the love of wild nature was born in him, and the glorious freshness of the spring was free to the poorest as well as to the richest. he stooped to drink at a glacier-fed rill, and then producing a corn-cob pipe, sighed on finding that only the tin label remained of his cake of tobacco. through the shadow of the firs two young women watched him with curiosity. the man looked worn and weary, his jean jacket was old and torn, and an essential portion of one boot was missing. the stranger's face had been almost blackened by the snow-reflected glare of the clear winter sun, and yet both girls decided that he was hardly a representative specimen of the wandering fraternity of tramps. helen savine was slender, tall, and dark. though arrayed in a plain dress of light fabric, she carried herself with a dignity befitting the daughter of the famous engineering contractor, julius savine, and a descendant, through her mother, from seigneurs of ancient french descent who had ruled in patriarchal fashion in old-world quebec. jean graham, whose father owned the ranch on the slope behind them, was ruddy in face, with a solidity of frame that betokened caledonian extraction, and true trans-atlantic directness of speech. "he must be hungry," whispered jean. "quite good-looking, too, and it's queer he sits there munching those crackers, instead of walking straight up and striking us for a meal. i don't like to see a good-looking man hungry," she added, reflectively. "we will go down and speak to him," said helen, and the suggestion that she should interview a wandering vagrant did not seem out of place in that country where men from many different walks of life turned their often ill-fitted hands to the rudest labor that promised them a livelihood. in any case, helen possessed a somewhat imperious will, which was supplemented by a grace of manner which made whatever she did appear right. geoffrey, looking round at the sound of approaching steps, stood suddenly upright, thrusting the more dilapidated boot behind the other, and wondering with what purpose the two girls had sought him. one he recognized as a type common enough throughout the dominion--kindly, shrewd, somewhat hard-featured and caustic in speech; but the other, who looked down on him with thinly-veiled pity, more resembled the women of birth and education whom he had seen in england. "you are a stranger to this district. looking for work, perhaps?" said helen savine. geoffrey lifted his wide and battered felt hat as he answered, "i am." "there is work here," announced helen. "i can offer you a dollar now--if you would care to earn it. yonder rock, which i believe is a loose boulder, obstructs our wagon trail. if you are willing to remove it and will follow us to the ranch, you will find suitable tools." geoffrey flushed a little under his tan. when seeking work he had grown used to being sworn at by foremen with protectionist tendencies, but it galled him to be offered a woman's charity, and the words "if you would care to earn it," left a sting. nevertheless, he reflected that any superfluous sensitiveness would be distinctly out of place in one of his position, and, considering the wages paid in that country, the man who rolled the boulder clear would well earn his dollar. accordingly he answered: "i should be glad to remove the rock, if i can." the two young women turned back towards the ranch, and thurston followed respectfully, as far as possible in the rear, that they might not observe the condition of his attire. this was an entirely superfluous precaution, for helen's keen eyes had noticed. reaching the ranch, geoffrey possessed himself of a grub-hoe, which is a pick with an adz-shaped blade with an ax and shovel; also he returned with the girls to the boulder. for an hour or two he toiled hard, grubbing out hundredweights of soil and gravel from round about the rock. then cutting a young fir he inserted the butt of it as a lever, and spent another thirty minutes focusing his full strength on the opposite end. the rock, however, refused to move an inch, and, because a few crackers are not much for a hungry man to work on after an all-night march, thurston became conscious that he had a headache and a distressful stitch in his side. still, being obstinate and filled with an unreasoning desire to prove his trustworthiness to his fair employer, he continued doggedly, and after another hour's digging found the stone still immovable. then it happened that while, with the perspiration dripping from him, he tugged at the lever, the rancher who had rebuffed him that morning, drew rein close beside. "hello! what are you after now? you're messing all this trail up if you're doing nothing else," he declared in a tone of challenge. "if you have come here to amuse yourself at my expense, take care. i'm not in the mood for baiting," answered thurston, who still smarted under the recollection of the summary manner in which the speaker had rejected his proffered services. "there are, however, folks in this country more willing to give a stranger a chance than you, and i've taken a contract to remove that rock for a dollar. now, if you are satisfied, ride on your way." "then you've made a blame bad bargain," commented the rancher, with unruffled good humor. "i was figuring that i might help you. i thought you were a hobo after my chickens, or trying to bluff me into a free meal this morning. if you'd asked straight for it, i'd have given it you." geoffrey hesitated, divided between an inclination to laugh or to assault the rancher, who perhaps guessed his thoughts, for, dismounting, he said: "if you're so mighty thin-skinned what are you doing here? why don't you british dukes stop right back in your own country where folks touch their hats to you? let me on to that lever." for at least twenty minutes, the two men tugged and panted. then bransome, the rancher, said: "the blame thing's either part of the out-crop or wedged fast there forever, and i've no more time to spare. say, graham's a hard man, and has been playing it low on you. what's the matter with turning his contract up and going over to fill oat bags for me?" "thank, but having given my word to move that rock, i'm going to stay here until i do it," answered geoffrey; and bransome, nodding to him, rode on towards the ranch. when he reached it bransome said to jean graham in the hearing of miss savine: "the old man has taken in yonder guileless stranger who has put two good dollars' worth of work into that job already, and the rock's rather faster than it was before." "did he say mr. graham hired him?" asked helen, and she drew her own inference when bransome answered: "why, no! i put it that way, and he didn't contradict me." it was afternoon when thurston realized at last that even considerable faith in one's self is not sufficient, unaided, to move huge boulders. he felt faint and hungry, but the pride of the insular briton restrained him from begging for a meal. his own dislike to acknowledge defeat also prompted him to decide that where weary muscles failed, mechanical power might succeed, and he determined to tramp back a league to the settlement in the hope of perhaps obtaining a drill and some giant powder on credit. he had not studied mining theoretically as well as in a costly practical school for nothing. it was a rough trail to the settlement. the red dust lay thick upon it and the afternoon sun was hot. when at last, powdered all over with dust and very weary, thurston came in sight of the little wooden store, he noticed bransome's horse fastened outside it. he did not see the rancher, who sat on an empty box behind a sugar hogshead inside the counter. "i want two sticks of giant powder, a fathom or two of fuse, and several detonators," said geoffrey as indifferently as he could. "i have only two bits at present to pay for them, but if they don't come to more than a dollar you shall have the rest to-morrow. i also want to borrow a drill." the storekeeper was used to giving much longer credit than geoffrey wanted, but the glance he cast at the applicant was not reassuring, and it is possible he might have refused his request, but that, unseen by thurston, bransome signaled to him from behind the barrel. "we don't trade that way with strangers generally," the storekeeper answered. "still, if you want them special, and will pay me what they're worth to-morrow, i'll oblige you, and even lend you a set of drills. but you'll come back sure, and not lose any of them drills?" he added dubiously. "i haven't come here to rob you. it's a business deal, and not a favor i'm asking," asserted geoffrey grimly, and when he withdrew the storekeeper observed: "why can't you do your own charity, bransome, instead of taxing me? that's the crank who wanted to run your lake down, isn't he? i guess i'll never see either him or them drills again." "you will," the rancher assured him. "if that man's alive to-morrow you'll get your money; i'll go bail for him. he's just the man you mention, but i'm considerably less sure about the crankiness than i was this morning. there's a quantity of fine clean sand in him." meanwhile, and soon after geoffrey had set out for the store, the two girls strolled down the trail to ascertain how he was progressing. they looked at each other significantly when they came upon the litter of débris and tools. "lit out!" announced jean graham. "the sight of all that work was too much for him. he'll be lying on his back now by the river thinking poetry. this country's just thick with reposeful britishers nobody at home has any use for, and their kind friends ship off onto us. in a way i'm sorry. he lit out hungry, and he didn't look like a loafer." "i'm afraid we were a little hard upon him," said helen, smiling. "still, i am somewhat surprised he did not carry out his bargain." "you can never trust those gilt-edge britishers," said jean graham with authority. "there was old man peters who took one of them in, and he'd sit in the store nights making little songs to his banjo, and talking just wonderful. said he was a baronet or something, if he had his rights, and made love to sally. old fool peters believed him, and lent him three hundred dollars to start a lawsuit over his english property with. dessay peters thought red-haired sally would look well trailing round as a countess in a gold-hemmed dress. the baronet took the money, but wanted some more, and lit out the same night with lou of the sapin rouge saloon." "i should hardly expect all that from our acquaintance of this morning, but i am disappointed, though i'm sure i don't know why i should be," said helen savine. the sunlight had faded from the valley, though the peaks still shimmered orange and red, and the broken edge of a glacier flashed like a great rose diamond, when the two girls sat on the veranda encircling graham's ranch-house. the rancher and his stalwart sons were away rounding up his cattle, but jean was expecting both them and her mother and the delayed supper was ready. the evening was very still and cool. the life-giving air was heavy with the breath of dew-touched cedars, while the hoarse clamor of the river accentuated the hush of the mountain solitude. strange to say, both of the girls were thinking about the vagrant, and helen savine, who considered herself a judge of character, had been more impressed by him than she would have cared to admit. there was no doubt, she reflected, that the man was tolerably good-looking and had enjoyed some training, though perhaps not the best, in england. he had also known adversity, she deduced from the gauntness of his face and a certain grimness of expression. she had noticed that his chin indicated a masterful expression and she was, therefore, the more surprised that he had allowed himself to be vanquished by the boulder. suddenly a heavy crash broke through the musical jangle of cow bells that drew nearer up the valley, and a cloud of yellow smoke curling above the dark branches spread itself across the fir tops in filmy folds. "i guess that's our hobo blowing the rock up!" cried jean. "i wonder where he stole the giant powder from. well, daddy's found his cattle, and the swearing will have made him hungry. i'll start kate on to the supper, and we'll bring the man in when he comes round for his dollar." presently thurston knocked at the door, and strode in at a summons to enter. slightly abashed, he halted inside the threshold. jean, looking ruddy and winsome in light print dress, with sleeves rolled clear of each plump fore-arm, was spreading great platefuls of hot cakes and desiccated fruits among the more solid viands on the snowy tablecloth. geoffrey found it difficult to refrain from glancing wolfishly at the good things until his eyes rested upon miss savine, and then it cost him an effort to turn them away. helen reclined on an ox-hide lounge. an early rose rested among the glossy clusters of her thick, dark hair. a faint tinge of crimson showed through the pale olive in her cheek, and he caught the glimmer of pearly teeth between the ripe red lips. in her presence he grew painfully conscious that he was ragged, toil-stained and dusty, though he had made the best toilet he could beside a stream. "i have removed the rock, and have brought the tools back," he said. "how much did the explosives cost you?" asked helen, and geoffrey smiled. "if you will excuse me, is not that beside the question? i engaged to remove the boulder, and i have done it," he answered. ever since her mother's death, helen savine had ruled her father and most of the men with whom she came in contact. she had come to the ranch with mr. savine, who was interested in many enterprises in the neighborhood and she was prepared to be interested in whatever occurred. few of her wishes ever had been thwarted, so, naturally, she was conscious of a faint displeasure that a disheveled wanderer should even respectfully slight her question. placing two silver coins on the table, the said coldly: "then here are your covenanted wages, and we are obliged to you." geoffrey handed one of the coins back with a slight inclination of his head. "our bargain was one dollar, madam, and i cannot take more. perhaps you have forgotten," he replied. helen was distinctly annoyed now. the color grew a little warmer in her cheek and her eyes brighter, but she uttered only a "thank you," and took up the piece of silver. jean graham, prompted by the westerner's generous hospitality, and a feeling that she had been overlooked, spoke: "you have earned a square meal any way, and you're going to get it," she declared. "sit right down there and we'll have supper when the boys come in." uneasily conscious that helen was watching him, thurston cast a swift hungry glance at the food. then, remembering his frayed and tattered garments and the hole in his boot, he answered: "i thank you, but as i must be well on my way to-morrow i cannot stay." "then you'll take these along, and eat them when it suits you," said the girl, deftly thrusting a plateful of hot cakes upon him. divided between gratitude and annoyance, geoffrey stood still, stupidly holding out the dainties at arm's length, while flavored syrup dripped from them. it was equally impossible to return them without flagrant discourtesy or to retire with any dignity. finally, he moved out backwards still clutching the plate of cakes, and when he had disappeared helen laughed softly, while jean's merriment rang out in rippling tones. "you saved the situation," said helen. "it was really getting embarrassing, and he made me ashamed. i ought to have known better than to play that trick with the dollar, but the poor man looked as if he needed it. he is certainly not a hobo, and i could wonder who he is, but that it does not matter, as we shall never see him again." meanwhile, geoffrey thurston walked savagely down the trail. he felt greatly tempted to hurl the cakes away, but, on second thoughts, ate them instead. it was a trifling decision, but it led to important results, as trifles often do, because, if he had not satisfied his hunger, he would have limped back through the settlement towards the railroad and probably never would have re-entered the valley. as it was, when the edge of his hunger was blunted he felt drowsy, and, curling himself up among the roots of hemlock, sank into slumber under the open sky. early next morning bransome stopped him on the trail. "i've been thinking over what you told me about making a rock cutting to run the water clear of my meadows," said the rancher, "and if you're still keen on business i'm open to talk to you." "why didn't you talk yesterday morning?" inquired thurston, and bransome answered frankly: "well, just then i had my doubts about you; now i figure that if you say you can do a thing, you can. come over to the ranch, and, if we can't make a deal, i'll give you a week's work, any way." "thanks!" replied thurston. "i should be glad to, but i have some business at the settlement first. will you advance me a dollar, on account of wages, so that i can discharge a debt to the storekeeper?" "why, yes!" agreed the rancher. "but didn't you get a dollar from graham yesterday? do you want two?" "yes!" said thurston. "i want two," and bransome laughed. "you're in a greater hurry to pay your debts than other folks from your country i've met over here," he observed with a smile. "but come on to the ranch and breakfast; i'll square the storekeeper for you." thurston accepted the chance that offered him a sustaining meal, but he did not explain that, owing to some faint trace of superstition in his nature, he intended to keep helen savine's dollar. it was the first coin that he had earned as his own master, in the dominion, and he felt that the successfully-executed contract marked a turning point in his career. chapter iv geoffrey makes progress thurston did justice to his breakfast at bransome's ranch, and he frankly informed his host that he had found it difficult to exist on two handfuls of crackers and one of hot corn cakes. when the meal was finished and pipes were lighted, the two men surveyed each other with mutual interest. they were not unlike in physique, for the colonial, was, as is usual with his kind, lean and wiry. his quick, restless movements suggested nervous energy, but when advisable, he could assume the bovine stolidity which, though foreign to his real nature, the canadian bushman occasionally adopts for diplomatic purposes. thurston, however, still retained certain traits of the insular briton, including a curtness of speech and a judicious reserve. "that blame lake backs up on my meadows each time the creek rises," bransome observed at length. "the snow melts fast in hay-time, and, more often than i like, a freshet harvests my timothy grass for me. now cutting down three-hundred-foot redwoods is good as exercise, but it gets monotonous, and a big strip of natural prairie would be considerably more useful than a beaver's swimming bath. you said you could blow a channel through the rocks that hold up the outlet, didn't you?" "i can!" geoffrey asserted confidently. "from some knowledge of mining i am inclined to think that a series of heavy charges fired simultaneously along the natural cleavage would reduce the lake's level at least a fathom. have you got a pencil?" here it was that the national idiosyncrasies of the men became apparent; for thurston, leaning on one elbow, made an elaborate sketch and many calculations with bransome's pencil. a humming-bird, resplendent in gold and purple, blundered in between the roses shrouding the open window, and hovered for a moment above him on invisible wings. thurston did not notice the bird, but bransome flung a crust at it as he smiled on his companion. "we'll take the figures for granted. life is too short to worry over them," the rancher said. "let's get down to business. how much are you asking, no cure no pay, i finding tools and material? i want your bottom price straight away." thurston had never done business in so summary a fashion before, but he could adapt himself to circumstances, and he mentioned a moderate sum forthwith. "can't come down?--then it's a deal!" bransome announced. "contract--this is the pacific slope, and we've no time for such foolery. i'm figuring that i can trust you, and my word's good enough in this locality. run that pond down a fathom and you'll get your money. any particular reason why you shouldn't start in to-day? don't know of any? then put that pipe in your pocket, and we'll strike out for the store at the settlement now." so it came about that at sunset geoffrey was deposited with several bags of provisions, a blanket, and a litter of tools, outside a ruined shack on the edge of the natural prairie surrounding bransome's lake. he had elected to live beside his work. a tall forest of tremendous growth walled the lake, and then for a space rotting trees and willow swale showed where the intermittent rise of waters had set a limit to the all-encroaching bush. the wail of a loon rang eerily out of the shadow, and was answered by the howl of a distant wolf. a thin silver crescent sailed clear of the fretted minarets of towering firs clear cut against a pale pearl of the sky. "carlton's prairie, we call it," said bransome, leaning against his light wagon, which stood, near the deserted dwelling. "land which isn't all rock or forest is mighty scarce, and carlton figured he'd done great things when he bought this place. five years he tried to drain it, working night and day, and pouring good money into it, and five times the freshets washed out his crops for him. the creek just laughed at his ditches. then when he'd no more money he went out to help track-laying, and a big tree flattened him. the boys said he didn't seem very sorry. this prairie had broken his heart for him, and i've heard the siwash say he still comes back and digs at nights when the moon is full." "carlton made a mistake," said geoffrey, who had been examining the surroundings rather than listening to the tale. "he began in what looked the easiest and was the hardest way. he should have cut the mother rock instead of trenching the forest." when bransome drove away thurston rolled himself in the thick brown blanket, and sank into slumber under the lee of the dead man's dwelling, through which a maple tree had grown from the inside, wrenching off the shingle roof. an owl that circled about the crumbling house, stooped now and then on muffled wing to inspect the sleeper. once a stealthy panther, slipping through the willows, bared its fangs and passed the other way, and the pale green points of luminescence that twinkled in the surrounding bush, and were the eyes of timber wolves, faded again. neither did the deer that panther and wolves sought, come down to feed on the swamp that night, for a man, holding dominion over the beasts of the forest, lay slumbering in the desolate clearing. geoffrey began work early next day, and afterwards week by week toiled from dawn until nearly sunset, blasting clear minor reefs and ledges until he attacked the mother rock under the lip of a clashing fall. the fee promised was by no means large, and, because current wages prohibited assistance, he did all the work himself. so he shoveled débris and drilled holes in the hard blue grit; and drilling, single-handed, is a difficult operation, damaging to the knuckles of the man attempting it. he waded waist-deep in water, learned to carry heavy burdens on his shoulder, and found his interest in the task growing upon him. he felt that much depended upon the successful completion of his contract. it was not, however, all monotonous labor, and there were compensations, for, after each day's toil was done, he lay prone on scented pine twigs, and heard the voices of the bush break softly through the solemn hush as, through gradations of fading glories along the lofty snows, night closed in. he would watch the black bear grubbing hog-fashion among the tall wild cabbage, while the little butter duck, paddling before its brood, set divergent lines creeping across the steely lake until the shadows of the whitened driftwood broke and quivered. sometimes he would call the chipmunks, which scurried up and down behind him, or tap on a rotten log until a crested woodpecker cried in answer, and by degrees the spell of the mountains gained upon him, until he forgot his troubles and became no more subject to fits of berserk rage. he was growing quiet and more patient, learning to wait, but his energy and determination still remained. but he was not wholly cut off from human intercourse, for at times some of the scattered ranchers would ride over to offer impracticable advice or to predict his failure, and geoffrey listened quietly, answering that in time it would be proved which was right. sometimes, he tramped through scented shadow to graham's homestead and discussed crops and cattle with the rancher. on these occasions, he had long conversations with helen savine, who, finding no person of liberal education thereabouts, was pleased to talk to him. there was nothing incongruous in this, for petty class distinctions vanish in the bush, where, when his daily task is done, the hired man meets his master on terms of equality. at last the day on which thurston's work was to be practically tested arrived, and most of the ranchers drove over to witness what they regarded as a reckless experiment. jean graham and helen savine stood a little apart from the rest on the edge of the forest looking down on the glancing water and talking with the experimenter. the rich wet meadows were heavy with flag and blossom to the edge of the driftwood frieze, and the splash of rising trout alone disturbed the reflection of the mighty trunks and branches crowning a promontory on the farther side. "it is very beautiful, and now you are going to spoil it all, mr. bransome," said helen. the rancher glanced at her with admiration in his eyes. helen was worthy of inspection. her thin summer dress, with the cluster of crimson roses tucked into the waist of it, brought out her rich beauty which betokened a latin ancestry. "yes, it's mighty pretty; a picture worth looking at--all of it," he said, and there was a faint smile on helen's lips as she recognized that the general tribute to the picturesque was as far as bransome dared venture in the direction of a compliment. he was not a diffident person, but he felt a wholesome respect for helen savine. "mighty pretty, but what's the good of it, and i'm not farming for my health," he continued. "it's just a beautiful wilderness, and what has a man brains given him for, unless it's to turn the wilderness into cheese and butter. it has broken one man's heart, and my thick-headed neighbors said a swamp it would remain forever, but a stranger with ideas came along, and i told him, 'sail ahead.'" "i did hear you told him not to be a--perhaps i had better say--a simple fool," helen answered mischievously; and bransome coughed before he made reply. "maybe!" he acknowledged. "i didn't know him then, but to-day i'm ready to back that man to put through just whatever he sets his mind upon." as bransome spoke, the subject of this encomium came up from the little gorge by the lake outlet, and it struck helen savine that the rock worker had changed to advantage since she first saw him. his keen eyes, which she had noticed were quick to flash with anger, had grown more kindly and the bronzed face was more reposeful. the thin jean garments and great knee boots, which had no longer any rents in them, suited the well-proportioned frame. "i was disappointed about the electric firing gear ordered from vancouver, but i think the coupled time-fuses should serve almost as well," said thurston, acknowledging helen's presence with a bow that was significant. "you appear interested, miss savine. we are trusting to the shock of a number of charges fired simultaneously, and perhaps you had better retire nearer the bush, for the blast will be powerful. i should like your good wishes, since you are in a measure responsible for this venture. you will remember you gave me my first commission." "you have them!" said helen, with a frank sincerity, for though the man was a mere enterprising laborer, she was too proud to assume any air of condescension. she was helen savine, and considered that she had no need to maintain her dignity. geoffrey returned a conventional answer, and there was a buzz of voices as he and bransome walked back together towards the gorge. the rancher halted discreetly when his companion, taking a brand from a fire near it, clambered over the boulders. geoffrey disappeared among the rocks, and the voices grew louder when he came into view again walking hurriedly. several trails of thin blue vapor began to crawl in and out among the rocks. bransome joined thurston, and both men broke into a smart trot. they were heading for the bush until geoffrey, halting near it, ran back at full speed towards the gorge. all who watched him were astonished, for they were already bracing themselves to face the heavy shock. "he's mad--stark mad!" roared graham. "come back for your life, bransome. it's smashed into small pieces both of you will be," and the eyes of the spectators grew wide as they watched the two running figures, for the rancher also had turned, and the lines of vapor were creeping with ominous swiftness across the face of the stone. there was a roar as the behind man clutched at the other, missed him, and staggered several paces, leaving his hat behind him before he took up the chase again. single cries sharper than the rest rose out of the clamor, "blown to glory both of them! two sticks of giant powder in most of the holes. all that's left of the britisher won't be worth picking up!" the two men disappeared among the boulders almost under the white foam of the fall, and for a brief space there was heavy silence emphasized by the song of hurrying water and the drumming of a blue-grouse on the summit of a fir. helen savine fancied she could hear the assembly breathing unevenly, and felt a pricking among the roots of her hair, while she struggled with an impulse which prompted her to cry aloud or in any wild fashion to break the torturing suspense. jean graham, whose eyes were wide with apprehension, noted that her face was bloodless to the lips. neither had as yet been rudely confronted with tragedy, and both felt held fast, spellbound, without the power to move. "the lord have mercy on them," said the hoarse voice of a man somewhere behind the girls. once more a murmur swelled into a roar, and jean, twining her brown fingers together, cried, "there! they're coming. they may be in time!" a figure, apparently bransome's, leaped down from a boulder close in front of one that climbed over the stone, and there followed harsh, breathless cries of encouragement as the two headed at mad speed for the sheltering forest, the rear runner, who came up with hands clenched and long swinging strides, gaining steadily on the one before him. they were near enough for those who watched to see that the fear of sudden death was stamped upon their perspiring faces. then, as they passed a spur of rock out-crop, thurston leaped upon the leader, hurled him forward so that he lost his balance and the pair went down out of sight among the rocks, while a shaft of radiance pale in the sunlight blazed aloft beside the outlet of the lake. thick yellow-tinted vapor followed it, and hillside and forest rang to the shock of a stunning detonation. the smoke curling in filmy wreaths spread itself across the quaggy meadows, while the patter of falling fragments filled the quivering bush, and was mingled with a loud splashing, or a heavy crash as some piece of greater weight drove hurtling through the trees or plunged into the lake. then for the last time the assembly gave voice, raising a tumultuous cheer of relief as the two men came forth uninjured out of the eddying smoke. geoffrey, shaking the dust from his garments, turned to his companion with a somewhat nervous laugh: "we cut it rather fine," he said, "but i felt reasonably sure there would be just sufficient time, and it might have spoiled the whole blast if the two bad fuses had failed to fire their shots. of course, i'm grateful for your company, but as it was my particular business i don't quite see why you turned back after me." bransome, who mopped his forehead, stared at the speaker with some wonder and more admiration before he answered: "there's a good deal of cast iron about you, and i guess i'd a long way sooner have trusted the rest than have gone back to stir up those two charges. what took me?--well, i figured you had turned suddenly crazy, and i was in a way responsible for you. made the best bargain for your time i could, but i didn't buy you up bones and body--see?" "i think i do," answered geoffrey, and that was all, but it meant the recognition of a bond between them. bransome, as if glad to change the subject, asked: "say, after you had fired the fuse what did you waste precious seconds looking for? if i wasn't too scared to notice anything clearly i'd swear you found something and picked it up." "i did!" declared geoffrey, smiling. "it was something i must have dropped before. only a trifle, but i would not like to lose it, and--i had one eye on the fuses--there seemed a second or two to spare. however, for some reason my throat feels all stuck together. have you any cider in your wagon?" half-an-hour later, when most of the spectators stood watching the released waters thunder down the gorge, for the blast had been successful, helen savine said: "i don't quite understand what happened, mr. bransome." "it was this way!" answered the rancher, glad to profit by any opportunity of interesting the girl. "that thurston is a hard, tough man. two fuses that were to fire small charges petered out, and sooner than risk anything he must light them again. i don't quite understand all the rest of it, either, for he's not a mean man, and why he should stay fooling on top of a powder mine looking for one dollar when i've a hatful to pay him is away beyond me. yet i'm sure he picked up a piece of silver just before we ran. curious kind of creature, isn't he?" helen thought the incident distinctly odd. she could not comprehend why a man should risk his life for the sake of a silver coin. she could not find a solution of the mystery until it was explained that evening. geoffrey thurston, attired in white shirt, black sash, and new store clothes, had tramped over to graham's ranch and by degrees he and miss savine gravitated away from the others. they were interested in subjects that did not appeal to the rest, and, though jean smiled mischievously at times, this excited no comment. clear moonlight sparkled upon the untrodden snows above them, snows that had remained stainless since the giant peaks were framed when the world was young. the pines were black on their lower slopes, and white mists filled the valley, out of which the song of the river rose in long reverberations. geoffrey and helen leaned on the veranda balustrade, both silent, for the solemnity of the mountains impressed them, and speech seemed superfluous. after a while, the girl told geoffrey that he ought to be glad to live after his narrow escape from death. "there was really no great risk, and, if there had been, the results would have justified it," geoffrey replied. "the failure of two charges might have spoiled all my work for me. since i left you the roads and trails surveyor voluntarily offered me a rock work contract he had refused before, and i at once accepted it." "you have not been used to this laborious life. have you no further ambition, and do you like it?" asked helen, flashing a quick glance at him. "it is not exactly what i expected, but as there appears to be no great demand in this country for mental abilities, one is glad to earn a living as one can," he said. "i am afraid i am a somewhat ambitious person. i consider this only the beginning, and miss savine responsible for it. you will remember who it was offered me my first contract." "don't!" commanded helen, averting her eyes. "that is hardly fair or civil. you really looked so--and how was i to know?" geoffrey's pulse beat faster, and the smile faded out of his eyes as he noticed, for the moon was high, the trace of faintly heightened color in the speaker's face. "i doubtless looked the hungry, worn-out tramp i was," he interposed gravely. "and out of gentle compassion, you offered me a dollar. well, i earned that dollar, and i have it still. it has brought me good luck, and i will keep it as a talisman." instinctively his fingers slid to one end of a thin gold chain, and for a moment a look of consternation came into his face, for the links hung loose; then as the hard hand dropped to his pocket, he looked relieved and helen found it judicious to watch a gray blur of shadow moving across the snow. she had sometimes wondered what he wore at one end of that cross-pattern chain, for rock cutters do not usually adorn themselves with such trinkets, but, remembering bransome's comments, she now understood what had happened just before the explosion. geoffrey's quick eyes had noticed something unusual in her air, and his old reckless spirit, breaking through all restraint, prompted him to say: "it will, i fancy, still bring me good fortune. i come of a superstitious race, and nothing would tempt me to part with it. this, as i said, is only the beginning. it appeared impossible to move the boulder from your wagon trail, and i did it. the neighbors declared nobody could drain bransome's prairie, and a number of goodly acres are drying now, while to-night i feel it may be possible to go on and on, until----" "does not that sound somewhat egotistical?" interposed helen. "horribly," said thurston, with a curious smile. "but you see i am trusting in the talisman, and some day i may ask you to admit that i have made it good. i'm not avaricious, and desire money only as means to an end. dollars! if all goes well, the contract for the wagon road rock work should bring me in a good many of them." "you are refreshingly certain," averred helen. "but will the end or dominant purpose justify all this?" thurston answered quietly: "i may ask you to judge that, also, some day!" helen was conscious of a chagrin quite unusual to her. hitherto, she had experienced little difficulty in making the men she knew regret anything that resembled presumption, but with this man it was different. what he meant she would not at the moment ask herself, but, though she rather admired his quietly confident tone, it nettled her, and yet, without begging an awkward question she could not resent it. geoffrey's reckless frankness was often more unassailable than wiser men's diplomacy--and she was certainly pleased that he had recovered the dollar. "the dew is getting heavy, and i promised jean some instruction in netting," she told him rather unsteadily. she paused a second, and, with an assumed carelessness, added, "isn't it useless to forecast the future?" chapter v the legends of crosbie ghyll helen savine had passed two years in england, and, because her father was a prosperous man who humored her slightest wishes, she occasionally returned to take her pleasure in what she called the old country. it is a far cry from the snowy heights of the pacific slope to the pleasant valleys of the north country, but in these days of quadruple-expansion engines, distance counts but little when one has sufficient money. the atlantic express had brought helen and her aunt by marriage, mrs. thomas p. savine, into montreal, whence a fast train had conveyed them to new york in time to catch a big southampton liner, but mrs. savine was a restless lady, and had grown tired of london within six weeks from the day she left vancouver. she was an american, and took pains to impress the fact upon anybody who mistook her for a canadian, and, finding a party of her countrymen and women, whom she had hoped to overtake in the metropolis, had departed northwards, she determined to follow them to the english lakes. "it's a big, hot, dusty wilderness, tom, and we've seen all they've got to show us here before," she said to her long-suffering husband, as she stood in the vestibule of a fashionable hotel. "say, we'll pull out to-day and catch the schroeders' party meditating around wordsworth's tomb. young man, will you kindly get us a railroad schedule?" the silver-buttoned official, who watched the big plate-glass door, started at a smart rap on his shoulder, and blinked at the angular lady in a startling costume and a blue veil. thomas savine interposed meekly: "a time-table; and that's evidently not the man to ask, my dear." "then he can tell the right one," mrs. savine answered airily, and presently halted before a row of resplendently-gilded books adorning one portion of the vestibule. she thereupon explained for the benefit of all listeners that it was hard to see the necessity for so many railways in so small a country, and finally, with a clerk's assistance, selected a train which would deposit her at oxenholme, from which place the official suggested that she might find means of transport into the district in which, to the best of his belief, coleridge and wordsworth, or one of them, wrote what mrs. savine entitled charming little pieces. it proved good counsel, and two of the party passed a delightful week at ambleside, where their sojourn was marred only by mrs. savine's laments that potatoes were not served at supper and breakfast. "i want some potatoes with my ham," she said, and when the attendant explained that the vegetables were never eaten in england at that meal, she inquired, "don't you grow potatoes anywhere in this country?" the attendant said that very fine ones were produced in the immediate vicinity, and mrs. savine waved a jeweled hand majestically. "then away you go and buy some. i'll sit right here until they're boiled," she said. "it really isn't the custom, and you know you never got them in london, and hardly ate them at home," said thomas savine, but mrs. savine remained superior to such reasoning. "that's quite outside the question. i want those potatoes, and i'm going to have them," she insisted. there was a whispering at the end of the breakfast hall, somebody whistled up a tube, and the hotel manager appeared to announce, with regrets, that it was unfortunately impossible in the busy season to upset the culinary arrangements for the benefit of a single guest. "then we'll start again and follow the schroeders' trail to that place in cumberland," mrs. savine decided. "tom, you go out and buy one of those twenty five cent guide-books which tell you all about everything. hire some ponies and a man, and we'll drive a straight line across the mountains." the manager respectfully suggested it would be better to take the train, even though the railway went round, because the mountains were lofty, and the roads were indifferent in the region traversed. to this the lady answered with some truth that the highest peak in britain was a pigmy to the lowest of the selkirks, and that she had spent two summers camping among the fastnesses of the snow-clad olympians. "your aunt is a smart woman, but she can't help upsetting things," said thomas savine, when his niece went out with him to make arrangements for the trip. helen smiled pleasantly, for she knew her aunt's good qualities, and also she was fond of adventurous wanderings. it was perfect weather, and the three tourists enjoyed their journey among the less frequented fells, during which they camped, so thomas savine termed it, each night in some high-perched hostelry or trout-fisher's haunt. helen realized that never before had she fully appreciated the beauty of england. quite apart from its wonders of industrial enterprise, tide of world-wide commerce, and treasury of literature and art, the old country was to be loved for its quiet, green restfulness, she thought. suddenly there came a change. a south-wester drove thick rain-clouds scudding across peak and valley, and filled the passes with dank, white mists from the irish sea, and so, towards the close of a threatening day, mrs. savine's party came winding down in a hurry from a bare hill shoulder and under the gray crags of crosbie fell. the hollows beneath them were lost in a woolly vapor, low-flying scud raked the bare ridges above, and even as they passed a black rift in the hillside the first heavy drops of rain fell pattering. helen savine had seen many a mining adit in british columbia, and, turning to glance at the mouth of the tunnel, she read, scratched on the rock beside it, "thurston's folly." that careless glance over her shoulder was to lead to important results. "there's wild weather brewing," said thomas savine. "make those ponies rustle, and we'll get in somewhere before it comes along." when they reached the little wind-swept village, it became evident that no shelter for the night could be found there, for it was seldom that even an enterprising pedestrian tourist came down from the high moors behind crosbie fell. still, one inhabitant informed their guide, in a tongue none of the others could comprehend, that if he was in an unusually good humor old musker, the keeper, might take them in at crosbie ghyll. thus it happened that just as the rain began in earnest, such a cavalcade as had probably never before passed its gloomy portals rode up to the gate of the dilapidated edifice. some of the iron-bound barriers still lay moldering in the hollow of the arch, and helen noticed slits for muskets in the stout walls above, for the owners had been a fighting race, and several times in bygone centuries the tide of battle had rolled about and then had ebbed away from the stubbornly-held stronghold. the observer had gathered so much from a paragraph in her guide-book. the romance of english history appealed to helen as it does to the citizens of the wider britain over seas, and she turned in her saddle to look about her. framed by the weather-worn archway she could see the black rampart of the fells fading into the rain, and the bare sweep of moss and moor, which had once stretched unbroken to the feet of the great ranges above the solway shore. inside the quadrangle, for the place had during the past century served as farm instead of hall, barn, cart-shed and shippon were ruinous and empty, but she could fill the space in fancy with sturdy archer, man-at-arms, and corsleted rider, for that the present venerable edifice had been built into an older one the stump of a square tower remained to testify. thomas savine pounded on the oaken door at one end of the courtyard until it was opened by a bent-shouldered man with frosted hair and wrinkled visage. "we are unfortunate strangers with a guide who has lost his way, and it would be a favor if you could take us in to-night out of the storm," he said. the older man glanced at the party suspiciously. "if you ride straight on across the moor you'll find a road, and a brand new hotel in twelve miles, where you'll get whatever you have been used to," he said. "i once took some london folks in, and after the thanks they gave me i never will again." "we're not londoners, only forlorn canadians," explained thomas savine. "never mind, matilda; he'll find out that you're an american in due time. we have all learned to rough it in our own country, and would trouble you very little." "what part of canada?" asked the forbidding figure in the doorway, and when savine answered, "british columbia," called "margery!" a little weazened woman, with cheeks still ruddy from much lashing of the wind, appeared in the portal. "strangers from british columbia! perhaps they know the master," said the man, and there was a whispering until the woman vanished, saying, "i'll ask miss gracie." she returned promptly, and, with a reserved courtesy, bade the party enter. then she sent her husband and the guide to stable the ponies, and fifteen minutes later the travelers reassembled beside the deep-seated window of a great stone-flagged room, darkly wainscoted, which apparently once had been the hall, and was now kitchen. there were a spotless cloth and neat cutlery on the table by the window; trout and bacon, hacked from the sides hanging beneath the smoke-blackened beams, frizzled upon a peat fire; and, though she found neither wine nor potatoes, mrs. savine said that she had not enjoyed such a meal since she left vancouver. "we can't give you a sitting-room to yourselves," apologized the withered dame as the removed the cloth. "what furniture there is above is covered up, and it will be ill finding you sleeping quarters even. nobody lives here beside ourselves, except when mr. forsyth comes down for a few weeks' shooting. his wife was a thurston, and he bought the old place to please her sooner than let it go out of the family." "a thurston!" said helen savine. "we saw 'thurston's folly' written beside a mining tunnel on the fell. was that one of the former owners? being colonials we are interested in all ancient buildings and their traditions." "oh, yes!" broke in mrs. savine. "we just love to hear about wicked barons and witches and all those quaint folk of the olden time." musker had drawn nearer meanwhile, and thomas savine held out the cigar case that lay upon his knee. "if we may smoke in the great hearth there, just help yourself," said he. "my wife is fond of antiquities, and if you have any to talk of, we should be glad of your company." musker glanced keenly at his guests. though, having lived elsewhere, he spoke easy colloquial english, he was a son of the north country dogged and slow, intensely self-respecting, and, while loyal with feudal fealty to superiors he knew, quick to resent a stranger's assumption of authority. thomas savine, brown-faced, vigorous, a pleasant colonial gentleman, smiled upon him good-naturedly, and musker took a cigar awkwardly. mrs. savine surveyed the great bare hall with respectful curiosity and evident interest, while helen, visibly interested, leaned back in her chair. "maybe you met the master in british columbia?" musker hazarded with an eager look in his dim eyes. "what is his full name, and what is he like?" asked helen, bending forward a little. the old woman, reaching over, lifted a faded photograph from the window seat. "geoffrey thurston!" she answered. "that was him when he was young. my husband yonder broke the pony in." helen started as she gazed at the picture of the boy and the pony. the face was like, and yet unlike, that of the gaunt and hungry man whom she had first seen sitting upon the fallen fir. "yes," she answered gravely; "i know him. i met mr. thurston in british columbia." "we would take it very kindly if you would tell us how and where you found him, miss," said musker in haste. "i found him in a great canadian forest. he was looking very worn and tired," helen answered, with a trace of color in her face. "i--i hired him to do some work for me, and it was hard work--much harder than i fancied--but he did it, and, as we afterwards discovered, spent all i paid him on the powder he found was necessary." "ay," said the old man. "that was mr. geoffrey. they were all hard and ill to beat, the thurstons of crosbie. and you'll kindly tell us, miss, you saw him again?" "yes," repeated helen, "i saw him again. by good fortune the work he did for me procured him a contract he carried out daringly, and when i last saw him he was no longer hungry or ragged, but, i fancy, on the way to win success as an engineer." musker straightened his bent shoulders and smiled a slow, almost reluctant smile of pride, while his wife's eyes were grateful as she fixed them on the speaker. "ay! what mr. geoffrey sets his heart on he'll win or ruin himself over. it was the way of all of them; and this is gradely news," he told her. "now," said helen, nodding towards him graciously, "we don't wish to be unduly inquisitive, but--if you may tell us--why did mr. thurston emigrate to canada?" musker was evidently tempted to embark upon a favorite topic, and his wife went out hurriedly. but he hesitated, sitting silent for a minute or two. savine, rising under the arch of the great hearth, flung his cigar into the fire, as a young woman, wearing what helen noticed was a decidedly antiquated riding habit, came forward out of the shadows. "i hope we are not intruding here," said the canadian. "we were tired out before the rain came down, and almost afraid to cross the moor." "you are very welcome," said the stranger. "i am not, however, mistress, only a relative of the old place's owner, and, therefore, a kinswoman of geoffrey thurston. i heard that you had shown him a passing kindness, and should like to thank you." there was no apparent reason why the two young women should scrutinize each other, and yet both did so by the fading daylight and red blaze of the fire. helen saw that the stranger was ruddy and blonde--frank by nature and impulsive, she imagined. the stranger noted only that the colonial was pale and dark and comely, with a slightly imperious presence, and a face that it was not easy to read. "i am marian thwaite of barrow hall, and regret i cannot stay any longer, having three miles to ride in the rain," she said. "still, i may return to-morrow before you set out. mrs. forsyth will be pleased if she hears you have made these canadian strangers comfortable, musker, and i think you may tell them why mr. geoffrey left england. may i ask your names?" helen told her, and after miss thwaite departed, musker began the story of thurston's folly. it had grown quite dark. driving rain lashed the windows. the ancient building was filled with strange rumblings and the wailing of the blast when the old man concluded: "mr. geoffrey was too proud to turn a swindler, and that was why he shook off his sweetheart, who tried to persuade him, though he knew old anthony thurston would have left him his money, if they married." "some said it was the opposite," interposed his wife; but musker answered angrily, "then they didn't tell it right. no woman born could twist geoffrey thurston from his path, and when she gave him bad counsel he turned his back on her. a fool these dolts called him. he was a leal, hard man, and what was a light woman's greediness to him?" "and what became of the lady?" asked helen, with a curious flash in her eyes. "she married a london man, who came here shooting, married him out of spite, and has rued it many times if the tales are true. she was down with him fishing, looking sour and pale, and the hall maids were say----" "just gossip and lies!" broke in his spouse; and helen, who apparently had lapsed into a disdainful indifference, asked no further questions. mrs. savine, however, made many inquiries, and musker, who became unusually communicative, presently offered to show the strangers what he called the armory. they followed him down a draughty corridor to the black-wainscoted gun-room at the base of the crumbling tower, and when he had lighted a lamp its glow revealed a modern collection of costly guns. there were also trout-rods hung upon the wall, and a few good sporting etchings, at all of which musker glanced somewhat contemptuously. "these are mr. forsyth's, and i take care of them, but he only belongs to the place by purchase and marriage. those belonged to the thurstons--the old, dead thurstons--and they hunted men," he said. he ran the lamp up higher by a tarnished brass chain, and pointed first to a big moldering bow. "a thurston drew that in france long ago, and it has splitted many an annandale cattle thief in the solway mosses since. red geoffrey carried this long spear, and, so the story goes, won his wife with it, and brought her home on the crupper from beside the nith. she pined away and died just above where we stand now in this very tower. that was another geoffrey's sword; they hanged him high outside lancaster jail. he was for prince charlie, and cut down single-handed two of king george's dragoons carrying a warrant for a friend's arrest when the prince's cause was lost. his wife, she poisoned herself. those are the spurs mad harry rode hellfire on a wager down crosbie ghyll with, and broke his neck doing it, besides his young wife's heart. the women who married the thurstons had an ill lot to grapple with. even when they settled down to farming, the thurstons were men who would walk unflinchingly into ruin sooner than lose their grip on their purpose, and mr. geoffrey favors them." "they must have been just lovely," sighed mrs. savine. "say, i've taken a fancy to some of those old things. that rusty iron lamp can't be much use to anybody, but it's quaint, and i'd give it's weight in dollars for it. can't you tell me where mr. forsyth lives?" musker stared at her horrified, thomas savine laughed, and even helen, who had appeared unusually thoughtful, smiled. musker answered: "no money could buy one of them out of the family, and if any but a thurston moves that lamp from where it hangs the dead men rise and come for it when midnight strikes. it is falling to pieces, but once when they took it to kendal to be mended, the smith sent a man back with it on horseback before the day had broken." there was a few moments' silence when musker concluded, and the ancient weapons glinted strangely as the lamp's flame wavered in the chilling draughts. a gale from the irish sea boomed about the crumbling tower, and all the lonely mosses seemed to swell it with their moaning. helen shivered as she listened, for those clamorous voices of wind and rain carried her back in fancy to the old unhappy days of bloodshed and foray. the associations of the place oppressed her. she had acquired a horror of those grim dead men whose mementos hung above her, and whose spirits might well wander on such a night vainly seeking rest. even mrs. savine became subdued, and her husband said: "we can't tell tales like these in our country, and i'm thankful we can't. still, i daresay it was such men as these who bred in us the grit to chase the whales in the arctic, build our railroads through the snow-barred passes, and master the primeval forest. now we'll try to forget them, and go back out of this creepy place to the fire again." an hour later mrs. musker escorted helen to her quarters. a bright fire glowed in the rusty grate, and two candles burned on the dressing-table. "it's mrs. forsyth's own room, and the best in the house," the old caretaker assured the girl. "musker has been telling you about the old thurstons. he's main proud of them, but you needn't fear them--it's long since the last one walked. you have a kind heart, and nothing evil dare hurt you. see! i've tried to make you comfortable. you were kind to the old place's real master--many a time i've nursed him--god bless you!" helen was not in the least afraid of the dead thurstons. she was filled with the common-sense courage which characterizes the inhabitants of her new country, but she had been affected by the stories, and she sat for a time with her feet on the hearth irons, gazing thoughtfully into the blaze. she had met a modern thurston, and found the instincts of his forbears strong within him. she considered that strength, courage, and resolution well became a man, but that gentleness and chivalrous respect for women were desirable attributes, too. the thurstons, however, had taken to bloodshed as a pastime, and broken most of their wives' hearts until it seemed that they had brought a curse upon their race. she suspected there was a measure of their brutality in the one she knew. remembering something geoffrey once had said, her face grew flushed and she clenched a little hand with an angry gesture, saying, "no man shall ever make a slave of me, and my husband, if i have one, must be my servant before he is my master." thereupon she dismissed the subject, tried to blot the stories from her memory, and presently buried her ears in the pillow to shut out the clamor of the storm. after a sound night's slumber, and an interview with miss thwaite she resumed her journey next morning. musker stood in the gate to watch the party ride away, and glancing at the coins in his hand said to margery, "i wish they'd come often. main interested in my stories they were all of them, and it's double what any of the shooting folks ever gave me. this one came from the young lady, and there's a way about her that puzzles me after seeing her." chapter vi millicent's reward the late autumn evening was closing in. millicent leslie stood out on the terrace of the old north country hall, where, the year before, she had first met her husband. a pale moon had climbed above the high black ridge of moor, which shut in one end of the valley, and the big beech wood that rolled down the lower hillside had faded to a shadowy blur, but she could still see the dim, white road running straight between the hedgerows, and could catch the faint gleam of a winding river. twilight and night were meeting and melting into each other, the dew lay heavy upon the last of the dahlias beneath the terrace wall, and there was a chill of frost in the air. it was very still, though now and then the harsh call of a pheasant came up faintly through the murmur of the river from the depths of the wood. millicent could hear no other sound, though she strained her ears to listen and it seemed to her that the rattle of wheels should carry far down the silent valley. she was waiting somewhat anxiously for the return of her husband, who had set off that morning with three or four other men to walk certain distant stubble and turnip fields for partridges. they had passed a week at the hall, for, although millicent would have preferred to avoid that particular place, leslie had said he did not know of any other place where one could obtain rough shooting, as well as a more or less congenial company, in return for what was little more than a first-class hotel bill. he had also added that he needed a holiday, in which millicent had agreed with him. there was no doubt that he had looked jaded and harassed. millicent knew little about her husband's business, except that it was connected with stocks and shares, and the flotation of companies; but she was quite aware that he had met with a serious reverse soon after he married her, since it had been necessary for them to give up their town house and install themselves temporarily in a london flat. leslie had informed her that reverses were not uncommon in his profession, and he had appeared quite convinced of his ability to recover his losses in a new venture which had something to do with south african gold or diamonds. of late, however, he had grown dejected and moody. on the previous evening she had seen his face set hard, as he read a letter which bore the london postmark. he had not given her any information about the contents of the letter, for there had been no great measure of confidence between them; but there were one or two telegrams for him among those a groom had brought over from the nearest station during the day, and she felt a little uneasy as she thought of them. by and by, with a little shiver and a suppressed sigh, she glanced up at the highest part of the climbing wood. it was there she had had her last memorable interview with geoffrey, almost a year ago. though she had not cared to face the fact, she was troubled by a suspicion that she had made an unwise choice then. leslie had changed since their marriage. he was harsh at times, and though he had, even in their more humble quarters, surrounded her with a certain amount of luxury, there was a laxity in his manners and conversation that jarred upon her. geoffrey, she remembered, had not been addicted to mincing words, but, at least, he had lived in accordance with a spartan moral code. millicent was not a scrupulous woman, and her ideas of ethical justice were rudimentary, but she possessed in place of a conscience a delicate sense of refinement which her husband frequently offended. feeling chilly at length, and seeing no sign of the shooter's return, millicent went back into the house. she stopped when she reached the square entrance hall which served the purpose of a lounging-room. the hall had been rudely ceiled and paneled at a time when skilled craftsmen were scarce in the north country, and in the daylight it was more or less dim and forbidding, but with the lamps lighted and a fire blazing in the wide, old-fashioned hearth, the place looked invitingly comfortable. when she entered, millicent was not altogether pleased to see another woman there. marian thwaite, whom she knew but had not expected to meet, lay in a big chair near the fire. the glow of health which the keen air of the moors had brought there was in her face. she wore heavy boots and severely simple walking attire. her features suggested a decided character, and she had unwavering blue eyes. "mrs. boone won't be down for some minutes, and i believe the rest are dressing," marian said. "i haven't seen you since your marriage, and to tell the truth, you're not looking by any means as fresh as you did before you left us. i suppose it's one effect of living in london?" she studied millicent with a steady contemplative gaze, and there was no doubt that her comment was justified. millicent's face was pallid, there was a certain weariness in her eyes, and on the whole, her expression was languidly querulous. "i didn't know you were coming to-night," said millicent, as she sank into a chair. "i didn't know it myself," marian explained. "i was out on the fells, and i met boone as i came down this way. he said somebody would drive me home, if i'd stay. you have been here a week, haven't you? how is it you haven't come over to see us yet?" "as a matter of fact, i didn't intend to call, and it was rather against my wishes that we came up here," said millicent with the candor of an old acquaintance. "you were not very cordial when i last saw you, and i can't help a feeling that you are all of you prejudiced against me." quite unembarrassed marian looked at her with a reflective air. "yes," she admitted, "to some extent that's true. we're closely connected with the thurstons, and i've no doubt we make rather intolerant partisans. after all, it's only natural that we sympathize with geoffrey. besides--you can make what you like of it--he was always a favorite of mine. i suppose you haven't heard from him since he went to canada?" "would you have expected him to write?" marian smiled. "perhaps it would have been unreasonable, but taking it for granted that he hasn't been communicative, i've a piece of news for you. some canadian tourists stayed a night at the ghyll, two or three months ago, and it seems they met him in british columbia. i understand he is by no means prosperous, but at least getting a footing in the country, and the people apparently have rather a high opinion of him. did i mention that one of the party was a girl?" she saw the quickened interest in millicent's eyes. with assumed indifference in her voice millicent asked: "what kind of people were they?" "the girl was handsome--well-finished, too. in fact, she struck me as rather an imperious young person of some consequence in the place she came from. she would pass in any circle that you or i are likely to get an entry to. i don't know whether it's significant, but i understand from margery that she took some interest in musker's stories of the thurstons." there was nothing to show whether millicent was pleased with this or not. she did not speak for a moment or two. "did they mention what geoffrey had been doing?" she inquired presently. "chopping down trees for sawmills, or something of the kind. the man said geoffrey had evidently been what they call 'up against it' until lately when he seems to have got upon his feet. it will probably convince you that you were perfectly right in not marrying him." this time millicent laughed. "it wouldn't have counted for much with you?" marian looked at her with unwavering eyes. "no," she replied, "if i'd had any particular tenderness for geoffrey it certainly wouldn't have had the least effect beyond making me more sorry for him, but, as it happens, he never did anything to encourage vain ideas of the kind in me." she changed the subject with the abruptness which usually characterized her. "i suppose you haven't seen old anthony thurston since you married leslie? he, at least, is openly bitter against you." "i haven't. in a way, i suppose he is right. of course, he would take the stereotyped view that it was all my fault--that is to say, that i had discarded geoffrey?" "i believe he did, but it struck me once or twice that geoffrey proclaimed that view a little too loudly. of course, with his rather primitive notions of delicacy and what is due to us, it's very much what one would have anticipated in his case. he naturally wouldn't want to leave room for any suspicion that he--wasn't altogether satisfied with you." millicent's face clouded. "that is a point which concerns nobody except geoffrey and myself," she declared. "and anthony thurston," marian broke in. "of course, it's an open secret that if you had married geoffrey you would both have benefited by his will. as things have turned out, my own opinion is that the question whether either of you ever gets a penny of the property depends a great deal on the view he continues to take of the matter. any way, that's not the least concern of mine, except that i'm sorry for geoffrey. i wonder if i'm going too far in asking what it was you and he actually split upon. i'm referring to the immediate cause of the trouble." "i can tell you that," millicent answered quickly, for she was glad to remove the ground for one suspicion, which was evidently in marian's mind. "geoffrey insisted on giving up the mine when he could have sold it, and going out to australia or canada. i wouldn't go with him. i think nobody could have reasonably expected me to." marian smiled. "well," she said, "i wonder if you know that your husband was one of the men who were willing to take the mine over. there are reasons for believing it was what brought him here in the first place." millicent's start betrayed the fact that this was news to her, but just then there was a rattle of wheels outside, and marian rose. a murmur of voices and laughter grew clearer when the outer door was opened, and the two could hear the returning shooters talking with their host, who had gone out another way to meet them. "the birds were scarce and very wild," announced one of them. "we had only two or three brace all morning, though we were a little more fortunate when we got up onto the higher land. it's my candid opinion that we should have done better there, but leslie had all the luck in the turnips, and he made a shocking bad use of it." "that's a fact," assented leslie with what struck millicent as a rather strained laugh. "i was right off the mark. there are some days when you simply can't shoot." several of the women guests now entered the hall, but the men did not come in. judging from the sounds outside they seemed to be waiting while coats or cartridge bags were handed down to them from the dog-cart, and they were evidently bantering one another in the meanwhile. "it depends upon how long you sit up in the smoking-room on the previous night," said one of them, and another observed: "if you happen to be in business, the state of the markets has its effect." millicent started again at this, for she remembered her husband's expression when he had read his letter on the preceding evening. a third speaker took up the conversation. "i don't think any variation in the price of colonials or kaffirs, or of wheat and cotton, for that matter, should prevent a man from telling the difference between a hare and a dog. i've a suspicion that if tom cares to look he'll find one or two number six pellets in the hindquarters of the setter. it's a good thing our friend wasn't quite up to his usual form that time." a burst of laughter followed, and leslie's voice broke through it rather sharply as he replied: "he should have kept the brute in hand. the difference isn't a big one when you can only see a liver-colored patch through a clump of bracken. besides, there was a hare." "undoubtedly," cried somebody. "lawson got it." then they came in one after another, and while some of them spoke to their hostess and the other women leslie walked up to the little table where several letters were spread out. millicent watched him as he did it, and there was no doubt that the very way he moved was suggestive of restrained eagerness. she saw him tear open a telegram and crumple it in his hand, after which he seized a second one and ripped it across the fold in his clumsy haste. then as he put the pieces together his face grew suddenly pale and haggard. nobody else, however, appeared to notice him, and he leaned with one hand upon the table for a moment or two with his head turned away from her. she felt her heart beat painfully fast, for it was clear that a disaster of some kind had befallen him, though a large part of her anxiety sprang from the question how far the fact was likely to affect herself. he moved away from the table, and went towards the stairway at the further end of the hall, and she followed him a few minutes later. he was sitting by an open window when she reached their room. a candle flickered beside him and a little bundle of papers was clenched in one hand. "what is it, harry?" she asked. he looked up at her, and his voice sounded hoarse. "i'll try to tell you later," he answered. "there's a dinner to be got through, and it will be a big enough effort to sit it out. slip away as soon as you can afterward without attracting attention. you'll find me on the terrace." he dismissed her with a wave of his hand, and she turned towards the little dressing-room. when she came out again he had gone, leaving his outdoor clothing scattered on the floor. the dinner that followed was an ordeal to millicent, but she took her part in the conversation, and glanced towards her husband only now and then. he did not eat a great deal, and though he spoke when it seemed necessary, she noticed the trace of unsteadiness in his voice. at last, however, the meal, which seemed to drag on interminably, was finished and as soon as possible she slipped out upon the terrace where she found leslie leaning against a seat. the moon which had risen higher was brighter now, and she could see his face. it showed set and somber in the pale silvery light. "well?" she said impatiently. "can't you speak?" "i'll try," he answered. "winkleheim reef explorations went down to four and six pence to-day, and as there's shillings a share not paid up, it's very probable that one wouldn't be able to give the stock away before the market closes to-morrow." "ah," replied millicent sharply, "didn't you tell me that they were worth sixteen shillings not very long ago? why didn't you sell them then?" "because, as it seems to me now, my greediness was greater than my judgment. i wanted twenty shillings, and i thought i saw how i could get it." he paused with a little jarring laugh. "as a matter of fact--strange as it may seem--i believed in the thing. that is why i let them send out their independent expert, and held on when the stock began to drop. at the worst, i'd good reasons for believing walmer would let me see the cipher report in time to sell. as it happened, he and the other traitor sold their own stock instead and that must have started the panic. now they've got their report. there's no ore that will pay for milling in the reef." it was not all clear to millicent, but she understood from his manner that her husband was ruined. "then what are we to do?" she asked. "is there nobody who will give you a start again? you must be known in the business." "that is the precise trouble. i'm too well known. so long as a man is a winner at this particular game and can make it worth while for interested folks to applaud him, or, at least, to keep their mouths shut, he can find a field for his talents when he wants it, but once he makes a false move or comes down with a bang, they get their claws in him and keep him from getting up again. nobody has any sympathy with a broken company exploiter, especially when he has for once been crazy enough to believe in his own venture." leslie found it a small relief to run on with ironical bitterness, but millicent, who was severely practical in some respects, checked him. "you haven't answered my other question." "then i won't keep you waiting. in a few weeks we'll go out to the pacific slope of north america. i may save enough from the wreck to start me in the land-agency business somewhere in british columbia." millicent turned from him, and gazed down the moon-lit valley. troubled as she was, its rugged beauty and its stillness appealed to her, and she knew it would be a wrench to leave the land which had hitherto safely sheltered her. she had known only the smoother side of life in it, and nobody could appreciate the ease and luxury it could offer some of its inhabitants better than she did. now, it seemed, she must leave it, and go out to struggle for a mere living in some unlovely town in what she supposed must be a wild and semi-barbarous country. she felt bitter against the man who, as she thought of it, had dragged her down, but she hid her resentment. "but you know nothing about the land-agency business," she pointed out. leslie laughed ironically. "i have a few ideas. milligan--we had him over at dinner once--made a good deal of money that way, and from what he told me it doesn't seem very different from the business i have been engaged in. success evidently depends upon one's ability to sell the confiding investor what he thinks he'd like to get. somehow i fancy that, with moderately good luck, two or three years of it should set us on our feet." "but those two or three years. it's unthinkable!" millicent broke out. "i'm afraid you will have to face them," said leslie dryly. he turned and looked hard at her. "you can't reasonably rue your bargain. you knew when i married you that while i had the command of money my business was a risky one." again millicent stood silent a moment or two. she recognized that it was largely because leslie enjoyed that command of money that she had discarded geoffrey. now his riches had apparently taken wings and vanished, but the man was bound to her still. one could fancy that there was something like retribution in the thing. "it's rather dreadful, but i suppose i shall not make it any better by complaining," she remarked after a long silence. her husband's manner became embarrassed. "i understand that anthony thurston is well off and you were a favorite of his," he said. "would it be of any use if you explained the trouble to him?" "no," was the answer, "it would be perfectly useless, and for other reasons that course is impossible. he meant me to marry geoffrey and i've mortally offended him. he's a hard, determined man." leslie made a sign of assent, though there was a suggestion of grim amusement in his manner. "i suppose you couldn't very well explain that it was geoffrey who threw you over? that would, no doubt, be too much to expect of you, and, after all, when you get to the bottom of the matter it wouldn't be true. in reality you finished with geoffrey when he decided to emigrate instead of selling the mine, didn't you?" millicent flashed a swift glance at him, but he met it half-mockingly, and she turned her head away. "why should you make yourself intolerable?" she returned. "i'm sorry for you--that is, i want to be, if you will let me." leslie shrugged his shoulders as he lit a cigar. "well," he said, "it can't be helped. we must face the thing! and now i don't want to set the others wondering why we have slipped away; we had better go in again." they walked back info the house. leslie, with one or two of the other men, sat up late in the smoking-room. leslie told a number of stories with force and point, and when at length two of his companions went up the stairway together, one of them looked at the other with a lifting of the eyebrows. "after what leslie has got through to-night, i'll take the farthest place in the line from him to-morrow," he said. "if his nerves aren't unusually good it seems quite possible that there'll be more than a setter peppered." chapter vii the breaking of the jam it was late one moonlight night when geoffrey thurston sat inside his double-skinned tent which was pitched above a river of british columbia. a few good furs checkered the spruce twigs which served as a carpet, and the canvas dwelling was both commodious and comfortable. a bright brass lamp hung from the ridge pole, a nickeled clock ticked cheerily upon a hanging shelf behind the neat camp cot, while the rest of the well-made furniture betokened a degree of prosperity. one of savine's junior assistants, sent up there in an emergency to replace an older man, sat close by, and, because he dwelt in a bark shanty, envied thurston his tent. geoffrey was studying a bridge-work tracing that lay unrolled upon his knees. "i can only repeat what i said months ago. the wing slide of the log pass is too short and the angle over sharp," he said, glancing at the jam. "an extra big log will jam there some day and imperil the whole bridge. did you send a man down to keep watch to-night?" "the slide is in accordance with the roads and trails specification," answered the young man, airily. "there was no reason why we should do more work than they asked for. you're an uneasy man, thurston, always looking for trouble, and i've had enough of late over the rascally hoboes who, when they feel inclined, condescend to work for me. oh, yes! i posted the lookout as soon as i heard davies was running his saw logs down." thurston hitched his chair forward and threw the door-flap back so that he could look out into the night. the tent stood perched on the hillside. long ranks of climbing pines stretched upwards from it to the scarped rocks which held up the snow-fields on the shoulders of the mighty peaks above. thin white mist and the roar of water rose up from the shadowy gorge below, but in one place, where the rock walls which hemmed it in sloped down, a gossamer-like structure spanned the chasm. this was a wagon-road bridge julius savine, the contractor of large interests and well-known name, was building for the provincial authorities, and on their surveyor's recommendation he had sub-let to thurston the construction of a pass through which saw-logs and driftwood might slide without jamming between the piers. savine, being pressed for time, had brought in a motley collection of workmen, picked up haphazard in the seaboard cities. after bargaining to work for certain wages, these workmen had demanded twenty per cent. more. thurston, who had picked his own assistants carefully, among the sturdy ranchers, and had aided savine's representative in resisting this demand, now surmised that the malcontents were meditating mischief. there were some mighty mean rascals among them, his foreman said. "you're looking worried again," observed his companion, presently, and thurston answered, "perhaps i am. i wish davies would run his logs down by daylight, but presumably the stream is too fast for him when the waters rise. it might give some of your friends yonder an opportunity, summers." "you don't figure they're capable of wrecking the bridge?" replied summers, showing sudden uneasiness. "one or two among them, including the man i had to thrash, are capable of anything. perhaps you had better hail your watchman," thurston said. summers blew a whistle, and an answer came back faintly through the fret of the river: "plenty saw logs coming down. all of them handy sizes and sliding safely through." "that's good enough," declared summers. "i'm not made of cast-iron, and need a little sleep at times, so good-night to you!" he departed with the cheerful confidence of the salaried man, and thurston, who fought for his own interests, flung himself down on his trestle cot with all his clothes on. neither the timber slide nor the bridge was quite finished, but because rivers in that region shrink at night when the frost checks the drainage from the feeding glaciers on the peaks above, the saw-miller had insisted on driving down his logs when there was less chance of their stranding on the shoals that cumbered the high-water channel. thurston lay awake for some time, listening to the fret of the river, which vibrated far across the silence of the hills, and to the occasional crash of a mighty log smiting the slide. hardly had his eyelids closed when he was aroused by a sound of hurried footsteps approaching the tent. he stood wide awake in the entrance before the newcomer reached it. "there's a mighty big pine caught its butt on one slide and jammed its thin end across the pier," said the man. "logs piling up behind it already!" as he spoke somebody beat upon a suspended iron sheet down in the valley and drowsy voices rose up from among the clustered tents. summers went by shouting, "get a move on, before we lose the bridge!" five minutes later thurston, running across a bending plank, halted on the rock which served as foundation for the main bridge pier. beside him summers shouted confused orders to a group of struggling men. the moonlight beat down mistily through the haze that rose from the river, and geoffrey could see the long wedge-headed timber framing that he had built, beside the wing on the shore-side, so that any trunk floating down would cannon off at an angle and shoot safely between the piers. but one huge fir had proved too long for the pass, and when its butt canted, the other end had driven athwart the point of the wedge, after which, because the river was black with drifting logs, other heavy trunks drove against it and jammed it fast. panting men were hard at work with levers and pike-poles striving to wrench the massive trunk clear, and one lighted an air-blast flare, whose red glare flickered athwart the strip of water foaming between the piers. it showed that some of the logs forced up by the pressure were sliding out above the others, while, amid a horrible grinding, some sank. one side of the river was blocked by a mass of timber that was increasing every moment. thurston feared that the unfinished piers could not long withstand the pressure, and he remembered that his own work would be paid for only on completion. nevertheless, he passed several minutes in a critical survey, and then glanced towards certain groups of dark figures watching for the approaching ruin. "she'll go down inside an hour--that is certain, and savine will lose thousands of dollars," said summers, whose eyes were wide with apprehension. "i'm rattled completely. can't you think of anything that might be done?" "yes!" answered thurston, coolly. "it is, however, almost too late now. it could have been done readily, if the man who should have seen to it had not turned traitor. hello! where's mattawa tom?" a big sinewy ax-man from the forests of northern ontario sprang up beside him, and thurston said: "i'm going to try to chop through the king log that's keying them. it's rather more than you bargained for, but will you stand by me, tom?" "looks mighty like suicide!" was the dry answer. "but if you're ready to chance it, i'm coming right along." the workmen had divided into two hostile camps, but there was a growl of admiring wonder from friends and foes alike when two figures, balancing bright axes, stood high up on the pier slides ready to leap down upon the working logs. then disjointed cries went up: "too late!" "you'll be smashed flatter than a flapjack when the jam breaks up!" "get hold of the fools, somebody!" "take their axes away!" "i'll brain the first man who touches mine," threatened thurston, turning savagely upon those who approached him with remonstrances, and there was a simultaneous murmur from all the assembly when the two adventurous men dropped upon the timber. the logs rolled, groaned, and heaved beneath them and thurston, trusting to the creeper spikes upon his heels, sprang from one great tree trunk to another behind his companion, who had a longer experience of the perilous work of log-driving. here a gap, filled with spouting foam, opened up before him; there a trunk upon which he was about to step rolled over and sank. but he worked his way forward towards the center of the fir which keyed the growing mass. this log was many feet in girth. pressed down level with the water, it was already bending like a slackly-strung bow. the example proved inspiring. thurston's assistants were sturdy, fearless men, who often risked their lives in wresting a living from the forest, so several among them prepared to follow. two seamen deserters sprang out from the ranks of the mutineers. one stalwart forest rancher, however, tripped his comrade up, and sat upon his prostrate form shouting, "you'll stop just where you are, you blame idiot! you couldn't do nothing if you got there. hardly room for them two fellows already where they can get at the log!" the remaining volunteers saw the force of this argument and when somebody increased the blast of the lamp so that the roaring column of flame leapt up higher, the men stood very still, staring at the two who had now gained the center of the partly submerged log. it requires considerable practice to acquire full mastery of the long-hafted ax, but thurston, who was stout of arm and keen of eye, had managed to earn his bread with it one winter in an ontario logging camp. when he swung aloft the heavy wedge of steel, it reflected the blast lamp's radiance, making red flashes as it circled round his head. it came down hissing close past his knee. mattawa tom's blade crossed it when it rose, and the first white chip leapt up. more chips followed in quick succession until they whirled in one continuous shower, and the razor-edged steel losing definite form became a confused circling brightness, in the center of which two supple figures swayed and heaved. the red light smiting the faces of the two showed great drops of sweat, the swell of toil-hardened muscles on the corded arms, and the rise of each straining chest. there was not a clash nor a falter, but, flash after flash, the blades came down chunking into the ever-widening notch. summers had seen sword play in montreal armories, and had heard the ax clang often on the side of western firs, but--for thurston was fighting to stave off ruin--this grim struggle in the face of a desperate risk surpassed any remembered exhibition of fencers' skill with the steel. the trunk was bending visibly beneath the hewers, the river frothed more at their feet, and the giant logs were rolling, creeping, shocking close behind, ready to plunge forward when the partly severed trunk should yield. thurston felt as if his lungs were bursting, his heart throbbed painfully, and something drummed deafeningly inside his head. his vision grew hazy, and he could scarcely see the widening gap in the rough bark into which the trenchant steel cut. it was evident that the steadily increasing jam would rub the bridge piers out of existence long before any two men could hew half way through the great trunk, but, fortunately, the log was now bending like a fully-drawn bow, and the pressure would burst it asunder when a little more of its circumference had been chopped into. so, choking and blinded with perspiration, geoffrey smote on mechanically, until the man from mattawa said, "she's about busted." just then there was a clamor from the watchers on the piers. men shouted, "come back." "whole jam's starting!" "king log's yielding now!" "jump for your lives before the wreckage breaks away with you!" mattawa tom leapt shorewards from moving log to log, but for a few moments thurston, who scarcely noticed his absence, chopped on alone. filled with the lust of conflict, he remembered only that it was necessary to make sure of victory before he relaxed an effort. thrice more in succession he whirled the heavy ax above his head, while, with a sharp snapping of fibers, the fir trunk yielded beneath his feet. flinging his ax into the river he stood erect, breathless, a moment too late. the logs behind the one which perilously supported him were creeping forward ready for the mad rush that must follow a few seconds later. there remained now but one poor chance of escape and he seized it instinctively. springing along the sinking trunk, he threw himself clear of it into the river, while running men jostled each other as they surged toward the side of the timber when he sank. a wet head broke the surface, a swinging left hand followed it. the swimmer clutched the edge of a loosely-fitted beam, and held it until strong hands reached down to him. some gripped his wet fingers, some the back of his coat, one even clutched his hair. there was a heave, then a scramble, and, amid hoarse cheers, the rescued man fell over backwards among his rescuers. thurston, who stood up dripping, said, somewhat shakily: "ah, you were only just in time! i'm vastly grateful to you all." the last words were lost in a deafening crash as the jam broke up, and the giant logs drove through the opening, thrashing the river into foam. the tree-trunks ground against one another, or smote the slide casing with a thunderous shock; but the stone-backed timber stood the strain, and when the clamor of the passage of the logs ceased, a heavy stillness brooded over the camp as the river grew empty again. thurston sought out the man from mattawa. laying a wet hand upon his shoulder he said: "thank you, tom. i won't forget the assistance you rendered me." "that's all right," answered the brawny ax-man, awkwardly. "i get my wages safe and regular, and i've tackled as tough a contract for a worse master before." there was no chance for further speech. davies, who owned the saw-mill lower down stream, reined in a lathered horse, close by. "where have all my logs gone to?" he asked. "my foreman roused me to say only a few dozen had brought up in the boom, and as the boys were running them down by scores i figured they'd piled up against your bridge. i don't see any special chaos about here, though you look as if you had been in swimming; but what in the name of thunder have you done with the logs?" "they're on their way down river," thurston replied, dryly. "we had some trouble with them which necessitated my taking a bath. but see here, what made you turn a two-hundred-foot red fir loose among them?" "i didn't," answered davies, with a puzzled air. "the boys saw every log into standard lengths. we have no use for a two-hundred-footer and couldn't get her into the mill. are you sure it wasn't a wind-blown log?" "i saw the butt had been freshly cross-cut," declared thurston with an ominous glitter in his eyes. "i understand you are pretty slack just now. as a favor, would you hire your chopping gang to me for a few days? i'll tell you why i want them later." "i'll decide in a few minutes," he added, when davies had told him what the cost would be. turning towards summers he said: "there may be several more big red firs growing handy beside the river, and i mean to prevent any more accidents of this kind in future. if your employer will not reimburse me, i will bear the cost myself. i would sooner spend my last dollar than allow any of these loafers to coerce me." the workmen stood still, all of them curious, and a few uneasy. raising one hand to demand attention, thurston said: "a red fir was felled by two or three among you to-day, and launched down stream after darkness fell. i want the men who did it to step forward and explain their reasons to me." "you're a mighty bold man," remarked summers--who knew that, although few were actually dangerous, the malcontents outnumbered thurston's loyal assistants. among the listeners nobody moved, but there was a murmuring, and all eyes were fixed upon the speaker, who, either by design or accident, leaned upon the haft of a big ax. "i hardly expected an answer," he went on. "accordingly, i'll proceed to name the men who i believe must know about this contemptible action, and notify them that they will be paid off to-morrow." a tumult of mingled wrath and applause started when thurston coolly called aloud a dozen names. one voice broke through the others: "we're working for julius savine, an' don't count a bad two-bits on you," it declared defiantly. "we'll all fling our tools into the river before we let one of them fellows go." "in that case the value of the tools will be deducted from the wages due you," thurston announced calmly. "after this notice, julius savine's representative won't pay any of the men i mention, whether they work or not; and nobody, who does not earn it, will get a single meal out of the cook shanty. i'll give you until to-morrow to make up your minds concerning what you will do." aside to davies he said: "i'll take your lumber gang in any case. go back and send them in as soon as you can." the assembly broke up in a divided state of mind. although it was very late, little groups lingered outside the tents, and at intervals angry voices were heard. summers set out for the railroad to communicate by telegraph with his employer, and thurston retired to his tent, where he went peacefully to sleep. awakening later than usual, he listened with apparent unconcern to mattawa tom, who aroused him, with the warning: "it's time you were out. them fellows are coming along for their money. the boys called up a big roll, as soon as the lumber gang marched in, and, though there was considerable wild talking, the sensible ones allowed it was no more use kicking." "that's all right," averred thurston, who paid the departing malcontents and was glad to get rid of them, knowing that the lumbermen, who were mostly poor settlers, had small sympathy with the mutineers and that he would have at least a balance of power. he set the men to work immediately lengthening the wing of the log slide and the wedge guards of the piers. he himself toiled as hard as any two among them, and, to the astonishment of all, completed the big task before the week was past. "i hardly like to say what it has cost me, but no log of any length could jam itself in the new pass," he said to summers. "you're an enterprising man," was the answer. "savine is a bit of a rustler, too, and you'll have a chance of explaining things to him to-morrow. i have had word from him that he's coming through." chapter viii a rest by the way it was afternoon when julius savine, accompanied by summers, had entered thurston's tent. on the way from the railroad, summers had explained to the contractor all that had happened. geoffrey rose to greet savine, glancing at his employer with some curiosity, for he had not met him before. savine was a man of quick, restless movements and nervous disposition. the gray that tinged his long mustache, lightly sprinkled his hair, gave evidence of his fifty years of intense living. he was known to be not only a daring engineer, but a generally successful speculator in mining and industrial enterprises. nevertheless, geoffrey fancied that something in his face gave a hint of physical weakness. "i have heard one or two creditable things about you, and thought of asking you to run up to my offices, but i'm glad to meet you now," said savine with a smile, adding when thurston made a solemn bow, "there, i've been sufficiently civil, and i see you would rather i talked business. i'm considerably indebted to you for the way you tackled the late crisis, and approve of the log-guard's extension. how much did the extra work cost you?" "here is the wages bill and a list of the iron work charged at cost," thurston answered. "as i did the work without any orders you would be justified in declining to pay for it, and i have included no profit." "ah!" said savine, who glanced over the paper and scribbled across it. looking up with a twinkle in his eye, he asked: "have you been acquiring riches latterly? my cashier will pay that note whenever you hand it in at vancouver. i'll also endorse your contract for payment if you will give it me. further, i want to say that i've been to look at your work, and it pleases me. there are plenty of men in this province who would have done it as solidly, but it's the general design and ingenious fixings that take my fancy. may i ask where you got the ideas?" "in england," answered geoffrey. "i spent some time in the drawing office of a man of some note." he mentioned a name, and savine, who looked at him critically, nodded as if in recognition. the older man smiled when thurston showed signs of resenting his inspection. "in that case i should say you ought to do," savine observed, cheerfully. "i don't understand," said thurston, and savine answered: "no? well, if you'll wait a few moments i'll try to make things plain to you. i want a live man with brains of his own, and some knowledge of mechanical science. there is no trouble about getting them by the car load from the east or the old country, but the man for me must know how to use his muscles, if necessary, and handle ax and drill as well. in short, i want one who has been right through the mill as you seem to have been, and, so long as he earns it, i'm not going to worry over his salary." "i'm afraid i would not suit you," said geoffrey. "i'm rather too fond of my own way to make a good servant, and of late i have not done badly fighting for my own hand. therefore, while i thank you, and should be glad to undertake any minor contracts you can give me, i prefer to continue as at present." "i should not fancy that you would be particularly easy to get on with," savine observed with another shrewd glance, but with unabated good humor. "still, what you suggest might suit me. i have rather more work at present than i can hold on to with both hands, and have tolerably good accounts of you. come west with me and spend the week end at my house, where we could talk things over quietly." geoffrey was gratified--for the speaker was famous in his profession--and he showed his feeling as he answered: "i consider myself fortunate that you should ask me." "i figured you were not fond of compliments, and i'm a plain man myself," declared savine, with the humor apparent in his keen eyes again. "i will, however, give you one piece of advice before i forget it. my sister-in-law might be there, and if she wants to doctor you, don't let her. she has a weakness for physicking strangers, and the results are occasionally embarrassing." it happened accordingly that thurston, who had overhauled his wardrobe in vancouver, duly arrived at a pretty wooden villa which looked down upon a deep inlet. he knew the mountain valleys of the cumberland, and had wandered, sometimes footsore and hungry, under the giant ramparts of the selkirks and the rockies, but he had never seen a fairer spot than the reft in the hills which sheltered savine's villa, and was known by its indian name, "the place of the hundred springs." for a background somber cedars lifted their fretted spires against the skyline on the southern hand. beneath the trees the hillsides closed in and the emerald green of maples and tawny tufts of oak rolled down to a breadth of milk-white pebbles and a stretch of silver sand, past which clear green water shoaling from shade to shade wound inland. threads of glancing spray quivered in and out among the foliage, and high above, beyond a strip of sparkling sea and set apart by filmy cloud from all the earth below, stretched the giant saw-edge of the coast range's snow. the white-painted, red-roofed dwelling, with its green-latticed shutters, tasteful scroll work and ample, if indifferently swarded, lawns, was pleasant to look upon, but thurston found more pleasure in the sight of its young mistress, who awaited him in a great cool room that was hung with deer-head trophies and floored with parquetry of native timber. helen savine wore a white dress and her favorite crimson roses nestled in the belt. though she greeted geoffrey with indifferent cordiality, the girl was surprised when her eyes rested upon him. thurston was not a man of the conventional type one meets and straightway forgets, and she had often thought about him; but, since the night at crosbie ghyll, his image had presented itself as she first saw him--ragged, hungry, and grim, a worthy descendant of the wild thurstons about whom musker had discoursed. now, in spite of his weather-beaten face and hardened hands, he appeared what he was, a man of education and some refinement, and his resolute expression, erect carriage, and muscular frame, rendered lithe and almost statuesque by much swinging of the ax, gave him an indefinite air of distinction. again she decided that geoffrey thurston was a well-favored man, but remembering musker's stories, she set herself to watch for some trace of inherent barbarity. this was unfortunate for geoffrey, because in such cases observers generally discover what they search for. geoffrey was placed beside helen at dinner, and having roughed it since he left england, and even before that time, it seemed strange to him to be deftly waited upon at a table glittering with silver and gay with flowers. mrs. thomas savine sat opposite him, between her husband and the host, and helen found certain suspicions confirmed when savine referred to the crushing of the strike. previously, he had given his daughter a brief account of it. "it was daringly done," said helen, "but i wonder, mr. thurston, if you and others who hold the power ever consider the opposite side of the question. it may be that those men, whose task is evidently highly dangerous, have wives and children depending upon them, and a few extra dollars, earned hardly enough, no doubt, might mean so much to them." "i am afraid i don't always do so," answered geoffrey. "i have toiled tolerably hard as a workman myself. if any employé should consider that he was underpaid for the risk he ran, and should say so civilly, i should listen to him. on the other hand, if any combination strove by unfair means to coerce me, i should spare no effort to crush it!" thurston generally was too much in earnest to make a pleasant dinner-table conversationalist. as he spoke, he shut one big brown hand. it was a trifling action, and he was, perhaps, unconscious of it, but helen, who noticed the flicker in his eyes and the vindictive tightening of the hard fingers, shrank from him instinctively. "is that not a cruel plan of action, and is there no room for a gentler policy in your profession? must the weak always be trampled out of existence?" she replied, with a slight trace of indignation. thurston turned towards her with a puzzled expression. julius savine smiled, but his sister-in-law, who had remained silent, but not unobservant, broke in: "you believe in the hereditary transmission of character, mr. thurston?" "i think most people do to some extent," answered geoffrey. "but why do you ask me?" "it's quite simple," said mrs. savine, smiling. "did my husband tell you that when we were in england, we were held up by a storm there one night in your ancestral home? there was a man there who ought to belong to the feudal ages. he was called musker, and he told us quaint stories about some of you. i fancy geoffrey, who robbed the king's dragoons, must have looked just like you when you shut your fingers so, a few minutes ago." "i am a little surprised," geoffrey returned with a flush rising in his cheeks. "musker used to talk a great deal of romantic nonsense. crosbie ghyll is no longer mine. i hope you passed a pleasant night there." mrs. savine became eloquent concerning the historic interest of the ancient house and her brother-in-law, who appeared interested, observed. "so far, you have not told me about that particular adventure." again the incident was unfortunate for geoffrey, because helen, who had no great respect for her aunt's perceptions, decided that if the similitude had struck even that lady, she was right in her own estimation of thurston's character. "we heard of several instances of reckless daring, and we colonials consider all the historic romance of the land we sprang from belongs to us as well as you," mrs. savine said. "so, if it is not an intrusion, may i ask if any of those border warriors were remarkable for deeds of self-abnegation or charity?" "i am afraid not," admitted geoffrey, rather grimly. "neither did any of them ever do much towards the making of history. all of them were generally too busy protecting their property or seizing that of their neighbors! but, at least, when they fought, they seem to have fought for the losing side, and, according to tradition, paid for it dearly. however, to change the subject, is it fair to hold any man responsible for his ancestors' shortcomings? they have gone back to the dust long ago, and it is the present that concerns us." "still, can anybody avoid the results of those shortcomings or virtues?" persisted helen, and her father said: "i hardly think so. there is an instance beside you, mr. thurston. miss savine's grandfather ruled in paternally feudal fashion over a few dozen superstitious habitants way back in old-world quebec, as his folks had done since the first french colonization. that explains my daughter's views on social matters and her weakness for playing the somewhat autocratic lady bountiful. the seigneurs were benevolent village despots with very quaint ways." savine spoke lightly, and one person only noticed that the face of his daughter was slightly less pale in coloring than before, but that one afterwards remembered her father's words and took them as a clue to the woman's character. he discovered also that helen savine was both generous and benevolent, but that she loved to rule, and to rule somewhat autocratically. the first day at the savine villa passed like a pleasant dream to the man who had toiled for a bare living in the shadowy forests or knelt all day among hot rocks to hold the weary drill with bleeding fingers. mr. savine grew more and more interested in geoffrey, who, during the second day, made great advances in the estimation of mrs. thomas savine. bicycles were not so common a woman's possession in canada, or elsewhere, then. in fact, there were few roads in british columbia fit to propel one on. an american friend had sent miss savine a wheel which, after a few journeys over a corduroy road, groaned most distressfully whenever she mounted it. helen desired to ride in to the railroad, but the gaudy machine complained even more than usual, and when at last one of its wheels declined to revolve, julius savine called geoffrey's attention to it. "if you are anxious for mild excitement, and want to earn my daughter's gratitude, you might tackle that confounded thing, mr. thurston," he said. "the local blacksmith shakes his head over it, and sent it back the last time worse than ever, with several necessary portions missing. after running many kinds of machines in my time, i'm willing to own that this particular specimen defies me." thurston had stripped and fitted various intricate mining appliances, but he had never struggled with a bicycle. so, when helen accepted his offer of assistance, he wheeled the machine out upon the lawn and proceeded light-heartedly to dismantle it, while the savine brothers lounged in cane chairs, encouraging him over their cigars. the dismantling was comparatively simple, but when the time for reassembling came, thurston, who found that certain cups could not by any legitimate means be induced to screw home into their places, was perforce obliged to rest the machine upon two chairs and wriggle underneath it, where he reclined upon his back with grimy oil dripping upon his forehead. red in the face, he crawled out to breathe at intervals, and helen made stern efforts to conceal her mingled alarm and merriment, when thomas savine said: "will you take long odds, thurston, that you never make that invention of his satanic majesty run straight again?" mrs. savine cautioned the operator about sunstroke and apoplexy. when thomas savine caught helen's eye, both laughed outright, and geoffrey, mistaking the reason, felt hurt; he determined to conquer the bicycle or remain beneath it all night. when at last he succeeded in putting the various parts together and straightened his aching back, he hoped that he did not look so disgusted, grimy and savage as he undoubtedly felt. "you must really let it alone," said helen. "the sun is very hot, and perhaps, you might be more successful after luncheon. i have noticed that when mending bicycles a rest and refreshment sometimes prove beneficial." "that's so!" agreed thomas savine. "young harry was wont to tackle it on just those lines. he used up several of my best cubanos and a bottle of claret each time, before he had finished; and then i was never convinced that the thing went any better." "you must beware of ruining your health," interposed mrs. savine. "mending bicycles frequently leads to an accumulation of malevolent humors. did i interrupt you, mr. thurston?" "i was only going to say that it is nearly finished, and that i should not like to be vanquished by an affair of this kind," said geoffrey with emphasis. "would it hurt the machine if i stood it upon its head, miss savine?" "oh, no, and i am so grateful," helen answered assuringly, noticing guiltily that there were oil and red dust, besides many somber smears, upon the operator's face and jacket, while the skin was missing from several of his knuckles. it was done at last, and geoffrey sighed, while the rest of the party expressed surprise as well as admiration when the wheels revolved freely without click or groan. julius savine nodded, with more than casual approval, and helen was gracious with her thanks. "you look quite faint," observed mrs. savine. "it was the hot sun on your forehead, and the mental excitement. such things are often followed by dangerous consequences, and you must take a dose of my elixir. helen, dear, you know where to find the bottle." julius savine was guilty of a slight gesture of impatience. his brother laughed, while helen seemed anxious to slip away. geoffrey answered: "i hardly think one should get very mentally excited over a bicycle. i feel perfectly well, and only somewhat greasy." "that is just one of the symptoms. yes, you have hit it--greasy feeling!" broke in the amateur dispenser, who rarely relaxed her efforts until she had run down her victim. "helen, why don't you hunt round for that bottle?" "i mean greasy externally," explained geoffrey in desperation, and again thomas savine chuckled, while helen, who ground one little boot-heel into the grasses, deliberately turned away. mrs. savine, however, cheerfully departed to find the bottle, and soon returned with it and a wine glass. she filled the glass with an inky fluid which smelt unpleasant, and said to geoffrey: "you will be distinctly better the moment you have taken this!" geoffrey took the goblet, walked apart a few paces, and, making a wry face, heroically swallowed the bitter draught, after which mrs. savine, who beamed upon him, said: "you feel quite differently, don't you?" "yes!" asserted geoffrey, truthfully, longing to add that he had felt perfectly well before and had now to make violent efforts to overcome his nausea. his heroism had its reward, however, for when helen returned from her wheel ride, she said: "i was really ashamed when my aunt insisted on doctoring you, but you must take it as a compliment, because she only prescribes for the people she takes a fancy to. i hope the dose was not particularly nasty?" "sorry for you, thurston, from experience!" cried thomas savine. "when i see that bottle, i just vacate the locality. the taste isn't the worst of it by a long way." that night julius savine called geoffrey into his study, and, spreading a roll of plans before him, offered terms, which were gladly accepted, for the construction of portions of several works. savine said: "i won't worry much about references. your work speaks for itself, and the roads and trails surveyor has been talking about you. i'll take you, as you'll have to take me, on trust. i keep my eye on rising young men, and i have been watching you. besides, the man who could master an obstinate bicycle the first time he wrestled with one must have some sense of his own, and it isn't everybody who would have swallowed that physic." "i could not well avoid doing so," said geoffrey, with a rueful smile. "i feel i owe you an apology, but it's my sister-in-law's one weakness, and you have won her favor for the rest of your natural life," savine returned. "you have had several distinguished fellow-sufferers, including provincial representatives and railroad directors, for to my horror she physicked a very famous one the last time he came. he did not suffer with your equanimity. in fact, he was almost uncivil, and said to me, 'if the secretary hadn't sent off your trestle contract, i should urge the board to reconsider it. did you ask me here that your relatives might poison me, savine?'" geoffrey laughed, and his host added: "i want to talk over a good many details with you, and dare say you deserve a holiday--i know i do--so i shall retain you here for a week, at least. i take your consent for granted; it's really necessary." chapter ix geoffrey stands firm geoffrey thurston possessed a fine constitution, and, in spite of mrs. savine's treatment and her husband's predictions, rose refreshed and vigorous on the morning that followed his struggle with the bicycle. it was a glorious morning, and when breakfast was over he enjoyed the unusual luxury of lounging under the shadow of a cedar on the lawn, where he breathed in the cool breeze which rippled the sparkling straits. hitherto, he had risen with the sun to begin a day of toil and anxiety and this brief glimpse of a life of ease, with the pleasures of congenial companionship, was as an oasis in the desert to him. "a few days will be as much as is good for me," he told himself with a sigh. "in the meantime hard work and short commons are considerably more appropriate, but i shall win the right to all these things some day, if my strength holds out." his forehead wrinkled, his eyes contracted, and he stared straight before him, seeing neither the luminous green of the maples nor the whispering cedars, but far off in the misty future a golden possibility, which, if well worth winning, must be painfully earned. his reverie was broken suddenly. "are your thoughts very serious this morning, mr. thurston?" a clear voice inquired, and the most alluring of the visions he had conjured up stood before him, losing nothing by the translation into material flesh. helen savine had halted under the cedar. in soft clinging draperies of white and cream, she was a charming reality. "i'm afraid they were," geoffrey answered, and helen laughed musically. "one would fancy that you took life too much in earnest," she said. "it is fortunately impossible either to work or to pile up money forever, and a holiday is good for everybody. i am going down to white rock cove to see if my marine garden is as beautiful as it used to be. would you care to inspect it and carry this basket for me?" thurston showed his pleasure almost too openly. they chatted lightly on many subjects as they walked together, knee-deep, at times, among scarlet wine-berries, and the delicate green and ebony of maidenhair fern. the scents and essence of summer hung heavy in the air. shafts of golden sunlight, piercing the somber canopy of the forest isles, touched, and, it seemed to geoffrey, etherealized, his companion. the completeness of his enjoyment troubled the man, and presently he lapsed into silence. all this appeared too good, too pleasant, he feared, to last. "do you know that you have not answered my last question, nor spoken a word for the last ten minutes?" inquired helen with a smile, at length. "have these woods no charm for you, or are you regretting the cigarbox beneath the cedar?" geoffrey turned towards her, and there was a momentary flash in his eyes as he answered: "you must forgive me. keen enjoyment often blunts the edge of speech, and i was wishing that this walk through the cool, green stillness might last forever." afraid that he might have said too much, he ceased speaking abruptly, and then, after the fashion of one unskilled in tricks of speech, proceeded to remedy one blunder by committing another. "it reminds me of the evenings at graham's ranch. there can surely be no sunsets in the world to equal those that flame along the snows of british columbia, and you will remember how, together, we watched them burn and fade." it was an unfortunate reference, for now and then helen had recalled that period with misgivings. cut off from all association with persons of congenial tastes, she had not only found the man's society interesting, but she had allowed herself to sink into an indefinite state of companionship with him. in the mountain solitude, such camaraderie had seemed perfectly natural, but it was impossible under different circumstances. it was only on the last occasion that he had ever hinted at a continuance of this intimacy, but she had not forgotten the rash speech. had the recollections been all upon her own side she might have permitted a partial renewal of the companionship, but she became forbidding at once when geoffrey ventured to remind her of it. "yes," she said reflectively. "the sunsets were often impressive, but we are all of us unstable, and what pleases us at one time may well prove tiresome at another. if that experience were repeated i should very possibly grow sadly discontented at graham's ranch." geoffrey was not only shrewd enough to comprehend that, if miss savine unbent during a summer holiday in the wilderness, it did not follow that she would always do so, but he felt that he deserved the rebuke. he had, however, learned patience in canada, and was content to bide his time, so he answered good-humoredly that such a result might well be possible. they were silent until they halted where the hillside fell sharply to the verge of a cliff. far down below thurston could see the white pebbles shine through translucent water, and with professional instincts aroused, he dubiously surveyed the slope to the head of the crag. julius savine, or somebody under his orders, had constructed a zig-zag pathway which wound down between small maples and clusters of wine-berries shimmering like blood-drops among their glossy leaves. in places the pathway was underpinned with timber against the side of an almost sheer descent, and he noticed that one could have dropped a vertical line from the fish-hawk, which hung poised a few feet outside one angle, into the water. they descended cautiously to the first sharp bend, and here geoffrey turned around in advance of his companion. "do you mind telling me how long it is since you or anybody else has used this path, miss savine?" he inquired. "i came up this way last autumn, and think hardly any other person has used it since. but why do you ask?" was the reply. "i fancied so!" geoffrey lapsed instinctively into his brusque, professional style of comment. "poor system of underpinning, badly fixed yonder. i am afraid you must find some other way down to the beach this morning." it was long since helen had heard anybody apply the word "must" to herself. as julius savine's only daughter, most of her wishes had been immediately gratified, while the men she met vied with one another in paying her homage. in addition to this, her father, in whose mechanical abilities she had supreme faith, had constructed that pathway especially for her pleasure. so for several reasons her pride took fire, and she answered coldly: "the path is perfectly safe. my father himself watched the greater portion of its building." "it was safe once, no doubt," answered geoffrey, slightly puzzled as to how he had offended her, but still resolute. "the rains of last winter, however, have washed out much of the surface soil, leaving bare parts of the rock beneath, and the next angle yonder is positively dangerous. can we not go around?" "only by the head of the valley, two miles away at least," helen's tone remained the reverse of cordial. "i have climbed both in the selkirks and the coast range, and to anyone with a clear head, even in the most slippery places, there cannot be any real danger!" "i regret that i cannot agree with you. i devoutly wish i could," said geoffrey, uneasily. "no! you must please go no further, miss savine." the girl's eyes glittered resentfully. a flush crept into the center of either cheek as she walked towards him. though he did not intend it, there was perhaps too strong a suggestion of command in his attitude, and when helen came abreast of him, he laid a hand restrainingly upon her arm. she shook it off, not with ill-humored petulance, for helen was never ungraceful nor undignified, but with a disdain that hurt the man far more than anger. nevertheless, knowing that he was right, he was determined that she should run no risk. letting his hand swing at his side, he walked a few paces before her, and then turned in a narrow portion of the path where two people could not pass abreast. "please listen to me, miss savine," he began. "i am an engineer, and i can see that the bend yonder is dangerous. i cannot, therefore, consent to allow you to venture upon it. how should i face your father if anything unfortunate happened?" "my father saw the path built," repeated helen. "he also is an engineer, and is said to be one of the most skillful in the dominion. i am not used to being thwarted for inadequate reasons. let me pass." geoffrey stood erect and immovable. "i am very sorry, miss savine, that, in this one instance, i cannot obey you," he said. there was an awkward silence, and while they looked at each other, helen felt her breath come faster. retreating a few paces she seated herself upon a boulder, thus leaving the task of terminating an unpleasant position to geoffrey, who was puzzled for a time. finally, an inspiration dawned upon thurston, who said: "perhaps you would feel the disappointment less if i convinced you by ocular demonstration." walking cautiously forward to the dangerous angle, he grasped a broken edge of the rock outcrop about which the path twisted, and pressed hard with both feet upon the edge of the narrow causeway. it was a hazardous experiment, and the result of it startling, for there was a crash and a rattle, and geoffrey remained clinging to the rock, with one foot in a cranny, while a mass of earth and timber slid down the steep-pitched slope and disappeared over the face of the crag. a hollow splashing rose suggestively from far beneath the rock. helen, who had been too angry to notice the consideration for herself implied in the man's last speech, turned her eyes upon the ground and did not raise them until, after swinging himself carefully onto firmer soil, geoffrey approached her. "i hope, after what you have seen, you will forgive me for preventing your descent," he said. "you used considerable violence, and i am still unconvinced," helen declared, rising as she spoke. "in any case, you have at least made further progress impossible, and we may as well retrace our steps. no; i do not wish to hear any more upon the subject. it is really not worth further discussion." they turned back together. when the ascent grew steeper, geoffrey held out his hand. instead of accepting the proffered assistance as she had done when they descended, helen apparently failed to notice the hand, and the homeward journey was not pleasant to either of them. helen did not parade her displeasure, but geoffrey was sensible of it, and, never being a fluent speaker upon casual subjects, he was not successful in his conversational efforts. when at last they reached the villa, he shook his shoulders disgustedly as he recalled some of his inane remarks. "it was hardly a wonder she was silent. heavens, what prompted me to drivel in that style?" he reflected. "it was cruelly unfortunate, but i could not let her risk her precious safety over that confounded path!" at luncheon it happened that mrs. savine said: "i saw you going towards the white rock cove, helen. very interesting place, isn't it, mr. thurston? but you brought none of that lovely weed back with you." "did you notice how i had the path graded as you went down?" asked savine, and thurston saw that helen's eyes were fixed upon him. the expression of the eyes aroused his indignation because the glance was not a challenge, but a warning that whatever his answer might be, the result would be indifferent to her. he was hurt that she should suppose for a moment that he would profit by this opportunity. "we were not able to descend the whole way," he replied. "last winter's rains have loosened the surface soil, and one angle of the path slipped bodily away. very fortunately i was some distance in advance of miss savine, and there was not the slightest danger. might i suggest socketed timbers? the occurrence reminds me of a curious accident to the railroad track in the rockies." helen did not glance at the speaker again, for savine asked no awkward questions. but thurston saw no more of her during the afternoon. that evening he sought savine in his study. "you have all been very kind to me," he said. "in fact, so much so that i feel, if i stay any longer among you, i shall never be content to rough it when i go back to the bush. this is only too pleasant, but, being a poor man with a living to earn, it would be more consistent if i recommenced my work. which of the operations should i undertake first?" savine smiled on him whimsically, and answered with western directness: "i don't know whether the roads surveyor was right or wrong when he said that you were not always over-civil. see here, thurston, leaving all personal amenities out of the question, i'm inclined to figure that you will be of use to me, aid the connection also will help you considerably. my paid representatives are not always so energetic as they might be. so if you are tired of high maples you can start in with the rock-cutting on the new wagon road. it is only a detail, but i want it finished, and, as the cars would bring you down in two hours' time, i'll expect you to put in the week-end here, talking over more important things with me." thurston left the house next morning. he did not see helen to say good-by to her, for she had ridden out into the forest before he departed from high maples. helen admitted to herself that she was interested in thurston, the more so because he alone, of all the men whom she had met, had successfully resisted her will. but she shrank from him, and though convinced that his action in preventing her from going down the pathway had been justified, she could not quite forgive him. chapter x savine's confidence despite his employer's invitation thurston did not return to high maples at the end of the week. the rock-cutting engrossed all his attention, and he was conscious that it might be desirable to allow miss savine's indignation to cool. he had thought of her often since the day that she gave him the dollar, and, at first still smarting under the memory of another woman's treachery, had tried to analyze his feelings regarding her. the result was not very definite, though he decided that he had never really loved millicent, and was very certain now that she had wasted little affection upon him. one evening at graham's ranch when they had stood silently together under the early stars, he had become suddenly conscious of the all-important fact, that his life would be empty without helen savine, and that of all the women whom he had met she alone could guide and raise him towards a higher plane. it was characteristic of geoffrey thurston that the determination to win her in spite of every barrier of wealth and rank came with the revelation, and that, at the same time counting the cost, he realized that he must first bid boldly for a name and station, and with all patience bide his time. a more cold-blooded man might have abandoned the quest as hopeless at the first, and one more impulsive might have ruined his chances by rashness, but geoffrey united the characteristics of the reckless thurstons with his mother's cool north country canniness. it therefore happened that savine, irritated by a journalistic reference to the tardiness of that season's road-making, went down to see how the work entrusted to geoffrey was progressing. he was accompanied by his daughter, who desired to visit the wife of a prosperous rancher. it was towards noon of a hot day when they alighted from their horses in the mouth of a gorge that wound inland from the margin of a lake. no breath of wind ruffled the steely surface of the lake. white boulder and somber fir branch slept motionless, reflected in the crystal depths of the water, and lines of great black cedars, that kept watch from the ridge above, stood mute beneath the sun. as they picked their path carefully through the débris littering an ugly rent in the rock, where perspiring men were toiling hard with pick and drill, they came upon thurston before he was aware of them. geoffrey stood with a heavy hammer in his hand critically surveying a somewhat seedy man who was just then offering his services. savine, who had a sense of humor, was interested in the scene, and said to his daughter: "thurston's busy. we'll just wait until he's through with that fellow." geoffrey, being ignorant of their presence, decided that the applicant, who said that he was an englishman, and used to estimating quantities, would be of little service; but he seldom refused to assist a stranger in distress. "i do all the draughting and figuring work myself," he said. "however, if you are hard up you can earn two dollars a day wheeling broken rock until you find something better." the man turned away, apparently not delighted at the prospect of wheeling rock, and geoffrey faced about to greet the spectators. "i don't fancy you'll get much work out of that fellow," observed savine. "i did not expect to see you so soon, and am pleasantly surprised," said geoffrey, who, warned by something in helen's face, restrained the answer he was about to make. "you will be tired after your rough ride, and it is very hot out here. if you will come into my office tent i can offer you some slight refreshment." helen noticed every appointment of the double tent which was singularly neat and trim. its flooring of packed twigs gave out a pleasant aromatic odor. the instruments scattered among the papers on the maple desk were silver-mounted. the tall, dusty man in toil-stained jean produced thin glasses, into which he poured mineral waters and california wine. a tin of english biscuits was passed with the cooling drinks. thurston was a curious combination, she fancied, for, having seen him covered with the grime of hard toil she now beheld him in a new _rôle_--that of host. they chatted for half-an-hour, and then there was an interruption, for the young englishman, who had grown tired of wheeling the barrow, stood outside the tent demanding to see his employer. geoffrey strode out into the sunshine. the stranger said that he had a backache, besides blisters on his hands, and that wheeling a heavy barrow did not agree with him. he added, with an easy assurance that drew a frown to the contractor's face, "it's a considerable come-down for me to have to work hard at all, and i was told you were generally good to a distressed countryman. can't you really give me anything easier?" "i try to be helpful to my countrymen when they're worth it," answered geoffrey, dryly. "would you care to hold a rock drill, or swing a sledge instead?" "i hardly think so," he returned dubiously. "you see, i haven't been trained to manual labor, and i'm not so strong as you might think by looking at me." geoffrey lost his temper. "the drill might blister your fingers, i dare say," he admitted. "i'm afraid you are too good for this rude country, and i have no use for you. i could afford to be decent? perhaps so, but i earn my money with considerably more effort than you seem willing to make. the cook will give you dinner with the other men to-day; then you can resume your search for an easy billet. we have no room in this camp for idlers." savine chuckled, but helen, who had a weakness for philanthropy, and small practical experience of its economic aspect, flushed with indignation, pitying the stranger and resenting what she considered thurston's brutality. her father rose, when the contractor came in, to say that he wanted to look around the workings. he suggested that helen should remain somewhere in the shade. when thurston had placed a canvas lounge for her, outside the tent, the girl turned towards him a look of severe disapproval. "why did you speak to that poor man so cruelly?" she asked. "perhaps i am transgressing, but it seems to me that one living here in comfort, even comparative luxury, might be a little more considerate towards those less fortunate." "please remember that i was once what you term 'less fortunate' myself," geoffrey reminded helen, who answered quickly, "one would almost fancy it was you who had forgotten." "on the contrary, i am not likely to forget how hard it was for me to earn my first fee here in this new country," he declared, looking straight at her. "i was glad to work up to my waist in ice-water to make, at first, scarcely a dollar and a half a day. one must exercise discretion, miss savine, and that man, so far as i could see, had no desire to work." it was a pity that geoffrey did not explain that he meant bransome's payment by the words "my first fee," for helen had never forgotten how she had failed in the attempt to double the amount for which he had bargained. she had considered him destitute of all the gentler graces, but now she was surprised that he should apparently attempt to wound her. "is it right to judge so hastily?" she inquired, mastering her indignation with difficulty. "the poor man may not be fit for hard work--i think he said so--and i cannot help growing wrathful at times when i hear the stories which reach me of commercial avarice and tyranny." geoffrey blew a silver whistle, which summoned the foreman to whom he gave an order. "your _protégé_ shall have an opportunity of proving his willingness to be useful by helping the cook," thurston said with a smile at helen. "why did you do that--now?" she asked, uncertain whether to be gratified or angry, and geoffrey answered, "because i fancied it would meet with your approval." "then," declared helen looking past him, "if that was your only motive, you were mistaken." the conversation dragged after that, and they were glad when savine returned to escort his daughter part of the way to the ranch. when he rode back into camp alone an hour later, he dismounted with difficulty, and his face was gray as he reeled into the tent. "give me some wine, thurston--brandy if you have it, and don't ask questions. i shall be better in five minutes--i hope," he gasped. geoffrey had no brandy, but he broke the neck off a bottle of his best substitute, and savine lay very still on a canvas lounge, gripping one of its rails hard for long, anxious minutes before he said, "it is over, and i am myself again. hope i didn't scare you!" "i was uneasy," thurston replied. "dare i ask, sir, what the trouble was?" savine, who evidently had not quite recovered, looked steadily at the speaker. "i'll tell you in confidence, but neither my daughter nor my rivals must hear of this," he said at length. "it is part of the price i paid for success. i have an affection of the heart, which may snuff me out at any moment, or leave me years of carefully-guarded life." "i don't quite understand you, but perhaps i ought to suggest that you sit still and keep quiet for a time," geoffrey replied and savine answered, "no. save for a slight faintness i am as well as--i usually am. when one gets more than his due share of this world's good things, he must generally pay for it--see? if you don't, remember as an axiom that one can buy success too dearly. meantime, and to come back to this question's every-day aspect, i want your promise to say nothing of what you have seen. helen must be spared anxiety, and i must still pose as a man without a weakness, whatever it costs me." "you have my word, sir!" said geoffrey, and savine, who nodded, appeared satisfied. "as i said before, i can trust you, thurston, and though i've many interested friends i'm a somewhat lonely man. i don't know why i should tell you this, it isn't quite like me, but the seizure shook me, and i just feel that way. besides, in return for your promise, i owe you the confidence. give me some more wine, and i'll try to tell you how i spent my strength in gaining what is called success." "i won by hard work; started life as a bridge carpenter, and starved myself to buy the best text-books," savine began presently. "bid always for something better than what i had, and generally got it; ran through a big bridge-building contract at twenty-five, and fell in love with my daughter's mother when i'd finished it. i had risen at a bound from working foreman--she was the daughter of one of the proudest poverty-stricken frenchmen in old quebec. well, it would make a long story, but i married her, and she taught me much worth knowing, besides helping me on until, when i had all my savings locked up in apparently profitless schemes, i tried for a great bridge contract. i also got it, but there was political jobbery, and the opposition, learning from my rival how i was fixed, required a big deposit before the agreement was signed." savine paused a full minute, and helped himself to more wine before he proceeded. "the deposit was to be paid in fourteen days from the time i got the notice, or the tender would be advertised for again, and i hadn't half the amount handy. i couldn't realize on my possessions without an appalling loss, but i swore i would hold on to that contract, and i did it. it was always my way to pick up any odd information i could, and i learned that a certain mining shaft was likely to strike high-pay ore. i got the information from a workman who left the mine to serve me, so i caught the first train, made a long journey, and rode over a bad pass to reach the shaft. how i dealt with the manager doesn't greatly matter, but though i neither bribed nor threatened him he showed me what i wanted to see. i rode back over pass and down moraine through blinding snow, went on without rest or sleep to the city, borrowed what i could--i wasn't so well known then, and it was mighty little--and bought up as much of that mine's stock on margins as the money would cover. the news was being held back, but other men were buying quietly. still--well, they had to sleep and get their dinners, and i, who could do without either, came out ahead of them. market went mad in a day or two over the news of the crushing. i sold out at a tremendous premium, and started to pay my deposit. i did it in person, came back with the sealed contract--hadn't eaten decently or slept more than a few hours in two anxious weeks--went home triumphant, and collapsed--as i did not long ago--while i told my wife." there was silence for several minutes inside the tent. then geoffrey said, "i thank you for your confidence, sir, and will respect it, but even yet i am not quite certain why, considering that you held my unconditional promise, you gave it me." "as i said before, i felt like it," answered savine. "still, there's generally a common-sense reason somewhere for what i do, and it may help you to understand me. i heard of you at your first beginning. i figured that you were taking hold as i had done before you and thought i might have some use for a man like you. perhaps i'll tell you more, if we both live long enough, some day." it was in the cool of the evening that savine and his daughter, who had been waiting at a house far down the trail, rode back towards the railroad, leaving geoffrey puzzled at the uncertain ways of women. "what do you think of my new assistant, helen?" asked savine. "you generally have a quick judgment, and you haven't told me yet." "i hardly know," was the answer. "he is certainly a man of strong character, but there is something about him which repels one--something harsh, almost sinister, though this would, of course, in no way affect his business relations with you. for instance, you saw how he lives, and yet he turned away a countryman who appeared destitute and hungry." savine laughed. "you did not see how he lived. the good things in his tent were part of his business property, handy when some mining manager, who may want work done, comes along--or perhaps brought in by mounted messenger for miss savine's special benefit. thurston lives on pork and potatoes, and eats them with his men. the fellow you pitied was a lazy tramp. it mayn't greatly matter to you or me, but thurston will do great things some day." "it is perhaps possible," assented helen. "the men who are hard and cruel are usually successful. you have rather a weakness, father, for growing enthusiastic over what you call a live assistant. you have sometimes been mistaken, remember." chapter xi an inspiration more than twelve months had passed since thurston's first visit to high maples, when he stood one morning gazing abstractedly down a misty valley. below him a small army of men toiled upon the huge earth embankments, which, half-hidden by thin haze, divided the river from the broad swamps behind it. but geoffrey scarcely saw the men. he was looking back upon the events of the past year, and was oblivious to the present. he had made rapid progress in his profession and had won the esteem of julius savine; but he felt uncertain as to how far he had succeeded in placating miss savine. on some of his brief visits to high maples, helen had treated him with a kindliness which sent him away exultant. at other times, however, she appeared to avoid his company. presently dismissing the recollection of the girl with a sigh, geoffrey glanced at the strip of paper in his hand. it was a telegraphic message from savine, and ran: "want you and all the ideas you can bring along at the chalet to-morrow. expect deputation and interesting evening." savine had undertaken the drainage of the wide valley, which the rising waters periodically turned into a morass, and had sublet to geoffrey a part of the work. each of the neighboring ranchers who would benefit by the undertaking had promised a pro-rata payment, and the crown authorities had conditionally granted to savine a percentage of all the unoccupied land he could reclaim. previous operations had not, however, proved successful, for the snow-fed river breached the dykes, and the leaders of a syndicate with an opposition scheme were not only sowing distrust among savine's supporters, but striving to stir up political controversy over the concession. geoffrey did not agree with the contractor on several important points, but deferred to the older man's judgment. he had, however, already made his mark, and could have obtained profitable commissions from both mining companies and the smaller municipalities, had he desired them. while geoffrey was meditating, the mists began to melt before a warm breeze from the pacific. sliding in filmy wisps athwart the climbing pines, they rolled clear of the river, leaving bare two huge parallel mounds, between which the turbid waters ran. geoffrey, surveying the waste of tall marsh grasses stretching back to the forest, knew that a rich reward awaited the man who could reclaim the swamp. he was reminded of his first venture, which was insignificant compared to this greater one, and as suddenly as the mists had melted, the uncertainty in his own mind concerning savine's plan vanished too, and he saw that the contractor was wrong. what he had done for bransome on a minute scale must be done here on a gigantic one. a bold man, backed with capital, might blast a pathway for the waters through the converging rocks of the cañon, and, without the need of costly dykes, both swamp and the wide blue lake at the end of the valley would be left dry land. he stood rigidly still for ten minutes while his heart beat fast. then he strode hurriedly towards the gap in the ranges. there was much to do before he could obey savine's summons. it was towards the close of that afternoon when julius savine lounged on the veranda of a wooden hotel for tourists, which was built in a gorge of savage beauty. in spite of all that modern art could do, the building looked raw and new, out of place among the immemorial pines climbing towards snowy heights unsullied by the presence of man. helen, who sat near her father, glanced at him keenly before she said: "you have not looked well all day. is it the hot weather, or are you troubled about the conference to-night?" savine at first made no reply. the furrows deepened on his forehead, and helen felt a thrill of anxiety as she watched him. she had noticed that his shoulders were losing their squareness, and that his face had grown thin. "i must look worse than i feel," he declared after a little while, "but, though there is nothing to worry about, the reclamation scheme is a big one, and some of my rancher friends seem to have grown lukewarm latterly. if they went over to the opposition, the plea that my workings might damage their property, if encouraged by meddlesome politicians, would seriously hamper me. still, i shall certainly convince them, and that is why i am receiving the deputation to-night. i wish thurston had come in earlier; i want to consult with him." "what has happened to you?" asked helen, laying her hand affectionately upon his arm. "you never used to listen to anybody's opinions, and now you are always consulting thurston. sometimes i fancy you ought to give up your business before it wears you out. after all, you have not known thurston long." "perhaps so," savine admitted, and when he looked at her helen became interested in an eagle, which hung poised on broad wings above the valley. "i feel older than i used to, and may quit business when i put this contract through. it is big enough to wind up with. if i'd known thurston for ages i couldn't be more sure of him. i am a little disappointed that you don't like him." "you go too far." helen still concentrated her attention upon the dusky speck against the blue. "i have no reason for disliking mr. thurston; indeed, i do not dislike him and my feeling may be mere jealousy. you give--him--most of your confidences now, and i should hate anybody who divided you from me." savine lifted her little hand into his own, and patted it playfully as he answered: "you need never fear that. helen, you are very like your mother as she was thirty years ago." there was a sparkle of indignation in helen's eyes, and a suspicion of tell-tale color in her face. she remembered that, when he first met her mother, her father's position much resembled thurston's, and the girl wondered if he desired to remind her of it. "the cars are in sight. perhaps i had better see whether the hotel people are ready for your guests," she remarked with indifference. the hotel was famous for its cuisine, and the dinner which followed was, for various reasons, a memorable one, though some of the guests appeared distinctly puzzled by the sequence of viands and liquors. still, even those who, appreciating the change from leathery venison and grindstone bread, had eaten too much at the first course, struggled manfully with the succeeding, and good fellowship reigned until the cloth was removed, and the party prepared to discuss business. savine sat at the head of the table, the gray now showing thickly in his hair. his expression was, perhaps, too languid, for one of his guests whispered that the daring engineer was not what he used to be. the man glanced at thurston, who sat, stalwart, keen, and determined of face, beside his chief, and added, "i know which i'd sooner run up against now; and it wouldn't be his deputy, sub-contractor, or whatever the fellow is." "finding that our correspondence was using up no end of time and ink, i figured it would be better for us to talk things over together comfortably, and as some of you come from vancouver, and some from round the lake, this place appeared a convenient center," began savine. "now, gentlemen, i'm ready to discuss either business or anything else you like." there was a murmur, and the guests looked at one another. they were a somewhat mixed company--several speculators from the cities, two credited with political influence; well-educated englishmen, who had purchased land in the hope of combining sport with cattle raising; and wiry axemen, who lived in rough surroundings while they drove their clearings further into the forest, field by field. "then i'll start right off with business," said a city man. "i bought land up yonder and signed papers backing you. i thought there would be a boom in the valley when you got through, but i've heard some talk lately to the effect that the river is going to beat you, and, in any case, you're making slow headway. what i, what we all, want to know is, when you're going to have the undertaking completed." applause and a whispering followed, and another man said, "our sentiments exactly! guess you've seen _the freespeaker's_ article!" "i have," savine acknowledged coolly. "it suggested that i have no intention of carrying out my agreement, that i am hoodwinking the authorities for some indefinite purpose mysteriously connected with maintaining our present provincial rulers in power. the thing's absurd on the face of it, when i'm spending my money like water, and you ought to know me better. i won't even get the comparatively insignificant bonus until the work is finished." several of the listeners rapped upon the table, one or two growled suspiciously, and a big sunburnt englishman stood up. "we'll let the article in question pass," he said. "it is clearly written with personal animus. as you say, we know you better; but see here, savine, this is going to be a serious business for us if you fail. we've helped you with free labor, hauled your timber in, lent you oxen, and, in fact, done almost everything, besides giving you our bonds for a good many dollars and signing full approval of your scheme. by doing this we have barred ourselves from encouraging the other fellows' plans." after similar but less complimentary speeches had been made, thurston, who had been whispering to savine, claimed attention. he cast a searching glance round the assembly. "any sensible man could see that the opposition scheme is impracticable," he declared. "i am afraid some of you have been sent here well primed." his last remark was perhaps combatant rashness, or possibly a premeditated attempt to force the listeners to reveal their actual sentiments. if he wished to get at the truth, he was successful, for several men began to speak at once, and while disjointed words interloped his remarks, the loudest of them said: "you can't fool us, savine. we're poor men with a living to earn, but we're mighty tough, and nobody walks over us with nails in their boots. if you can't hold up that river, where are we going to be? i'd sooner shove in the giant powder to blow them up, than stand by and see my crops and cattle washed out when your big dykes bust." "so would i," cried several voices, and there was a rapid cross-fire of question and comment. "not the men to be fooled with." "stand by our rights; appeal to legislation, and choke this thing right up!" "can you make your dykes stand water at all?" "give the man--a fair show." "how many years do you figure on keeping us waiting?" savine rose somewhat stiffly from his chair, and thurston noted an ominous grayness in either cheek. "there are just two things you can do," savine said; "appeal to your legislators to get my grants canceled, or sit tight and trust me. for thirty-five years i've done my share in the development of the dominion, and i never took a contract i didn't put through. this has proved a tough one, but if it costs me my last dollar----" the honest persons among the malcontents were mostly struggling men, who, having expected the operations would bring them swift prosperity, had been the more disappointed. still, the speaker's sincerity inspired returning confidence, and, when he paused, there was a measure of sympathy for him, for he seemed haggard and ill, and was one against many. his guests began to wonder whether they had not been too impatient and suspicious, and one broke in apologetically, "that's good! we're not unreasonable. but we like straight talking--what if the dykes keep on bursting?" then there was consternation, for savine collapsed into his chair, after he had said, "mr. thurston will tell you. remember he acts for me." to geoffrey he whispered, "i don't feel well. help me out, and then go back to them." "sit still. stand back! you have done rather too much already," geoffrey declared, turning fiercely upon the men, who hurried forward, one with a water decanter, and another with a wine glass. the guests fell back before thurston, as he led savine, who leaned heavily upon him, from the banquet room. as they entered a broad hall helen and her aunt passed along the veranda upon which it opened. "they must not know; keep them out!" gasped the contractor. "get me some brandy and ring for the steward--quick. you have got to go back and convince those fellows, thurston. good lord!--this is agony." savine sank into a chair. his twitching face was livid, and great beads of moisture gathered upon his forehead. thurston pressed a button, then strode swiftly towards the door hoping that helen, who passed outside with a laugh upon her lips, might be spared the sight of her father's suffering. but mrs. savine, gazing in through a long window, started as she exclaimed, "helen, your father's very sick! run along and bring me the elixir out of my valise." helen turned towards the window, and geoffrey, who groaned inwardly, placed himself so that she could not see. there was a rustle of skirts, and swift, light footsteps approached. "what is the matter? why do you stand there? let me pass at once!" cried helen in a voice trembling with fear. "please wait a few moments," answered geoffrey, standing between the suffering man and his daughter. "your father will be better directly, and you must not excite him." there was no mistaking the color in helen's face now. if her eyes were anxious the crimson in her cheeks and on her forehead was that of anger. geoffrey felt compassionate, but he was still determined to spare her. "for your father's sake and your own, don't go to him just yet, miss savine," he pleaded, but, with little fingers whose grip felt steely, the girl wrenched away his detaining arm. "is there no limit to your interference or presumption?" she asked, sweeping past him to fall with a low cry beside the big chair upon which her father was reclining. the cry pierced to thurston's heart. helen had seen little of either sickness or tragedy. savine sat still as if he did not see her, his face contracted into a ghastly grin of pain. the attendant who came to them deftly aided geoffrey to force a little cordial between the sufferer's teeth. savine made no sign. forgetting her indignation in her terror helen glanced at geoffrey in vague question, but he merely raised his hand with a restraining gesture. "we had better get him onto a sofa, sir," whispered the attendant, presently. "not very heavy. perhaps you and i could manage." it was when he was being lifted that savine first showed signs of intelligence. he glanced at geoffrey and attempted to beckon towards the room they had left. when he seemed slightly better, thurston said: "i am going, sir. stay here a few minutes, and then call somebody, waiter. i cannot stay any longer." savine made an approving gesture, but helen said with fear and evident surprise, "you will not leave us now, mr. thurston?" "i must," answered geoffrey, restraining an intense longing to stay since she desired it, but loyal to his master's charge. "i believe your father is recovering, and it is his especial wish. i can do nothing, and he needs only quiet." helen said nothing further. she began to chafe her father's hand, while thurston went back, pale and grim, to the head of the long table. "mr. savine was seized by a passing faintness, but is recovering," he said. "nevertheless, he may not be able to return, and, as i am interested with him in the drainage scheme he has appointed me his deputy. therefore, in brief answer to your questions, i would say that if either of us lives you shall have good oat fields instead of swamp grass and muskeg. it is a solemn promise--we intend to redeem it." "i want to ask just two questions," announced a sun-bronzed man, in picturesque jacket of fringed deerskin. "who are the--we; and how are you going to build dykes strong enough to stand the river when the lake's full of melting snow and sends the water down roaring under a twenty-foot head?" the speaker had touched the one weak spot in savine's scheme, but geoffrey rose to the occasion, and there was a wondering hush when he said, "in answer to the first question--julius savine and i are the 'we.' secondly, we will, if necessary, obliterate the lake. it can be done." the boldness of the answer from a comparatively unknown man held the listeners still, until there were further questions and finally, amid acclamation, one of the party said: "then it's a bargain, and we'll back you solid through thick and thin. isn't that so, gentlemen? if the opposition try to make legal trouble, as the holders of the cleared land likely to be affected we've got the strongest pull. we came here doubting; you have convinced us." "i hardly think you will regret it," geoffrey assured them. "now, as i must see to mr. savine, you will excuse me." savine lay breathing heavily when geoffrey rejoined him, but he demanded what had happened, and nodded approval when told. then geoffrey withdrew, beckoning to helen, who rose and followed him. "this is no time for useless recrimination, or i would ask how you could leave one who has been a generous friend, helpless and suffering," the girl said reproachfully. "my father is evidently seriously ill, and you are the only person i can turn to, for the hotel manager tells me there is no doctor within miles of us. so in my distress i must stoop to ask you, for his sake, what i can do?" "will you believe not only that i sympathize, but that i would gladly have given all i possess to save you from this shock?" thurston began, but helen cut him short by an impatient wave of the hand, and stood close beside him with distress and displeasure in her eyes. "all that is outside the question--what can we do?" she asked imploringly. "only one thing," answered geoffrey. "bring up the best doctor in vancouver by special train. i'm going now to hold up the fast freight. gather your courage. i will be back soon after daylight with skilled assistance." he went out before the girl could answer, and, comforted, helen hurried back to her father's side. whatever his failings might be, thurston was at least a man to depend upon when there was need of action. there was a little platform near the hotel where trains might be flagged for the benefit of passengers, but the office was locked. thurston, who knew that shortly a freight train would pass, broke in the window, borrowed a lantern, lighted it, and hurried up the track which here wound round a curve through the forest and over a trestle. it is not pleasant to cross a lofty trestle bridge on foot in broad daylight, for one must step from sleeper to sleeper over wide spaces with empty air beneath, and, as the ties are just wide enough to carry the single pair of rails, it would mean death to meet a train. geoffrey nevertheless pressed on fast, the light of the blinking lantern dazzling his eyes and rendering it more difficult to judge the distances between the ties--until he halted for breath a moment in the center of the bridge. white mist and the roar of hurrying water rose out of the chasm beneath, but another sound broke through the noise of the swift stream. geoffrey hear the vibratory rattle of freight cars racing down the valley, and he went on again at a reckless run, leaping across black gulfs of shadow. the sound had gained in volume when he reached firm earth and ran swiftly towards the end of the curve, from which, down a long declivity, the engineer could see his lantern. panting, he held the light aloft as a great fan-shaped blaze of radiance came flaming like a comet down the track. soon he could dimly discern the shape of two huge mountain engines, while the rails trembled beside him, and a wall of rock flung back the din of whirring wheels. the fast freight had started from the head of atlantic navigation at montreal, and would not stop until the huge cars rolled alongside the empress liner at vancouver, for part of their burden was being hurried west from england around half the world to china and the east again. the track led down-grade, and the engineers, who had nursed the great machines up the long climb to the summit, were now racing them down hill. waving the lantern geoffrey stood with a foot on one of the rails and every sense intent, until the first engine's cow-catcher was almost upon him. then he leaped for his life and stood half-blinded amid whirling ballast and a rushing wind, as, veiled in thick dust, the great box cars clanged by. he was savage with dismay, for it seemed that the engineer had not seen his signal; then his heart bounded, a shrill hoot from two whistles was followed by the screaming of brakes. when he came up with the standing train at the end of the trestle, one engineer, leaning down from the rail of the cab, said: "i saw your light away back, but was too busy trying to stop without smashing something to answer. say, has the trestle caved in, or what in the name of thunder is holding us up?" "the trestle is all right," answered geoffrey, climbing into the cab. "i held you up, and i'm going on with you to bring out a doctor to my partner, who is dangerously ill." the engineer's comments were indignant and sulphurous, while the big fireman turned back his shirt sleeves as if preparing to chastise the man rash enough to interfere with express freight traffic. geoffrey, reaching for a shovel, said: "when we get there, i'll go with you to your superintendent at vancouver; but, if either of you try to put me off or to call assistance, i'll make good use of this. i tell you it's a question of life and death, and two at least of your directors are good friends of the man i want to help. they wouldn't thank you for destroying his last chance. meantime you're wasting precious moments. start the train." "hold fast!" commanded the grizzled engineer, opening the throttle. "when she's under way, i'll talk to you, and unless you satisfy me, by the time we reach vancouver there won't be much of you left for the police to take charge of." then the two locomotives started the long cars on their inter-ocean race again. chapter xii geoffrey tests his fate it was a lowering afternoon in the fall, when thurston and julius savine stood talking together upon a spray-drenched ledge in the depths of a british columbian cañon. on the crest of the smooth-scarped hillside, which stretched back from the sheer face of rock far overhead, stood what looked like a tiny fretwork in ebony, and consisted of two-hundred-foot conifers. here and there a clamorous torrent had worn out a gully, and, with thurston's assistance, savine had accomplished the descent of one of the less precipitous. elsewhere the rocks had been rubbed into smooth walls, between which the river had fretted out its channel during countless ages. the water was coming down in a mad green flood, for the higher snows had melted fast under the autumn sun, and the clay beneath the glaciers had stained it. foam licked the ledges, a roaring white wake streamed behind each boulder's ugly head, and the whole gloomy cañon rang with the thunder of a rapid, whose filmy stream whirled in the chilly breeze. savine gazed at the rapid and the whirlpool that fed it, distinguishing the roar of scoring gravel and grind of broken rock from its vibratory booming, and though he was a daring man, his heart almost failed him. "it looks ugly, horribly ugly, and i doubt if another man in the dominion would have suggested tackling the river here, but you are right," he admitted. "human judgment has its limits, and the constant bursts have proved that no dykes which wouldn't ruin me in the building could stand high-water pressure long. if you don't mind, thurston, we'll move farther from the edge. i've been a little shaky since that last attack." "the climb down was awkward, but you have looked better lately," declared geoffrey and savine sighed. "i guess my best days are done, and that is one reason why i wish to end up with a big success," he said. "i got a plain warning from the vancouver doctor you brought me in that morning. you managed it smartly." "i was lucky," said thurston, laughing. "at first, i expected to be ignominiously locked up after the engineer and fireman had torn my clothes off me. but we did not climb down here to talk of that." "no!" and savine looked straight at his companion. "this is a great scheme, thurston, the biggest i have ever undertaken. there will be room for scores of ranches, herds of cattle, wheat fields and orchards, if we can put it through--and we have just got to put it through. those confounded dykes have drained me heavily, and they'll keep right on costing money. still, even to me, it looks almost beyond the power of mortal man to deepen the channel here. the risk will figure high in money, but higher in human life. you feel quite certain you can do it?" "yes!" asserted geoffrey. "i believe i can--in winter, when the frost binds the glaciers and the waters shrink. once it is done, and the only hard rock barrier that holds the water up removed, the river will scour its own way through the alluvial deposits. i have asked a long price, but the work will be difficult." savine nodded. he knew that it would be a task almost fit for demi-gods or giants to cut down the bed of what was a furious torrent, thick with grinding débris and scoring ice, and that only very strong bold men could grapple with the angry waters, amid blinding snow or under the bitter frost of the inland ranges in winter time. "the price is not too heavy, but i don't accept your terms," savine said. "hold on until i have finished and then begin your talking. i'll offer you a minor partnership in my business instead. take time, and keep your answer until i explain things in my offices, in case you find the terms onerous; but there are many men in this country who would be glad of the chance you're getting." geoffrey stood up, his lean brown face twitching. he walked twice along the slippery ledge, and then halted before savine. "i will accept them whatever they are on one condition, which i hardly dare hope you will approve," he replied. "that is, regarding the partnership, for in any case, holding to my first suggestion, you can count on my best help down here. i don't forget that i owe you a heavy debt of gratitude, sir, though, as you know, i have had several good offers latterly." savine, who had been abstractedly watching the mad rush of the stream, looked up as he inquired: "what is the condition? you seem unusually diffident to-day, thurston." "it is a great thing i am going to ask." geoffrey, standing on the treacherous ledge above the thundering river, scarcely looked like a suppliant as he put his fate to the test. "it is your permission to ask miss savine to marry me when the time seems opportune. it would not be surprising if you laughed at me, but even then i should only wait the more patiently. this is not a new ambition, for one day when i first came, a poor man, into this country i set my heart upon it, and working ever since to realize it, i have, so far at least as worldly prospects go, lessened the distance between us." savine, who betrayed no surprise, was silent for a little while. then he answered quietly: "i am, according to popular opinion, anything but a poor man, and though those dykes have bled me, such a match would, as you suggest, be unequal from a financial point of view, unless helen marries against my wishes. then she should marry without a dollar. does that influence you?" thurston spread out his hands with a contemptuous gesture, which his quiet earnestness redeemed from being theatrical. "for my own sake i should prefer it so. dollars! how far would anyone count dollars in comparison with miss savine? but i do not fear being able to earn all she needs. when the time seems opportune the inequality may be less." "it is possible," continued savine. "one notices that the man who knows exactly what he wants and doesn't fool his time away over other things not infrequently gets it. you have not really surprised me. now--and i want a straight answer--why did you leave the old country?" "for several reasons. i lost my money mining. the lady whom i should have married, according to arrangements made for us, tired of me. it is a somewhat painful story, but i was bound up in the mine, and there were, no doubt, ample excuses for her. we were both of us almost too young to know our own minds when we fell in with our relatives' wishes, and, though i hardly care to say so, it was perhaps well we found out our mistake in time." "all!" said savine. "were there no openings for a live man in the old country, and have you told me all?" "i could not find any place for a man in my position," geoffrey let the words fall slowly. "i come of a reckless, hard-living family, and i feared that some of their failings might repeat themselves in me. i had my warnings. had i stayed over there, a disappointed man, they might have mastered me, and so, when there was nothing to keep me, i turned my back--and ran. out here any man who hungers for it can find quite sufficient healthful excitement for his needs, and excitement is as wine to me. these, i know, seem very curious qualifications for a son-in-law, but it seemed just to tell you. need i explain further?" "no," answered savine, whose face had grown serious. "thanks for your honesty. i guess i know the weaknesses you mean--the greatest of them is whiskey. i've had scores of brilliant men it has driven out from europe to shovel dirt for me. it's not good news, thurston. how long have you made head against your inherited failings?" "since i could understand things clearly," was the steady answer. "i feared only what might happen, and would never have spoken had i not felt that this country had helped me to break the entail, and set me free. you know all, sir, and to my disadvantage i have put it before you tersely, but there is another aspect." thurston's tone carried conviction with it, but savine cut him short. "it is the practical aspect that appeals to me," he said. he stared down at the river for several minutes before he asked: "have you any reason to believe that helen reciprocates the attachment?" "no." geoffrey's face fell. "once or twice i ventured almost to hope so; more often i feared the opposite. all i ask is the right to wait until the time seems ripe, and know that i shall have your good will if it ever does. i could accept no further benefits from your hands until i had told you." "you have it now," savine declared very gravely. "as you know, my life is uncertain, and i believe you faithful and strong enough to take care of helen. after all, what more could i look for? still, if she does not like you, there will be an end of the matter. it may be many would blame me for yielding, but i believe i could trust you, thurston--and there are things they do not know." savine sighed after the last words. his face clouded. then he added abruptly: "speak when it suits you, thurston, and good luck to you. there are reasons besides the fact that i'm an old man why i should envy you." had geoffrey been less exultant he might have noticed something curious in savine's expression, but he was too full of his heart's desire to be conscious of more than the one all-important fact that helen's father wished him well. it was in a mood of high hopefulness he assisted mr. savine during the arduous scramble up out of the cañon. later his elation was diminished by the recollection that he had yet to win the good will of miss savine. * * * * * some time had passed after the interview in the cañon, when one afternoon geoffrey walked out on the veranda at high maples in search of helen savine. it was winter time, but the climate near the southwestern coast is mild. high maples was sheltered, and the sun was faintly warm. there were a few hardy flowers in the borders fringing the smooth green lawn, a striking contrast to the snow-sheeted pines of the ice-bound wilderness in which thurston toiled. helen was not on the veranda, and not knowing where to search further, the young man sank somewhat heavily into a chair. geoffrey had ridden all night through powdery snow-drifts which rose at times to the stirrup, and at others so high that his horse could scarcely flounder through them. he had made out lists of necessary stores as the jolting train sped on to vancouver, and had been busy every moment until it was time to start for high maples. though he would have had it otherwise, he dare not neglect one item when time was very precious. he had not spared himself much leisure for either food or sleep of late, for by the short northern daylight, and flame of the roaring lucigen, through the long black nights, he and his company of carefully picked men had fought stubbornly with the icy river. the suns rays grew brighter, there was still no sign of helen. tired in mind and body geoffrey sat still, lost in a reverie. he had left the camp in a state of nervous suspense, but overtaxed nature had conquered, and now he waited not less anxious than he had been, but with a physical languidness due to the reaction. when helen savine finally came out softly through a long window geoffrey did not at first see her, and she had time to cast more than a passing glance at him as he sat with head resting gratefully on the back of the basket chair. his face, deeply tanned by the snow, had grown once more worn and thin. there were lines upon the forehead and wrinkles about his eyes; one bronzed hand lay above the other on his knee, as the complement of a pose that suggested the exhaustion of over-fatigue. the sight roused her pity, and she felt unusually sympathetic towards the tired man. then geoffrey started and rose quickly. helen noticed how he seemed to fling off his weariness as he came towards her, hat in hand. "i have made a hurried journey to see you, miss savine," he said. "i have something to tell you, something concerning which i cannot keep silence any longer. if i am abrupt you will forgive me, but will you listen a few moments, and then answer me a question?" the man's tone was humble if his eyes were eager, and helen, who was sensible of a tremor of emotion, leaned against the rails of the veranda. the winter sunlight shone full upon her, and either that or the cold breeze that she had met on the headland accounted for the color in her cheeks. she made a dainty picture in her fur cap and close-fitting jacket, whose rich fur trimming set off the curves of a shapely figure. the man's longing must have shown itself in his eyes, for helen suddenly turned her glance away from him. again she felt a curious thrill, almost of pleasure, and wondered at it. if she had guessed his meaning correctly she would have felt merely sorry for him, and yet there was no mistaking an indefinite sense of satisfaction. "do you remember what i once told you at graham's ranch?" he asked. "i was a needy adventurer then, and guilty of horrible presumption, but though the words came without my definite will i meant every one of them. i knew there could be only one woman in the world for me, and i solemnly determined to win her. it seemed madness--i was a poor, unknown man--but the thought of you drove me resistlessly on until at last the gulf between us has been narrowed, and may be narrower still. that is, i have striven to lessen it in the one way i can--in all others without your help it must remain impassable. heaven knows how far i am beneath you, and the daring hope has but one excuse--i love you, and shall always do so. is what i hope for quite impossible?" while helen would have told herself ten minutes earlier that she almost disliked the pleader, she was conscious of a new emotion. she had regarded other suitors with something like contempt, but it was not so with thurston. even if he occasionally repelled her, it was impossible to despise him. "i am sorry," she said slowly. "sorry that you should have told me this, because i can only answer that it is impossible." geoffrey evinced no great surprise. his face became stern instead of expectant; his toil-hardened frame was more erect, as he answered with unusual gentleness: "i have endeavored to prepare myself for your reply. how could i hope to win you--as it were for the asking--easily? still, though i am painfully conscious of many possible reasons, may i venture to ask why it is impossible, miss savine?" helen answered: "i am sorry it is so--but why should i pain you? can you not take my answer without the reasons?" "no; not if you will give them," persisted geoffrey. "i have grown accustomed to unpleasant things, and it is to be hoped there is truth in the belief that they are good for one. the truth from your lips would hurt me less. will you not tell me?" "i will try if you demand it." helen, who could not help noticing how unflinchingly he had received what was really a needlessly cold rebuff, hoped she was lucid as she began: "i have a respect for you, mr. thurston, but--how shall i express it?--also a shrinking. you--please remember, you insisted--seem so hard and overbearing, and while power is a desirable attribute in a man---- but will you force me to go on?" "i beg you to go on," said geoffrey, with a certain grimness. "in spite of a popular fallacy, i could not esteem a--a husband i was afraid of. a man should be gentle, pitiful and considerate to all women. without mutual forbearance there could be no true companionship--and----" "you are right." geoffrey's voice was humble without bitterness. "i have lived a hard life, and perhaps it has made me, compared with your standard, brutal. still, i would ask again, are these all your reasons? is the other difference between us too great--the distance dividing the man you gave the dollar to from the daughter of julius savine?" "no," answered helen. "that difference is, after all, imaginary. we do not think over here quite as you do in england, and if we did, are you not a thurston of crosbie? but please believe that i am sorry, and--you insisted on the explanation--forgive me if i have said too much. there is a long future before you--and men change their minds." geoffrey's face darkened, and helen, who regretted the last hasty words which escaped her without reflection, watched him intently until he said: "musker must have told you about something in my life. but i was not inconstant though the fault was doubtless mine. that is a story which cannot be mentioned again, miss savine." "i had never meant to refer to it," helen apologized with some confusion, "but since you have mistaken me, i must add that another friend of yours--a lady--gave me a version that bore truth stamped upon the face of it. one could imagine that you would not take kindly to the fate others arranged for you. but how do you know you are not repeating the same mistake? the fancy which deceived you then may do the same again." "how do i know?" geoffrey's voice rang convincingly as he turned upon the questioner, stretched out an arm towards her, and then dropped it swiftly. "i know what love is now, because you have taught me. listen, miss savine, i am as the almighty made me, a plain--and sometimes an ill-tempered man, who would gladly lay down his life to save you sorrow; but if what you say divides us is all there is, then, as long as you remain helen savine, i shall cling fast to my purpose and strive to prove myself worthy. again, you were right--how could you be otherwise?--but i shall yet convince you that you need not shrink from me." "it would be wiser to take a definite 'no' for answer," said helen. "why should this fancy spoil your life for you?" "you cannot take all hope from me," geoffrey declared. "would you suspect me of exaggerated sentiment, if i said my life has been yours for a long time and is yours now, for it is true. i will go back to the work that is best for me, merely adding that, if ever there is either trouble or adversity in which i can aid you--though god forbid, for your sake, that should ever be so--you have only to send for me." "i can at least sincerely wish you success in your great undertaking." helen offered him her hand, and was conscious of a faint disappointment, when, barely touching it, he turned hurriedly away. she watched him cross the lawn towards the stables, and then waited until a rapid thud of hoofs broke the silence of the woods. "gone, and i let him carry that hope away!" she said, still looking towards the forest with troubled eyes. "yesterday i could never have done so, but yesterday he was gone, and now----" helen did not finish her sentence, but as the beat of hoofs died away, glanced at the hand which for a moment had rested in geoffrey's. "what has happened to me, and is he learning quickly or growing strangely timid?" she asked herself. thurston almost rode over julius savine near the railroad depot, and reined in his horse to say: "i have my answer, sir, but do not feel beaten yet. some unholy luck insists that all my affairs must be mixed with my daily business, and, because of what was said in the cañon, i must ask you, now of all times, to let me hold the option of that partnership or acceptance of the offer i made you until we vanquish the river." he went off at a gallop as the cars rolled in, leaving savine smiling dryly as he looked after him. chapter xiii a test of loyalty it was during a brief respite from his task, which had been suspended, waiting the arrival of certain tools and material, that thurston accompanied savine and helen to a semi-public gathering at the house of a man who was a power in the mountain province just outside vancouver. politicians, land-speculators, railroad and shipping magnates were present with their wives and daughters, and most of them had a word for savine or a glance of admiration for helen. savine moved among guests chatting with the brilliancy which occasionally characterized him, and always puzzled thurston. thurston was rarely troubled by petty jealousies, but the homage all men paid to helen awoke an unpleasant apprehension within him. he did not know many of the men and women who laughed and talked in animated groups; and at length found himself seated alone in a quiet corner. the ground floor of the rambling house consisted of various rooms, some of which opened with archways into one another. he could see into the one most crowded, where helen formed the center of an admiring circle. there was no doubt that miss savine owed much to the race from which she sprang on her mother's side. dark beauty, grace of movement, and, when she chose to indulge in it, vivacious speech, all betokened a latin extraction, while the slight haughtiness, which thurston thought wonderfully became her, was the dowry of a line of autocratic landowners. that she was pleasant to look upon was proved by the convincing testimony of other men's admiration as well as by his own senses. now, when the distance between them was in some respects diminishing, she seemed even further away from him. in her presence he felt himself a plain, unpolished man, and knew he would never shine in the light play of wit and satire which characterized the society for which she was fitted. he decided, also, that she had probably remained unmarried because she could find no one who came up to her standard, and feared that he himself would come very far beneath it. it appeared doubtful that he could ever acquire the gentler virtues helen had described. nevertheless, his face grew set as he determined that he could prove his loyalty in the manner that best suited him--by serving her father faithfully. a capitalist, for whom geoffrey had undertaken several commissions, halted before him. "hello! quite alone, thurston, and worrying over something as usual," he began, with western brusqueness. "what has gone wrong? have more of your dams burst, up yonder? one would fancy that floundering around through the ice and snow up there would be more congenial than these frivolities. i'm not great on them either, but it's a matter of dollars and cents with me. you perhaps know a little about this self-made--that's your british term, i think--company." "not so much as you do," answered geoffrey. "still, i have been wondering how some of the men earned their money. i understand that they have sense enough to be proud of their small beginnings, but they do not furnish instructive details as to the precise manner in which they achieved their success." the capitalist, who was one of the class described, laughed good-humoredly, as he seated himself beside thurston. "well, how are you getting on up in the valley?" he inquired, and geoffrey's eyes expressed faint amusement as he answered: "as well as we expected, and, if we had our difficulties, you would hardly expect me to tell them to a director of the industrial enterprise company." "perhaps not!" the capitalist smiled, for the industrial enterprise was the corporation which had opposed savine's reclamation scheme. "anyway, the company is a speculation with me; my colleagues manage it without much of my assistance. but say, what's the matter with your respected chief? he has come right out of his shell to-night." the speaker glanced towards savine, who was surrounded by a group of well-known men. "i tell you, thurston, there's something uncanny about that man of late," he continued. "however, knowing there's no use trying to fool you, i'll give you a fair warning and come straight to something i may as well say now as later. savine will go down like a house of cards some day, and those who lean upon him will find it, in our language, frosty weather. now, suppose we made you a fair offer, would you join us?" a curt refusal trembled upon geoffrey's lips, when he reflected that, as soon as the work was finished, his relations with savine would be drawn closer still. in the meantime, it was not advisable to give any hint to a possible enemy. "i couldn't say until i heard what the offer is," he answered cautiously. "you're a typical cold-blooded britisher," asserted the other man. "i don't know either. i leave all details to the members of the company; but we've a secretary, who understands all about it, in this house to-night. we're half of us here on business, directly or indirectly, and not for pleasure, so it's possible he may talk to you. but i see our hostess eying us, and it's time we walked along." they moved forward together, and the woman whom they approached, beckoning geoffrey, whom she had for some reason taken under her patronage, said: "there's a countrywoman of yours present, who doesn't know many of our people yet. i should like to present you to her. she comes, i understand, from the same wilds which sheltered you. mrs. leslie, this is a special _protégé_ of mine, mr. thurston, who could give you all information about the mountains in which your husband talks of banishing you." a handsome, tastefully-dressed woman turned more fully towards them, and for a moment geoffrey stood still in blank astonishment. the average man would find it disconcerting to be brought, without warning, suddenly face to face in a strange country with a woman who had discarded him, and thurston showed slight embarrassment. "mrs. henry leslie! but you evidently know each other!" exclaimed the hostess, whose quick eyes had noticed his startled expression. millicent had changed since the last time geoffrey saw her. she had lost her fresh cream and rose prettiness, but had gained something in place of it, and though her pale blue eyes were too deeply sunk, her face had acquired strength and dignity. she was, as he had always found her, perfectly self-possessed. with a quick glance, which expressed appeal and warning, she said: "we are not quite strangers. i knew mr. thurston in england." the young englishman and his countrywoman moved away together, and geoffrey presently found himself standing in a broad corridor with millicent's hand upon his arm. through a long window which opened into a balcony the clear moonlight shone. a wide vista of forest and sparkling sea lured them out of doors. "a breath of fresh air would be delightful. it would be quiet out there, and i expect you have much to tell me." it was millicent who spoke, with quiet composure, and her companion wondered at his own lack of feeling. after the first shock of the surprise he was sensible of no particular indignation or emotion. it seemed as if any tenderness that he had once felt for her had long since disappeared. there was little that he cared to tell her; but, prompted by some impulse which may have been mere curiosity, he drew the window open and they passed out upon the balcony. "this reminds one of other days," said the woman, with a sigh. "had i known you were here, i should have dreaded to meet you, but it is very pleasant to see you again. you have surely altered, geoffrey. i should hardly have expected to find you so friendly." "i am not in the least inclined to reproach you for the past," was the sober answer. geoffrey was distinctly perplexed, for he had acquired a clearer perception of millicent's character since he left england, and now he felt almost indignant with himself for wondering what she wanted. glancing at her face he was conscious of a certain pity as well as a vague distrust, for it was evident that her life had not been altogether smooth or her health really robust. but the fact that she should recall the far-off days in england jarred upon him. "it is a relief to learn that you are not angry, at least. what are you doing over here, geoffrey?" she asked. "reclaiming a valley from a river. living up among the mountains in the snow," was the answer. "and you like it? you can find happiness in the hard life?" "better than anything i ever undertook before. happiness is a somewhat indefinite term, and, perhaps because i have seldom found leisure to consider whether i am happy or not, the presumption is that i am at least contented." millicent sighed and her face grew sad, while thurston rebelled against an instinctive conviction that she knew a wistful expression was becoming to her and was calculated to appeal to a male observer. "one could envy you!" she said softly, and geoffrey, rising superior to all critical thoughts, felt only sincere pity. "have you not been happy in--canada, millicent?" he inquired, and if the woman noticed how nearly he had avoided a blunder, which is distinctly probable, she at least made no sign. "i can't resist the temptation to answer you frankly, geoffrey," she replied. "i have had severe trials, and some, i fear, have left their mark on me. there are experiences after which one is never quite the same. you heard of the financial disaster which overtook us? yes? black days followed it, but mr. leslie has hopes of succeeding in this country, and that will brighten the future--indirectly even--for me." "ah!" geoffrey spoke with a peculiar inflection of the voice, for though he could forgive the woman now, he could not forget his resentment towards the man who had supplanted him. "for your sake, i hope he will." millicent glanced at him sideways, and, as if anxious to change the subject, asked: "is it the orchard valley you are endeavoring to reclaim? yes. i might have guessed it. i have heard people say that the scheme of mr. savine, if that is his name, is impracticable. it is characteristic of you, geoffrey, to play out a losing game, but, with one's future at stake, is it wise?" "i do not know that i was ever particularly remarkable for wisdom," geoffrey answered with a shake of the head. "the scheme in question is, however, by no means so impracticable as some persons imagine it to be." "then you still hope for success. have you not failed in one or two of your efforts?" millicent's voice was politely indifferent, but a certain keenness in her eyes, which did not escape geoffrey's notice, betrayed more than a casual interest. thurston afterwards decided that the shock of the unexpected meeting had the effect of rendering his perceptions unusually quick. "i have not been often successful," he admitted, with a laugh, "but my employer is, as you may have heard, a sanguine person, and has not hitherto been beaten." "i hope he will not be in this instance," said millicent, and it occurred to geoffrey that she was concealing a sense of disappointment. they talked a little longer and then she remarked: "i am afraid we have been shamefully neglecting our social duties, but as we shall, in all probability, meet now and then, i hope--in spite of all that has happened--it will be as good friends." again the man felt that the meeting had not been brought about wholly by accident, but he bent his head as he answered: "if ever you should need a friend, you can, for the sake of old times, count on me." "one of the finest views in the province," said a voice behind them. "we are proud of the prospect from this balcony. if you stand here, miss helen, you can enjoy it, and tell me if you have anything better at high maples. most romantic spot on such a night for a quiet chat, and if i was only twenty years younger, my dear young lady----" then the speaker evidently retired with some precipitation from the window, as he added, "no, never mind drawing the curtain, savine. if she is not over tired i can show your daughter something interesting in the conservatory instead." "romantic spot occupied already!" the laugh which accompanied the sound of retreating footsteps and the rustle of drapery, was unmistakably that of julius savine. geoffrey, who fumed inwardly at the reflection that his attitude was distinctly liable to misconception, straightened himself with perhaps too great a suddenness, while the faint amusement in his companion's face heightened his displeasure. millicent had managed to obtain a survey of the intruders, and when sure that they had moved away, she rose, saying, "so that is the beautiful miss savine! no doubt you have seen her, and, like all the rest, admire her?" "yes," confessed geoffrey. "i can honestly say i do." millicent regarded him curiously. "you have heard that we women seldom praise one another, and therefore, while admitting that she is coldly handsome, i should imagine miss savine to be a trying person," she commented. "now we must return to our social duties--in my case, at least, no one could call them pleasures." some little time later helen, whose eyes had kindled for a moment when her gray-haired escort led her towards the balcony, heard the bluff canadian answer the question that had been in her mind. "who was the lady? can't exactly say. her husband's leslie, the britisher, who started the land-agency offices, you will remember there was trouble about, and is now, i believe, secretary to the industrial enterprise. frankly, i don't like the man--strikes me as a smart adventurer, and my wife does not take to mrs. leslie. the man on the balcony was thurston, savine's assistant, and a good fellow. he generally follows humbly in miss savine's train, and, considering leslie's connection with the rival company, i don't quite see what he could be doing in that gallery." helen was piqued. she was too proud to admit to herself that she was jealous, but she had not risen superior to all the characteristics of her sex; and, knowing something of her father's business affairs, she was also puzzled. thurston's attitude towards his companion had not been that of a casual acquaintance, to say the least, and helen could not help wondering what could be his connection with the wife of one whose interests, she gathered, must be diametrically opposed to her father's. then, though endeavoring to decide that it did not matter, she determined to put thurston to the test at the first opportunity. meantime geoffrey stood alone for a few minutes looking out into the moonlit night. "i am growing brutally suspicious, and poor millicent has suffered--she can't well hide it," he told himself. "well, we were fond of each other once, and, whether it's her husband or adversity, whenever i can help her, i must try to do so." it was the revolt of an open nature against the evidence of his senses, but even while geoffrey framed this resolution something seemed to whisper, "was she ever fond of you? there is that in the woman's voice which does not ring true." he had hardly turned back to rejoin the other members of his party when a business acquaintance met him. "i want you to spare a few minutes for a countryman who has been inquiring about you," said the man. "mr. leslie, this is mr. thurston--the secretary of the industrial enterprise!" the business acquaintance withdrew, and geoffrey's lips set tight as he turned towards leslie who betrayed a certain uneasiness in spite of his nonchalant manner. he was a dark-haired man with a pale face, which had grown more heavy and sensual than it was as geoffrey remembered it. "i don't know whether i should say this is a pleasure," leslie remarked lightly. "there is no use disguising the fact that we last met under somewhat unfortunate circumstances, but i give you my word that it was too late to suggest that my employers should choose another emissary when i discovered your identity. where commercial interests are concerned, surely we can both rise superior to mere sentiment." "there are things which it is uncommonly hard to forget," geoffrey replied coldly. "the question is, however-- what do you want with me?" he meant his tone and pose to be anything but conciliatory. "i want the favor of a business interview before you return," said leslie, trying to hide his discomfiture, and geoffrey answered: "that is hardly possible. i return early to-morrow." "can you drive over to my quarters now?" "no. i desire to see my chief before i go." "it is confoundedly unfortunate," leslie commented, apparently glad of some excuse for expressing his disgust. "well, perhaps nobody will disturb us for a few minutes in yonder corridor. you can regard me as a servant of the industrial enterprise. will you listen to what i have to say?" "i'm ready to listen to the great company's secretary," said geoffrey, with a bluntness under which the other winced, as he turned towards the corridor. "i'll be brief," began leslie. "the fact is that we want a capable man accustomed to the planning and construction of irrigation works, and two of our directors rather fancy you. the right man would have full control of practical operations, and i have a tolerably free hand in respect to financial conditions. the main thing we wish to discover is, are you willing to consider an offer of the position?" it was on the surface a simple business proposition, but thurston's nostrils dilated and his brows contracted, for he guessed what lay behind it. "i've heard savine is a liberal man," continued leslie, who mistook thurston's hesitation. "still, considering your valuable experience in the orchard valley, i have power to outbid him. you certainly will not lose financially by throwing in your lot with us." then thurston's anger mastered him, and he flung prudence to the winds. "your employers have chosen a worthy messenger," he declared, so fiercely that leslie recoiled. "did you suppose that i would sell my benefactor, for that is what it amounts to? confusion to you and the rogues behind you! there's another score between us, and i feel greatly tempted to----" he looked ready to yield to the unmentioned temptation. leslie, glancing around anxiously, backed away from him, but restrained himself with an effort. thurston stood panting with rage. there was a sound of approaching footsteps, and the secretary slipped away, leaving the irate engineer face to face with an amused elderly gentleman and helen savine. geoffrey did not know how much or how little they had seen. helen beckoned to him. "my father has looked tired during the last hour," she said aside. "i have been warned that excitement may prove dangerous, but hardly care to remind him of it. would you, as a favor to me, persuade him to return home with you?" there was no doubt of thurston's devotion, for helen had eyes to see, and she sighed a little, but contentedly, when he hurried away. nevertheless, she was still perplexed, for she had seen mrs. leslie looking at him pleadingly, and now mr. leslie shrank away from him. mrs. leslie was certainly attractive, and yet helen thought that she knew thurston's character. geoffrey found savine, who appeared to have suddenly collapsed as if the fire of brilliancy had burned itself out. with more tact than he usually possessed, thurston persuaded the older man to take his leave. as they all stood on the broad wooden steps helen stretched out her hand to thurston. "thank you, geoffrey," she said softly. "believe me, i am grateful." standing bareheaded beside a pillar, thurston looked after them as they drove away. it was the first time helen had called him "geoffrey," and he fancied that he had seen even more than kindness in her eyes. "and it is her father whom they tempted me to betray! damn them!" he growled. "the only honest man among them included me among those who lean upon savine! savine will need a stay himself presently, and one, at least, will not fail him. ah, again!--what the devil are you wanting?" the last words were spoken clearly, but leslie, to whom they were addressed, smiled malevolently. "it would pay you to be civil," he threatened. "i have no particular reason to love you, and might prove a troublesome enemy. however, because my financial interests, which are bound up with my employers', come first, i warn you that you are foolish to hold on to an associate, who has strong men against him, a speculator whose best days are over. i'll give you time to cool down and think over my suggestion." "you and i can have no dealings," declared geoffrey. "what's done cannot be undone--but keep clear of me. as sure as there's a justice, which will bring you to book, even without my help, we'll crush you, if you get in savine's way, or mine." "i think this is hardly becoming to either of us, and the next time the company wants your views it can send another envoy," asserted leslie. "in the expressive western idiom, it would save trouble if you keep on thinking in just that way," geoffrey rejoined. the two men parted, leslie to go back to where millicent was holding a group of men interested by her forced gayety and geoffrey to walk slowly out into the moonlight where he could think of helen and wonder how confidently he might hope to win her love. chapter xiv the work of an enemy it was a bitter morning when a weary man, sprinkled white with powdery snow, came limping into thurston's camp, which was then pitched in the cañon. a pitiless wind swept down from the range side across the thrashing pines, and filled the deep rift with its shrill moaning which sounded above the diapason of the shrunken river. a haze of frost-dried snow infinitesimally fine, which stung the unprotected skin like the prick of hot needles, whirled before the wind and then thinned, leaving bare the higher shoulders of the hills, though a rush of dingy vapor hid the ice-ribbed peaks above. the cañon was a scene of appalling desolation, but few of the long-booted men who hurried among the boulders had leisure to contemplate it. the men were working for geoffrey thurston, who did not encourage idleness. so the stranger came almost unnoticed into the center of the camp where thurston saw him, and asked sharply, "where do you come from, and what do you want?" "i'm a frame-carpenter," answered the new arrival. "got fired from the hastings saw-mill when work slacked down. couldn't find anybody who wanted me at vancouver, so i struck out for the mountains and mines. found worse luck up here; spent all my money and wore my clothes out, but the boss of the orchard mill, who took me for a few days, said i might tell you he recommended me. i'm about played out with getting here, and i'm mighty hungry." geoffrey looked the man over, and decided there was truth in the latter part of his story. "take this spanner and wade across to the reef yonder," he said. "you can begin by giving aid to those men who are bolting the beams down." the stranger glanced dubiously at the rush of icy water, thick with jagged cakes of frozen snow, then at his dilapidated foot gear, and hesitated. "i'm not great at swimming. it looks deep," he objected. "you can walk, i suppose," geoffrey answered. "if you do, it won't drown you." the man prepared to obey. he had reached the edge of the water when geoffrey called him. "i see you're willing, and i'll take you for a few weeks any way," he said. "in the meantime a rest wouldn't do you much harm, and the cook might find you something to keep you from starving until supper, if you asked him civilly." "thanks!" the man answered, with a curious expression in his face. "i am a bit used up, and i guess i'll see the cook." work proceeded until the winter's dusk fell, when a bountiful supper was served. the stranger, who did full justice to the meal, showed himself a capable hand when work was resumed under the flaring light of several huge lamps. that night two of his new comrades sat in the cook-shed discussing the stranger. one was james gillow, whom geoffrey had first employed at helen's suggestion, and now replaced the man he formerly assisted. he was apparently without ambition, and chiefly remarkable for an antipathy to physical effort. although he had a good education, he found that cooking suited him. he sat upon an overturned bucket discoursing whimsically, while mattawa tom, who acted as thurston's foreman, peeled potatoes for him. the cook-shanty was warm and snug, and gillow made those to whom he granted the right of entry work for the privilege. "strikes me as queer," said the big axeman, with a grin, when the cook halted to refill his pipe. "strikes me as queer, it does, that some of you fellows who know so much kin do so little. knowledge ain't worth a cent unless you've got the rustle. now there's the boss. you talk the same talk, an' he can't well know more than you seem to do, but look where he is, while you stop right down at the bottom running a cook-shanty. guess you were born tired, english jim." "i dare say you're right," answered gillow. "other folks in the old country have said the same thing, though they didn't put it so neatly. the fact is, some men, like thurston, are born to wear themselves out trying to manage things, while i was intended for philosophic contemplation. he's occasionally hard to get on with, but since i came here, i'm willing to acknowledge that men of his species are useful, and i have struck harder masters in this great dominion." mattawa tom laughed hoarsely as he responded: "i should say! you found him hard the day you ran black lines all over his drawings and nearly burnt his shanty up, trying to prove he didn't know his business, when you was brim-full of red pine whiskey." "it was poison," said gillow, with unruffled good humor. "several bottles of genuine whiskey would not confuse me, but i have sworn off since the day you mention, partly to oblige thurston, who seemed to desire it, and because i can't get any decent liquor. but what do you think of our latest acquisition?" "he kin work, which is more than you could, before the boss taught you," was the dry answer. "but there's something odd about him. you saw the outfit he came in with? couldn't have swapped it with a siwash indian--well, the man has better clothes than you or i on underneath, and if he was so blame hard up, what did he offer jake five dollars for his old gum boots for?" "afraid of wetting his feet. most sensible person, considering the weather," remarked gillow, indifferently. "'fraid of wetting his feet! this is just where horse sense beats knowledge. that fellow is scared of nothing around this camp. hasn't it struck you the boss is going to put through a big contract in a way that's not been tried before, and that there are some folks who would put up a good many dollars to see him let down nicely?" "well?" gillow questioned with a show of interest, and the foreman nodded sagaciously as he answered: "whoever busts the boss up will have to get both feet on the neck of mattawa tom first, and that's not going to be easy. i'll keep my eyes right on to that fellow." tom went out, and gillow, awakening at midnight, saw that his blankets were still empty. the same thing happened several times, and it was well for thurston that he had the true leader's gift of inspiring his followers with loyalty, for one night a week later the foreman, who had kept his own counsel, shook gillow out of his slumber. the sleepy man, who groped for a boot to fling at the disturber of his peace, abandoned the benevolent intention when he saw his comrade's face under the hanging lamp. "don't ask no fool questions, but get your things on and come with me," tom commanded. five minutes later gillow, shivering and reluctant, turned out into the frost. it was a bitter night, and his breath froze upon his mustache. the snow and froth of the river glimmered spectrally, and when they had left the camp some distance behind, there was light enough to see a black figure crawl up a ladder leading to a wire rope stretched tight in mid-air above the torrent. a trolley hung beneath it by means of which men and material were hauled across the chasm. "get down here!" whispered tom. "we'll watch him. if we should fall over any more of these blame rocks he'd see us certain." gillow was glad to obey, for, though there was faint moonlight, he had already cut one knee cruelly. it was bitterly cold beneath the boulder where he crouched in the snow, and when the black object, which worked its way along the bending cable, had disappeared in the gloom of overhanging rocks on the opposite shore, there was nothing to see but the tossing spray of the river. the stream was still a formidable torrent, though now that the feeding snows were frozen fast, it was shrunken far below its summer level. a good many minutes had passed with painful slowness when gillow, who regretted that he had left the snug cook-shed, said: "this is distinctly monotonous, and it's about time we struck back to camp. guess that fellow has tackled too much red pine whiskey, and is just walking round to cool himself." in answer the foreman grasped the speaker's shoulder, and stretched out a pointing hand. the moonlight touched one angle of the rock upon the opposite shore which encroached upon the frothing water, and the dark figure showed sharply against it. the figure vanished, reappeared, and sank from sight again. when this had happened several times gillow remarked: "perhaps we had better go over. the man's clean gone mad." "no, sir!" objected mattawa tom. "no more mad than you. see what he's after? no! you don't remember, either, how mighty hard it was to wedge in the holdfasts for the chain guys stiffening the front of the dam, or how the keys work loose? there wouldn't be much of the boring machines or dam framing left if the chains pulled those wedges out. catch on to the idee?" gillow gasped. the huge timber framing, which held back the river so that the costly boring machines could work upon the reef, cumbering part of its bed, had been built only with the greatest difficulty, and when finished thurston had found it necessary to strengthen it by heavy chains made fast in the rock above. the sockets to which these were secured had been wedged into deep-sunk holes, but more than once some of the hard wood keys had worked loose, and gillow could guess what would happen if many were partially set free at the same time. "if he hammered three or four of those wedges clear it would only need a bang on another one to give the river its way," gillow said excitedly. "then it would take thurston six months to fix up the damage, if he ever did, and nobody would know how it happened. the cold-blooded brute's in the maintenance gang?" "just so. a blame smart man, too!" asserted mattawa tom. "i guess the boss wouldn't want everybody to know. rustle back your hardest and bring him along." fifteen minutes later thurston took his place behind the boulder, and, because the light was clearer now, he could dimly see the man swinging a heavy hammer, against the rock. he knew that the miscreant, whose business was to prevent the possibility of such accidents, need only start a few more keys, which he would probably do when the dam was clear of men, and many thousand dollars' worth of property and the result of months of labor would be swallowed by the river. his face paled with fierce anger when he recognized this fact. "i want that man," he declared with shut teeth. "i want him so badly that i'd forfeit five hundred dollars sooner than miss him. slip forward, gillow, as much out of sight as you can, and hide yourself on the other side of the ladder. mattawa and i will wait for him here, and among us three we ought to make sure of him." gillow, who stole forward stooping, swore softly as he fell over many obstacles on the way. the man they wanted became visible, ascending another ladder across the river. then, hanging in the suspended trolley, he moved, a black shape clear against the snow--along the wire which stretched high across the gulf. while the others watched him, his progress grew slower on reaching the hollow, where the cable bent slightly under the weight at its center. suddenly the car's progress was checked altogether, and it began to move in the opposite direction more rapidly than before, while thurston sprang to his feet. "slack the setting up tackles, gillow. hurry for your life," he shouted. "he'll cast the cable loose and be off by the indian trail into the ranges, if he once gets across." gillow ran his best, where running of any kind was barely possible even by daylight. he knew that his master was slow to forgive those whose carelessness thwarted any plan, and that, while taking the easier way over instead of crawling round a ledge, he had probably alarmed the fugitive. he reached the foot of the ladder. climbing up in a desperate hurry, he cast loose the end of the tackle by means of which the cable was set up taut, but neglected in his haste to take a turn with the hemp rope about a post, which would have eased him of most of the strain. "got him safe!" cried tom from mattawa, scrambling to the top of the boulder, as the curve of the wire rope high above their heads increased. in spite of the fugitive's efforts, the trolley from which he was suspended ran back to the slackest part of the loop that sagged down nearer the river. thurston, who watched him, nodded with a sense of savage satisfaction. he did not for a moment believe that, of his own initiative, any workman would have made a long journey or would have run considerable personal risk to do him an injury. that was why he was so anxious to secure the offender. the curve grew rapidly deeper, until the rope stretched into two diagonals between its fastenings on either shore. then the trolley descended with a run towards the river, and geoffrey ran forward, shouting, "the weight's too much for gillow. bring along the coil of line from the tool locker, tom. hurry, i don't want to drown the rascal." what had happened was simple. the cook, endeavoring to take a turn of the line too late, had failed, and the hemp ran through his half-frozen fingers, chafing the skin from them. seeing thurston floundering in his direction over the boulders, he valiantly strove to check it, regardless of the pain until it was whipped clear of his slackening grasp and the trolley rushed downwards towards the torrent. thurston was abreast of it before it splashed in, and had just time to see its occupant, still clutching the rope, drawn under by the sinking wire, before he plunged recklessly into the foam. the water was horribly cold, and the first shock left him gasping and almost paralyzed. the stream was running fast, and rebounding in white foam from great stones and uneven ledges below. but the distance was short, and thurston was a strong swimmer, so almost before the man had risen, he was within a few yards of the struggling figure. hardly had geoffrey clutched the man before mattawa tom, who had, meantime, run down stream, whirling a coil of line, loosed it, and the folds, well directed, shot through the air towards geoffrey, uncoiling as they came. by good fortune thurston was able to seize the end and to pass it around them both, when--for gillow had by this time joined his companion--the two men blundered backwards up the contracted beach, and thurston and the fugitive were drawn shorewards together, until their feet struck bottom. breathless and dripping, they staggered out, and, because geoffrey still clutched the stranger's jacket, the man said: "mightily obliged to you! but you can let up now there's no more swimming. i couldn't run very far, if it was worth while trying to." "you needn't trouble to thank me," was the answer. "it wasn't because i thought the world would miss you that i went into the water; but i can't expect much sense from a half-drowned man. do you think the rest of the boys have heard us, tom?" the foreman glanced towards the tents clustered in the mouth of a ravine above, and seeing no sign of life there, shook his head, whereupon geoffrey directed: "take him quietly to the cook-shed, and give him some whiskey. i've no doubt that in spite of my orders you have some. lend him dry clothes, and bring him along to my shanty as soon as he's ready. meantime, rouse the maintenance foreman, and, if any wedges have worked loose, let him drive them home." "you're a nice man," commented mattawa tom, surveying the stranger disgustedly as the man stood with the water draining from him in the cook-shed. "here, get into these things and keep them as a present. i wouldn't like the feel of them after they'd been on to you." "that's all right!" was the cool answer. "i expect the game's up, and i'm quite ready to buy them of you. by the way, partner, you helped your boss to pull me out, didn't you? as i said before, i'm not great on swimming." "i'm almost sorry i had to," said mattawa tom, who was a loyal partisan. "but don't call me 'partner,' or there'll be trouble." the stranger laughed, as, after a glass of hot liquor, he arrayed himself beside the banked-up stove, and presently marched under escort towards thurston's wood and bark winter dwelling. mattawa tom followed close behind him with a big ax on his shoulder. "i might be a panther you'd corralled. how do you know i haven't a pistol in my pocket, if it was any use turning ugly?" the prisoner inquired. "i'm quite certain about you, because your pistol is in my pocket," was the dry answer, and tom chuckled. "you weren't quite smart enough when you slipped off your jacket." from the door of his shanty, thurston called them, and mattawa, thrusting his prisoner in, proceeded to mount guard close outside until thurston reappeared to ask angrily: "what are you doing there?" "i figured you might want me, sir. that man's not to be trusted," answered tom, and thurston laughed as he said: "go back, see that the maintenance man has made a good job of the wedges, and if any of the boys should ask questions you'll tell them--nothing," geoffrey commanded. "you don't suppose i've suddenly grown helpless, do you?" mattawa tom withdrew with much reluctance, and it was long before any person knew exactly what geoffrey and the stranger said to each other, though gillow informed his comrade that the captured man said to him, by way of explanation before sleeping: "your boss is considerably too smart a man for me to bluff, and i've kind of decided to help him. shouldn't wonder if he didn't beat my last one, who would have seen me roasted before he'd have gone into a river for me. i'm not fond of being left out in the rain with the losing side, either, see? it's not my tip to talk too much, and i guess that's about good enough for you." "you're going to help him!" commented gillow, ironically. "all things considered, that's very kind of you." next morning thurston, who summoned the cook and foreman before him, said: "i want you two to keep what happened last night a close secret, and while i cannot tell you much, i may say that the man who will remain in camp was, as you have no doubt guessed, only the cat's paw of several speculators, whom it wouldn't suit to see our employer, savine, successful." "but mightn't he try the same game again?" asked mattawa, and thurston answered: "he might, but i hardly think he will. i intend to keep him here under my own eyes until i want him. there's no particular reason why you shouldn't see that he earns his wages, tom. gillow, it's perhaps not wholly unfortunate you dropped him into the river." "kind of trump ace up your sleeve!" suggested mattawa, and his master answered with a smile: "not exactly. the other side is quite smart enough to know who holds the aces; but i fancy the complete disappearance of this few-spot card will puzzle them. now, forget all about it. i wouldn't have said so much, but that i know i can trust you two!" chapter xv a great undertaking except for the wail of a wet breeze from the pacific and the moaning of the pines outside, there was unusual quietness in the wood-built villa looking down upon the valley of the hundred springs on the night that the american specialist came up to consult with savine's doctor from vancouver. the master of high maples had been brought home unconscious, some days earlier, and had lain for hours apparently on the point of death. during this time it was thurston who took control of the panic-stricken household. it was he who telegraphed thomas savine to bring his wife. he had sent for the famous american physician and had allayed helen's fears. when the girl's aunt arrived he had prevented that lady from undertaking the cure of the patient by her own prescription. geoffrey's temper was never very patient, but he held it well in hand for helen's sake. on the night in question, geoffrey anxiously awaited the physician's verdict. he was in the library with thomas savine, and had made spasmodic attempts to divert the attention of the kindly, gray-haired gentleman from the illness of his brother. at last, when the tension grew almost unbearable, thomas savine said: "they cannot be much longer, and we'll hear their verdict soon. i'm trying to hope for the best, thurston, knowing it can't be good all the time. this has been a blow to me. you see we were a one-man family, and it was julius who started off all the rest of us. he must have been mighty sick of us several times after he married, but he never showed a sign of impatience. what a man he was--tireless, indefatigable, nothing too big for him--until his wife died. then all the grit seemed to melt right out of him, and during the last few years i knew, what mighty few people besides yourself know now, that julius was just a shadow of what he had been. he held all the wires in his own hands too long, and, as he hadn't an understudy with the grit to act by himself, i was glad when he took hold of you." "he has always been a generous and considerate employer," interposed geoffrey. "but i had better leave you. i hear the doctors coming." savine laid a detaining grasp upon his arm with the words: "i want you right here. it's your concern as well as mine." the two doctors entered, and the one from vancouver said: "i will let my colleague express his opinion, and may say that our patient admitted to him a complicating weakness which i had suspected. i wish we had better news to give you, but while it was your brother's wish that mr. thurston should know, i should almost prefer first to communicate with his own family." "you can both speak right out; only be quick about it," thomas savine told him. "it is tolerably simple, and while i sympathize with you, i must not disguise the truth," said the keen-eyed, lean-faced american. "though mr. savine will partly recover from this attack, his career as an active man is closed. his heart may hold out a few years longer, if you follow my instructions, or it may at any time fail him--if he worries over anything, it certainly will. in any case, he will never be strong again. mental powers and physical vigor have been reduced to the lowest level by over-work and excessive, if intermittent, indulgence in what i may call a very devilish drug--a particular chinese preparation of opium, not generally known even on this opium-consuming coast. under its influence he may still be capable of spasmodic fits of energy, but while each dose will assist towards his dissolution, i dare not--at this stage--recommend complete deprivation. i have arranged with your own adviser as to the best treatment known to modern science, but fear it cannot prove very efficacious. that's about all i can tell you in general terms, gentlemen." "it is worse than i feared," said thomas savine, leaning forward in his chair, with his elbows on the table, and his chin in his hands. before the two doctors withdrew, the canadian said: "he is anxious to see mr. thurston, and in an hour or so it could do no harm. i will rejoin you shortly, mr. savine." the door closed behind them, and thomas savine looked straight at thurston as he observed: "i know little about his business, but shall have to look into it for his daughter's sake. you will help me?" "yes," replied geoffrey. "it seems out of place now, but i cannot honestly co-operate with you without mentioning a conditional promise your brother made to me. perhaps you can guess it." "i can," said savine, stretching out his hand. "i won't say that i hadn't thought helen might have chosen among the highest in the dominion just because it wouldn't be true, but you'll have my good wishes if you will see my poor brother through his immediate difficulties at least. you had mrs. savine's approval long ago." after a pause, he added, "there is one part of julius's trouble helen must never know." the two men's fingers met in a grip that was more eloquent than many protestations, and geoffrey went out into the moaning wind and, bareheaded, paced to and fro until he was summoned to the sick man's room. the few days that had passed since he had seen his employer had set their mark upon savine. the sick man lay in his plainly-furnished room. with bloodless lips, drawn face, and curiously-glazed eyes, he was strangely different from his usual self, but he looked up with an attempt at his characteristic smile as geoffrey approached. at a signal, the nurse slipped away. "i asked them to tell you, so you might know the kind of man i am," said savine. "you have got to exercise that partnership option one way or another right now. it is not too late to back out, and i wouldn't blame you." "i should blame myself to my last day if i did, sir," answered geoffrey, trying to hide the shock he felt, and savine beckoned him nearer. "it's a big thing you are going into, but you'll do it with both eyes wide open," he declared. "for the past few years julius savine has been a shadow, and an empty name, and his affairs are mixed considerably. reckless contracts taken with a muddled brain and speculation to make up the losses, have, between them, resulted in chaos. i'm too sick to value what i own, and no accountant can. i ran things myself too long, and no one was fit to take hold when i slackened my grip. but there's still the business, and there's still the name, and the one man in this province i can trust them to is you. i should have let go before, but i was greedy--greedy for my daughter's sake." "it is comprehensible." geoffrey spoke with conviction. "so far as i can serve you, you can command me." "i know it," was the answer. "what's more, i feel it in me that you will not lose by it. lord, how hard it is, but there's no use whining when brought up sharp by one's own folly. but see here, geoffrey thurston, if helen will take you willingly i can trust her to you; but if, when i go under, she looks beyond you, and you attempt to trade upon her gratitude or her aunt's favor, my curse will follow you. besides, if i know helen savine, she will be able to repay you full measure should you win her so." for just a moment the old flame of quick anger burned in geoffrey's eyes. then he responded. "i regret you even imagine i could take an dishonorable advantage of your daughter. god forbid that i should ever bring sorrow upon miss savine. all i ask is a fair field and the right to help her according to her need." "forgive me!" returned savine. "of late i have grown scared about her future. i believe you, thurston; i can't say more. i felt the more sure of you when you told me straight out about what was born in you. lord, how i envied you! the man who can stand those devils off can do most anything. it was when my wife died they got their claws on me. i was trying to forget my troubles by doing three men's work, but you can't fool with nature, and i'd done it too long already. anyway, when i couldn't eat or sleep, they had their opportunity. at first they made my brain work quicker, but soon after i fell in with you i knew that, unless he had a good man beside him, savine's game was over. but i wouldn't be beaten. i was holding on for helen's sake to leave her a fortune and a name. "all this is getting monotonous to you but let me finish when i can." savine waited a moment to regain his breath. "i cheated the nurse and doctor to-day, and i'll be very like a dead man to-morrow. you must go down to my offices and overhaul everything; then come right back and we'll see if we can make a deal. i'll have my proposition fixed up straight and square, but this is the gist of it. while doing your best for your own advantage, hold julius savine's name clean before the world, win the most possible for helen out of the wreck, and rush through the reclamation scheme--which is the key to all." "as you said--it's a big undertaking, but i'll do my best," began geoffrey, but savine checked him. "go down and see what you make of things. maybe the sight of them will choke you off. i'll take no other answer. send tom to me," he commanded. it was the next day when geoffrey had an interview with helen, who sent for him. she was standing beside a window when he came in. she looked tall in a long somber-tinted dress which emphasized the whiteness of her full round throat and the pallor of her face. the faint, olive coloring of her skin had faded; there were shadows about her eyes. at the first glance geoffrey's heart went out towards her. it was evident the verdict of the physicians had been a heavy shock, but he fancied that she was ready to meet the inevitable with undiminished courage. still, her fingers were cold when, for a moment, they touched his own. "sit down, geoffrey. i have a great deal to say to you, and don't know how to begin," she said. "but first i am sincerely grateful for all you have done." "we will not mention that. neither, i hope, need i say that miss savine of all people could never be indebted to me. you must know it already." helen thanked him with her eyes as she sank into the chair he wheeled out so that the light left her face in shadow. geoffrey stood near the window framing and he did not look directly towards her. helen appreciated the consideration which prompted the action and the respect implied by his attitude. "i am going to ask a great deal of you, and remind you of a promise you once made." there was a little tremor in her voice. "you will not think it ungracious if i say there is no one else who can do what seems so necessary, and ask you if you do not consider that you owe something to my father. it is hard for me, not because i doubt you, but because----" geoffrey checked her with a half-raised hand. "please don't, miss savine--i can understand. you find it difficult to receive, when, as yet, you have, you think, but little to give. would that make any difference? the little--just to know that i had helped you--would be so much to me." again helen was grateful. the look of anxiety and distress returned as she went on. "i dare spare no effort for my father's sake. he has always been kindness itself to me, and it is only now that i know how much i love him. hitherto i have taken life too easily, forgetting that sorrow and tragedy could overtake me. i have heard the physician's verdict, and know my father cannot be spared very long to me. i also know how his mind is set upon the completion of his last great scheme. that is why, and because of your promise, i have dared ask help of--you." "will it make it easier if i say that, quite apart from his daughter's wishes, i am bound in honor to protect the interests of julius savine so far as i can?" interposed geoffrey. "your father found me much as you did, a struggling adventurer, and with unusual kindness helped me on the way to prosperity. all i have i owe to him, and perhaps, the more so because we have cunning enemies, my own mind is bent on the completion of the scheme. i believe that we shall triumph, miss savine, and i use the word advisedly, still expecting much from your father's skill." helen gravely shook her head. "i recognize your kind intentions, but you must expect nothing. it is a hard thing for me to say, but the truth is always best, and again it is no small favor i ask from you,--to do the work for the credit of another's name--taking his task upon your shoulders, to make a broken man's last days easier. i want you to sign the new partnership agreement, and am glad you recognize that my father was a good friend to you." the girl's courage nearly deserted her, for helen was young still, and had been severely tried. while geoffrey, who felt that he would give his life for the right to comfort her, could only discreetly turn his face away. "i will do it all, miss savine," he said gravely. "i had already determined on as much, but you must try to believe that the future is not so hopeless as it looks. you will consider that i have given you a solemn pledge." "then i can only say god speed you, for my thanks would be inadequate," helen's voice trembled as she spoke. "but i must also ask your forgiveness for my presumption in judging you that day. i now know how far i was mistaken." geoffrey knew to what she referred. the day had been a memorable one for him, and, with pulses throbbing, he moved forward a pace, his eyes fixed upon the speaker's face. for a moment, forgetting everything, his resolutions were flung to the winds, and he trembled with passion and hope. then he remembered his promise to the sick man, and helen's own warning, and recovered a partial mastery of himself. it was a mere sense of justice which prompted the girl's words, his reason warned him, but he felt, instinctively, that they implied more than this, though he did not know how much. he stood irresolute until helen looked up, and, if it had ever existed, the time for speech was past. "i fear i have kept you too long, but there is still a question i must ask. you have seen my father in many of his moods, and there is something in the state of limp apathy he occasionally falls into which puzzles me. i cannot help thinking there is another danger of which i do not know. can you not enlighten me?" helen leaned forward, a strange fear stamped upon her face. fresh from the previous struggle, geoffrey, whose heart yearned to comfort her, felt his powers of resistance strained to the utmost. still, it was a question that he could not answer. remembering savine's injunction--to hold her father's name clean--he said quickly: "there is nothing i can tell you. you must remember only that the physician admitted a cheering possibility." "i will try to believe in it." the trouble deepened in helen's face, while her voice expressed bitter disappointment. "you have been very kind and i must not tax you too heavily." geoffrey turned away, distressed, for her and inwardly anathematized his evil fortune in being asked that particular question. he had, he felt, faltered when almost within sight of victory, neglecting to press home an advantage which might have won success. "it is, perhaps, the first time i have willfully thrown away my chances--the man who wins is the one who sees nothing but the prize," he told himself. "but i could not have taken advantage of her anxiety for her father and gratitude to me, while, if i had, and won, there would be always between us the knowledge that i had not played the game fairly." thomas savine came into the room. "i was looking for you, and want to know when you'll go down to vancouver with me to puzzle through everything before finally deciding just what you're going to do," he said. they talked a few moments. after the older man left him, geoffrey found himself confronted by mrs. savine. "i have been worried about you," she asserted. "you're carrying too heavy a load, and it's wearing you thin. you look a very sick man to-day, and ought to remember that the main way to preserve one's health is to take life easily." "i have no doubt of it, madam," thurston fidgeted, fearing what might follow; "but, unfortunately, one cannot always do so." mrs. savine held out a little phial as she explained: "a simple restorative is the next best thing, and you will find yourself braced in mind and body by a few doses of this. it is what i desired to fix up my poor brother-in-law with when you prevented me." "then the least i can do is to take it myself," said geoffrey, smiling to hide his uneasiness. "i presume you do not wish me to swallow it immediately?" mrs. savine beamed upon him. "you might hold out an hour or two longer, but delays are dangerous," she warned him. "kindness! well, there's a tolerable reason why we should be good to you, and, for i guess you're not a clever man all round, geoffrey thurston, you have piled up a considerable obligation in your favor in one direction." "may i ask you to speak more plainly, mrs. savine?" geoffrey requested and she answered: "you may, but i can't do it. still, what you did, because you thought it the fair thing, won't be lost to you. now, don't ask any more fool questions, but go right away, take ten drops of the elixir, and don't worry. it will all come right some day." the speaker's meaning was discernible, and geoffrey, having a higher opinion than many people of mrs. savine's sagacity, went out into the sunlight, satisfied. he held up the phial and was about to hurl it among the firs, but, either grateful for the donor's words, or softened by what he had heard and seen, he actually drank a little of it instead. then came a revulsion from the strain of the last few days, and he burst into a laugh. "it would have been mean, and i dare say i haven't absorbed sufficient of the stuff to quite poison me," he said. chapter xvi millicent turns traitress it was with a heavy sense of responsibility that geoffrey returned from a visit to savine's offices in vancouver, and yet there was satisfaction mingled with his anxiety. thomas savine, who knew little of engineering, was no fool at finance, and the week they spent together made the situation comparatively plain. it was fraught with peril and would have daunted many a man, but the very uncertainty and prospect of a struggle which would tax every energy appealed to thurston. he felt also that here was an opportunity of proving his devotion to helen in the way he could do it best. "i'm uncommonly thankful we didn't send for an accountant; the fewer folks who handle those books the better," declared thomas savine. "i was prepared for a surprise, thurston, but never expected this. i suppose things can be straightened out, but when i'd fixed up that balance, it just took my breath away. more than half the assets are unmarketable stock and ventures no man could value, while whether they will ever realize anything goodness only knows. it's mighty certain julius doesn't know himself what he has been doing the last two years. i can let my partners run our business down in oregon and stay right here for a time, counting on you to do the outside work, if what you have seen hasn't clicked you off. you haven't signed the agreement yet. how does the whole thing strike you?" "as chaos that can and must be reduced to order," answered geoffrey with a reckless laugh. "i intend to sign the agreement, and, foreseeing that you may have trouble about the money which i propose to spend freely, i am adding all my private savings to the working capital. it is, therefore, neck or nothing with me now, as i fear it is with the rest of you, and, in my opinion, we should let everything but the reclamation scheme go. it will either ruin us or pay us five-fold if we can put it through." "just so!" and savine nodded. "i leave that end to you, but i've got to explain things to helen, and i don't like the thought of it. my niece has talents. as her future lies at stake, she has a right to know, but it will be another shock to her. poor julius brought her up in luxury, and i expect has been far too mixed of late to know that he was tottering towards the verge of bankruptcy. a smart outside accountant would have soon scented trouble, but i don't quite blame my brother's cashier, who is a clerk and nothing more, for taking everything at its book value." that afternoon helen sat with the two men in the library at high maples. a roll of papers was on the table before her. when thomas savine had made the condition of things as plain as possible, she leaned back in her chair with crossed hands for a time. "i thank you for telling me so much, and i can grasp the main issues," she said at length. "if my opinion is of value i would say i agree with you that the bold course is best. but you will need much money, and as it is evident money will not be plentiful, so i must do my part in helping you. because this establishment and our mode of life here is expensive, while it will please my father to be near the scene of operations, we will let high maples and retire to a mountain ranch. i fear we have maintained a style circumstances hardly justified too long." "it's a sensible plan all through. i must tell you mr. thurston has----" began savine, and ceased abruptly, when geoffrey, who frowned at him, broke in: "we have troubled miss savine with sufficient details, and i fancy the arrangement suggested would help to keep her father tranquil, especially as our progress will be slow. spring is near, and, in spite of our efforts, we shall not be able to deepen the pass in the cañon before the waters rise. that means we can do nothing there until next winter, and must continue the dyking all summer. it is very brave of you, miss savine." helen smiled upon him as she answered: "the compliment is doubtful. did you suppose i could do nothing? but we must march out with banners flying, or, more prosaically, paragraphs in the papers, stating that julius savine will settle near the scene of his most important operations. while you are here you should show yourself in public as much as possible, mr. thurston. whenever i can help you, you must tell me, and i shall demand a strict account of your stewardship from both of you." the two men went away satisfied. savine said: "i guess some folks are mighty stupid when they consider that only the ugly women are clever. there's my niece--well, nobody could call her plain, and you can see how she's taking hold instead of weakening. some women never show the grit that's in them until they're fighting for their children; but you can look out for trouble, thurston, if you fool away any chances, while helen savine's behind you fighting for her father." a few days later henry leslie, confidential secretary to the industrial enterprise company, sat, with a frown upon his puffy face, in his handsome office. he wore a silk-bound frock coat, a garment not then common in vancouver, and a floral spray from mexico in his button-hole; but he was evidently far from happy, and glanced with ill-concealed dismay at the irate specimen of muscular manhood standing before him. the man, who was a sturdy british agriculturalist, had forced his way in, defying the clerks specially instructed to intercept him. leslie had first set up in business as a land agent, a calling which affords a promising field for talents of his particular description, and having taken the new arrival's money, had, by a little manipulation of the survey lines, transferred to him mostly barren rock and giant trees instead of land for hop culture. it was a game which had been often played before, but the particular rancher was a determined man and had announced his firm intention of obtaining his money back or wreaking summary vengeance on his betrayer. "danged if thee hadn't more hiding holes than a rotten, but i've hunted thee from one to one, and now i've found thee i want my brass," shouted the brawny, loud-voiced briton. leslie answered truthfully: "i tell you i haven't got it, even if you had any claim on me, and it's not my fault you're disappointed, if you foolishly bought land before you could understand a canadian survey plan." "then thou'lt better get it," was the uncompromising answer. "understand a plan! i've stuck to the marked one i got from thee, and there's lawyers in this country as can. it was good soil and maples i went up to see, and how the ---- can anybody raise crops off the big stones thou sold me? i'm going to have my rights, and, meantime, i'm trapesing round all the bars in this city talking about thee. there's a good many already as believe me." "then you had better look out. confound you!" threatened leslie, taking a bold course in desperation. "there's a law which can stop that game in this country, and i'll set it in motion. anyway, i can't have you making this noise in my private office. go away before i call my clerks to throw you out." the effort at intimidation was a distinct failure, for the aggrieved agriculturalist, who was not quite sober, laughed uproariously as he seized a heavy ruler. "that's a good yan," he roared. "thou darsen't for thy life go near a court with me, and the first clerk who tries to put me out, danged if i don't pound half the life out of him and thee. i'm stayin' here comf'able until i get my money." he pulled out a filthy pipe, and filled it with what, when he struck a match, turned out to be particularly vile tobacco, and leslie, who fumed in his chair, said presently: "you are only wasting your time and mine--and for heaven's sake take a cigar and fling that pipe away. i haven't got the money by me, and it's the former owner's business, not mine, but if you'll call round, say the day after to-morrow, i'll see what we can do." he named the day, knowing that he would be absent then, and the stranger, heaving his heavy limbs out of an easy chair, helped himself to a handful of choice cigars before he prepared to depart, saying dubiously: "i'll be back on wednesday bright and early, bringing several friends as will see fair play with me. one of them will be a lawyer, and if he's no good either, look out, mister, for i'll find another way of settling thee!" there are in canada, as well as other british colonies, capitalists, dealing in lands and financing mines, whose efforts make for the progress of civilization and the good of the community. there are also others, described by their victims as a curse to any country. representatives of both descriptions were interested in the industrial enterprise. therefore, the unfortunate secretary groaned when one of the latter class, who passed his visitor in the doorway, came in smiling in a curious manner. leslie, who hoped he had not heard much, was rudely undeceived. "i'm hardly surprised at certain words i heard in the corridor," he commenced. "your english friend was telling an interesting tale about you to all the loungers in the rideau bar to-day. they seemed to believe him--he told it very creditably. when are you going to stop it, leslie?" "when i can pay him the equivalent of five hundred sterling in blackmail. i am afraid it will be a long time," answered the secretary, ruefully. "then i would advise you to beg, borrow or steal the money. a man of your abilities and practical experience oughtn't to find much difficulty in this part of the world," said the newcomer. "the tale may have been a fabrication, but it sounded true, and while i don't set up as a reformer i am a director of this company, and can't have those rumors set going about its secretary. no, i don't want to hear your side of the case--it's probably highly creditable to you--but i know all about the kind of business you were running, and a good many other folks in this province do, too." "who, in the name of perdition, would lend me the money? and it takes every cent i've got to live up to my post. you don't pay too liberally," sneered the unfortunate man, stung into brief fury by the reference to his character. "i will," was the answer. "that is to say, i'll fix things up with the plain-spoken britisher, and take your acknowledgment in return for his written statement that he has no claim on you. i know how to handle that breed of cattle, and mayn't press you for the money until you can pay it comfortably." "what are you doing it for?" asked leslie, dubiously. "for several reasons; i don't mind mentioning a few. i want more say in the running of this company, and i could get at useful facts my colleagues didn't know through its secretary. i could also give him instructions without the authority of a board meeting, see? and i fancy i could put a spoke in savine's wheel best by doing it quietly my own way. one live man can often get through more than a squabbling dozen, and the money is really nothing much to me." "i had better sue the englishman for defamation, and prove my innocence, even if the legal expenses ruin me," said leslie, and the other, who laughed aloud, checked him. "pshaw! it is really useless trying that tone with me, especially as i have heard about another dispute of the kind you once had at westminster. you're between the devil and the deep sea, but if you don't start kicking you'll get no hurt from me. call it a deal--and, to change the subject, where's the man you sent up to worry thurston?" "i don't know," said leslie. "i gave him a round sum, part of it out of my own pocket, for i couldn't in the meantime think of a suitable entry--all the directors don't agree with you. i know he started, but he has never come back again." "then you have got to find him," was the dry answer. "we'll have law-suits and land commissions before we're through, and if thurston has corralled or bought that man over, and plays him at the right moment, it would certainly cost you your salary." "i can't find him; i've tried," asserted leslie. "then you had better try again and keep right on trying. get at thurston through his friends if you can't do it any other way. your wife is already a figure in local society." that night leslie leaned against the mantelpiece in his quarters talking to his wife. they had just returned from some entertainment and millicent, in beautiful evening dress, lay in a lounge chair watching him keenly. "you would not like to be poor again, millicent?" he said, fixing his glance, not upon her face but on her jeweled hands, and the woman smiled somewhat bitterly as she answered: "poor again! that would seem to infer that we are prosperous now. do you know how much i owe half the stores in this city, harry?" "i don't want to!" said leslie, with a gesture of impatience. "your tastes were always extravagant, and i mean the kind of poverty which is always refused credit." "my tastes!" and millicent's tone was indignant. "i suppose i am fond of money, or the things that it can buy, and you may remember you once promised me plenty. but why can't you be honest and own that the display we make is part of your programme? i have grown tired of this scheming and endeavoring to thrust ourselves upon people who don't want us, and if you will be content to stay at home and progress slowly, harry, i will gladly do my share to help you." millicent leslie was ambitious, but the woman who endeavors to assist an impecunious husband's schemes by becoming a social influence usually suffers, even if successful, in the process, and millicent had not been particularly successful. she was also subject to morbid fits of reflection, accompanied by the framing of good resolutions, which, for the moment at least, she meant to keep. it is possible that night might have marked a turning-point in her career had her husband listened to her, but before she could continue, his thin lips curled as he said: "isn't it a little too late for either of us to practice the somewhat monotonous domestic virtues? you need not be afraid of hurting my feelings, millicent, by veiling your meaning. but, in the first place, at the time you transferred your affections to me i had the money, and, in the second, i must either carry out what you call my programme or go down with a crash shortly. if luck favors me the prize i am striving for is, however, worth winning, but things are going most confoundedly badly just now. in fact, i shall be driven into a corner unless you can help me." mrs. leslie possessed no exalted code of honor, but, in her present frame of mind, her husband's words excited fear and suspicion, and she asked sharply, "what is it you want me to do?" "i will try to explain. you know something of my business. i sent up a clever rascal to--well, to pass as a workman seeking employment, and so enable us to forestall some of savine's mechanical improvements. he took the money i gave him and started, but we have never seen him since, and it is particularly desirable that i should know whether he tried and failed or what has become of him. if the man made his exact commission known it would cost me my place. the very people who would applaud me if successful would be the first to make a scapegoat of me otherwise." "your explanation is not quite lucid, but how could i get at the truth?" "ingratiate yourself with miss savine, or get that crack-brained aunt of hers to cure your neuralgia. there are also two young premium pupils, sons of leading montreal citizens, in mr. savine's service, who dance attendance upon the fair helen continually. it shouldn't be difficult to flatter them a little and set them talking." "do you think women are utterly foolish, or that they converse about dams and earthworks?" asked millicent, trying to check her rising indignation. "no, but i know a good many of you have the devil's own cunning, and there can be but few much keener than you. women in this country know a great deal more about their lawful protectors' affairs than they generally do at home, and miss savine is sufficiently proud not to care whose wife you were if she took a fancy to you." "it would be utterly useless!" leslie looked his wife over with coolly critical approval, noting how the soft lamplight sparkled in the pale gold clusters of her hair, the beauty that still hung to her somewhat careworn face, and how the costly dress enhanced the symmetry of a finely-moulded frame. "then why can't you confine your efforts to the men? you are pretty and clever enough to wheedle secrets out of thurston's self even, now you have apparently become reconciled to him." for the first time since the revelations that followed leslie's downfall a red brand of shame and anger flamed in millicent's cheeks. she rose, facing the speaker with an almost breathless "how dare you? is there no limit to the price i must pay for my folly? thurston was----. but how could any woman compare him with you?" "sit down again, millicent," suggested leslie with an uneasy laugh. "these heroics hardly become you--and nobody can extort a great deal in return for--nothing better than you. in any case, it's no use now debating whether one or both of us were foolish. i'm speaking no more than the painful truth when i say that if i can't get the man back into my hands i shall have to make a break without a dollar from british columbia. since you have offended your english friends past forgiveness, god knows what would become of you if that happened, while thurston would marry miss savine and sail on to riches--confusion to him!" millicent was never afterwards certain why she accepted the quest from which she shrank with loathing, at first. while her husband proceeded to substantiate the truth of his statement, she was conscious of rage and shame, as well as a profound contempt for him; and, because of it, she felt an illogical desire to inflict suffering upon the man whom she now considered had too readily accepted his rejection. naturally, she disliked miss savine. she was possessed by an abject fear of poverty, and so, turning a troubled face towards the man, she said: "i don't know that i shall ever forgive you, and i feel that you will live to regret this night's work bitterly. however, as you say, it is over late for us to fear losing the self-respect we parted with long ago. rest contented--i will try." "that is better. we are what ill-luck or the devil made us," replied leslie, laying his hand on his wife's white shoulder, but in spite of her recent declaration millicent shrank from his touch. "your fingers burn me. take them away. as i said, i will help you, but if there was any faint hope of happiness or better things left us, you have killed it," she declared in a decided tone. "i should say the chance was hardly worth counting on," answered leslie, as he withdrew to soothe himself with a brandy-and-soda. millicent sat still in her chair, with her hands clenched hard on the arms of it, staring straight before her. chapter xvii the infatuation of english jim it was perhaps hardly wise of geoffrey thurston to suddenly promote english jim from the position of camp cook to that of amanuensis. geoffrey, however, found himself hard pressed when it became necessary to divide his time between vancouver and the scene of practical operations, and he remembered that the man he had promoted had been helen's _protégé_. james gillow was a fair draughtsman, also, and, if not remarkable otherwise for mental capacity, wielded a facile pen, and geoffrey found it a relief to turn his rapidly-increasing correspondence over to him. it was for this reason gillow accompanied him on a business trip to victoria. english jim enjoyed the visit, the more so because he found one or two acquaintances who had achieved some degree of prosperity in that fair city. he was entertained so well that on the morning of geoffrey's return he boarded the steamer contented with himself and the world in general. he was perfectly sober, so he afterwards decided, or on board a rolling vessel he could never have succeeded in working out quantities from rough sketches thurston gave him. but he had breakfasted with his friends, just before sailing, and the valedictory potations had increased, instead of assuaging, his thirst. the steamer was a fast one. the day was pleasant with the first warmth of spring, and geoffrey sat under the lee of a deckhouse languidly enjoying a cigar and looking out across the sparkling sea. gillow, who came up now and then for a breath of air, envied him each time he returned to pore over papers that rose and fell perplexingly on one end of the saloon table. it was hard to get his scale exactly on the lines of the drawings; the sunrays that beat in through the skylights dazzled his eyes, and his sight did not become much keener after each visit to the bar. nevertheless, few persons would have suspected english jim of alcoholic indulgence as he jotted down weights and quantities in his pocket-book. meantime, thurston began to find the view of the snow-clad olympians grow monotonous. it is true that every pinnacle was silhouetted, a spire of unsullied whiteness, against softest azure. the peaks towered, a sight to entrance the vision--ethereally majestic above a cerulean sea--but geoffrey had seen rather too much snow unpleasantly close at hand within the last few months. therefore, he opened the newspaper beside him, and frowned to see certain rumors he had heard in victoria embodied in an article on the crown lands policy. anyone with sufficient knowledge to read between the lines could identify the writer's instances of how gross injustice might be done the community with certain conditional grants made to savine. "that man has been well posted. he may have been influenced by a mistaken public spirit or quite possibly by a less praiseworthy motive; but if we have any more bad breakdowns i can foresee trouble," geoffrey said to himself. then he turned his eyes towards the groups of passengers, and presently started at the sight of a lady carrying a camp chair, a book, and a bundle of wrappings along the heaving deck. it was millicent leslie, and there was no doubt that she had recognized him, for she had set down her burden and was waiting for his assistance. geoffrey was at her side in a moment and presently ensconced her snugly under the lee of the deckhouse, where he waited, by no means wholly pleased at the meeting. he had spent most of the previous night with certain men interested in finance and provincial politics, and being new to the gentle art of wire-pulling had not quite recovered his serenity. he regretted the good cigar he had thrown away, and scarcely felt equal to sustaining the semi-sentimental trend of conversation millicent had affected whenever he met her, but she was alone, and cut off all hope of escape by saying: "you will not desert me. one never feels solitude so much as when left to one's own resources among a crowd of strangers." "certainly not, if you can put up with my company; but where is your husband?" geoffrey responded. millicent looked up at him with a chastened expression. "enjoying himself. some gentlemen, whose good-will is worth gaining, asked him to go inland for a few days' fishing, and he said it was necessary he should accept the invitation. accordingly, i am as usual left to my own company while i make a solitary journey down the sound. it is hardly pleasant, but i suppose all men are much the same, and we poor women must not complain." millicent managed to convey a great deal more than she said, and her sigh suggested that she often suffered keenly from loneliness; but while geoffrey felt sorry for her, he was occupied by another thought just then, and did not at first answer. "what are you puzzling over, geoffrey?" she asked, and the man smiled as he answered: "i was wondering if the same errand which took your husband to victoria, was the same that sent me there." "i cannot say." millicent's gesture betokened weariness. "i know nothing of my husband's business, and must do him the justice to say that he seldom troubles me about it. i have little taste for details of intricate financial scheming, but practical operations, like your task among the mountains, would appeal to me. it must be both romantic and inspiring to pit one's self against the rude forces of nature; but one grows tired of the prosaic struggle which is fought by eating one's enemies' dinners and patiently bearing the slights of lukewarm allies' wives. however, since the fear of poverty is always before me, i try to play my part in it." helen savine had erred strangely when she concluded that geoffrey thurston was without sympathy. hard and painfully blunt as he could be, he was nevertheless compassionate towards women, though not always happy in expressing his feelings, and when millicent folded her slender hands with a pathetic sigh, he was moved to sincere pity and indignation. he knew that some of the worthy colonials' wives and daughters could be, on occasion, almost brutally frank, and that, in spite of his efforts, leslie was not wholly popular. "i can quite understand! it must be a trying life for you, but there are always chances for an enterprising man in this country, and you must hope that your husband will shortly raise you above the necessity of enduring uncongenial social relations." "please don't think i am complaining." millicent read his sympathy in his eyes. "it was only because you looked so kind that i spoke so frankly. i fear that i have grown morbid and said too much. but one-sided confidence is hardly fair, and, to change the subject, tell me how fortune favors you." "where shall i begin?" millicent smiled, as most men would have fancied, bewitchingly. "you need not be bashful. tell me about your adventures in the mountains, with all the hairbreadth escapes, fantastic coloring, and romantic medley of incidents that must be crowded into the life of anyone engaged in such work as yours." "i am afraid the romance wears thin, leaving only a monotonous, not to say sordid, reality, while details of cubic quantities would hardly interest you. still, and remember you have brought it upon yourself, i will do my best." geoffrey reluctantly began an account of his experiences, speaking in an indifferent manner at first, but warming to his subject, until he spoke eloquently at length. he was not a vain man, but millicent had set the right chord vibrating when she chose the topic of his new-world experiences. he stopped at last abruptly, with an uneasy laugh. "there! i must have tired you, but you must blame yourself," he said. "no!" millicent assured him. "i have rarely heard anything more interesting. it must be a very hard battle, well worth winning, but you are fortunate in one respect--having only the rock and river to contend against instead of human enemies." "i am afraid we have both," was the incautious answer, and millicent looked out across the white-flecked waters as she commented indifferently, "but there can be nobody but simple cattle-raisers and forest-clearers in that region, and what could your enemies gain by following you there?" "they might interfere with my plans or thwart them. one of them nearly did so!" and geoffrey, hesitating, glanced down at his companion just a second too late to notice the look of suspiciously-eager interest in her face, for millicent had put on the mask again. she was a clever actress, quick to press into her service smile or sigh, where words might have been injudicious, and with feminine curiosity and love of unearthing a secret, was bent on drawing out the whole story. it did not necessarily follow that she should impart the secret to her husband, she said to herself. geoffrey was, for the moment, off his guard, and victory seemed certain for the woman. "how did that happen?" she asked, outwardly with languid indifference, inwardly quivering with suspense, but, as luck would have it, the steamer, entering one of the tide races which sweep those narrow waters, rolled wildly just then, and geoffrey held her chair fast while the book fell from her knee and went sliding down the slanted deck. vexed and nervously anxious, millicent bit one red lip while thurston pursued the volume, and she could hardy conceal her chagrin when he returned with it. "it flew open and a page or two got wet in the scuppers. still, it will soon dry in the sun, and because i did my best, you will excuse me being a few seconds too slow to save it," geoffrey apologized. millicent was willing to allow him to deceive himself as to the cause of her annoyance. "it was a borrowed book, and i can hardly return it in this condition. it is really vexatious," she replied, wondering how to lead the conversation back to the place where it was interrupted. she might have succeeded, but fate seemed against her. a passenger, who knew them both, strolled by and nodded to geoffrey. "i have been looking for you, thurston, and if mrs. leslie, accepting my excuses, can spare you for a few minutes, i have something important to tell you," said the man. "i wouldn't have disturbed you, but we'll be alongside vancouver wharf very shortly." millicent could only bow in answer, and after an apologetic glance in her direction, geoffrey followed the passenger. "mrs. leslie's a handsome woman, though one would guess she had a temper of her own. perhaps you didn't notice it, but she just looked daggers at you when you let that book get away," observed the companion, who smiled when geoffrey answered: "presumably, you didn't take all this trouble to acquaint me with that fact?" "no," admitted the man, with a whimsical gesture. "it was something much more interesting--about the agitation some folks are trying to whoop up against your partner." geoffrey found the information of so much interest that the steamer was sweeping through the pine-shrouded narrows which forms the gateway of vancouver's land-locked harbor when he returned to millicent, with english jim following discreetly behind him. "i am sorry that, as we are half-an-hour late, i shall barely have time to keep an important business appointment," said thurston. "however, as the sound boat does not sail immediately, my assistant, mr. gillow, will be able to look after your baggage, and secure a good berth for you. you will get hold of the purser, and see mrs. leslie is made comfortable in every way before you follow me, gillow. i shall not want you for an hour or two." millicent smiled on the assistant, who took his place beside her, as the steamer ran alongside the wharf, and his employer hurried away. english jim was a young, good-looking man of some education, and, since his promotion from the cook-shed, had indulged himself in a former weakness for tasteful apparel. he had also, though thurston did not notice it, absorbed just sufficient alcoholic stimulant to render him vivacious in speech without betraying the reason for it, and millicent, who found him considerably more amusing than geoffrey, wondered whether, since she had failed with the one, she might not succeed with the other. english jim no more connected her with the servant of the corporation whose interests were opposed to savine's than he remembered the brass baggage checks in his pocket. his gratified vanity blinded him to everything besides the pleasure of being seen in his stylish companion's company. he found a sunny corner for her beside one of the big sound steamer's paddle casings, from which she could look across the blue waters of the forest-girt inlet, brought up a chair and some english papers, and after millicent had chatted with him graciously, was willing to satisfy her curiosity to the utmost when she said with a smile: "you are a confidential assistant of mr. thurston's? he is an old friend of mine, and knowing his energy, i dare say he works you very hard." "hard is scarcely an adequate term, madam," answered english jim. "nothing can tire my respected chief, and unfortunately, he expects us all to equal him. he found me occupation--writing his letters--until a.m. this morning; and, i believe, must have remained awake himself until it was almost light, making drawings which i have had the pleasure of poring over, all the way across. don't you think, madam, that it is a mistake to work so hard, that one has never leisure for the serene contemplation which is one of the--one of the best things in life. besides, people who do so, are also apt to deprive others of their opportunities." "perhaps so, though i hardly think mr. thurston would agree with you. for instance?" asked millicent, finding his humor infectious, for english jim could gather all the men in camp about him, when half in jest and half in earnest he began one of his discourses. "these!" was the answer, and the speaker thrust his hand into his jacket pocket. "if mr. thurston had not been of such tireless nature, i might have found leisure to admire the beauty of this most entrancing coast scenery, instead of puzzling over weary figures in a particularly stuffy saloon." he held up a large handful of papers as he spoke, glanced at them disdainfully, and, pointing vaguely across the inlet, continued, "is not an hour's contemplation of such a prospect better than many days' labor?" millicent laughed outright, and, because, though english jim's voice was even, and his accent crisp and clean, his fingers were not quite so steady as they might have been, one of the papers fluttered, unnoticed by either of them, to her feet. "i feel tempted to agree with you," millicent rejoined, wishing that she need not press on to the main point, for english jim promised to afford the sort of entertainment which she enjoyed. "but a man of your frame of mind must find scanty opportunity for considering such questions among the mountains." "that is so," was the rueful answer. "we commence our toil at daybreak, and too often continue until midnight. there are times when the monotony jars upon a sensitive mind, as the camp cooking does upon a sensitive palate. but our chief never expects more from us than he will do himself, and is generous in rewarding meritorious service." "so i should suppose," commented millicent. "knowing this, you will all be very loyal to him?" "every one of us!" the loyalty of english jim, who gracefully ignored the inference and fell into the trap, was evident enough. "of course, we do not always approve of being tired to death, but where our chief considers it necessary, we are content to obey him. in fact, it would not make much difference if we were not," he added whimsically. "there was, however, one instance of a black sheep, or rather wolf of the contemptible coyote species in sheep's clothing, whom i played a minor part in catching. but, naturally, you will not care to hear about this?" "i should, exceedingly. did i not say that i am one of mr. thurston's oldest friends? i should very much like to hear about the disguised coyote. i presume you do not mean a real one, and are speaking figuratively?" gillow was flattered by the glance she cast upon him, and, remembering only that this gracious lady was one of his employer's friends, proceeded to gratify her by launching into a vivid description of what happened on the night when he dropped the prowler into the river. he had, however, sense enough to conclude with the capture of the man. "but you have not told me the sequel," said millicent. "did you lynch the miscreant in accordance with the traditional customs of the west, or how did mr. thurston punish him? he is not a man who lightly forgives an injury." "no," replied gillow, rashly. "against my advice, though my respected employer is difficult to reason with, he kept the rascal in camp, both feeding and paying him well." "you surprise me. i should have expected a more dramatic finale." millicent's tone might have deceived a much more clever man who did not know her husband's position. "why did he do so?" there were, however, limits to english jim's communicativeness, and he answered: "mr. thurston did not explain his motives, and it is not always wise to ask him injudicious questions." millicent, having learned what she desired to know, rested content with this, and chatted on other subjects until the big bell clanged, and the whistle shrieked out its warning. then the dismissed gillow with her thanks, and the last she saw of him he was being held back by a policeman as he struggled to scale a lofty railing while the steamer slid clear of the wharf. he waved an arm in the air shouting frantically, and through the thud of paddles she caught the disjointed sentences, "very sorry. forgot baggage checks--all your boxes here. leave first steamer--sending checks by mail!" "it is impossible for us to turn back, madam," said the purser to whom millicent appealed. "the baggage will, no doubt, follow the day after to-morrow." "but that gentleman has my ticket, and doesn't know my address!" protested the unfortunate passenger, and the purser answered: "i really cannot help it, but i will telegraph to any of your friends from the first way-port we call at, madam." when the steamer had vanished behind the stately pines shrouding the narrows, english jim sat down upon a timber-head and swore a little at what he called his luck, before he uneasily recounted the folded papers in his wallet. "a pretty mess i've made of it all, and there'll be no end of trouble if thurston hears of this," he said aloud, so that a loafing porter heard and grinned. "i'll write a humble letter--but, confound it, i don't know where she's going to, and now here is one of those distressful tracings missing. it must have been that old sketch of savine's, and thurston will never want it, while nobody but a draughtsman could make head or tail of the thing. anyway, i'll get some dinner before i decide what is best to be done." while gillow endeavored to enjoy his dinner, and, being an easy-going man, partially succeeded, millicent, who had picked up a folded paper, leaned upon the steamer's rail with it open in her hand. "this is greek to me, but i suppose it is of value. i will keep it, and perhaps give it back to geoffrey," she ruminated. "the game was amusing, but i feel horribly mean, and whether i shall tell harry or not depends very much upon his behavior." chapter xviii the bursting of the sluice one morning of early summer, geoffrey thurston lay neither asleep, nor wholly awake, inside his double tent. the canvas was partly drawn open, and from his camp-cot he could see a streak of golden sunlight grow broader across the valley, while rising in fantastic columns the night mists rolled away. the smell of dew-damped cedars mingled with the faint aromatic odors of wood smoke. the clamor of frothing water vibrated through the sweet cool air, for the river was swollen by melted snow. geoffrey lay still, breathing in the glorious freshness, drowsily content. all had gone smoothly with the works, at least, during the last month or two. each time that she rode down to camp with her father from the mountain ranch, helen had spoken to him with unusual kindness. savine would, when well enough, spend an hour in geoffrey's tent. while some of the contractor's suggestions were characterized by his former genius, most betrayed a serious weakening of his mental powers, and it was apparent that he grew rapidly frailer, physically. on this particular morning geoffrey found something very soothing in the river's song, and, yielding to temptation, he turned his head from the growing light to indulge in another half-hour's slumber. suddenly, a discordant note, jarring through the deep-toned harmonies, struck his ears, which were quick to distinguish between the bass roar of the cañon and the higher-pitched calling of the rapid at its entrance. what had caused it he could not tell. he dressed with greatest haste and was striding down into the camp when mattawa tom and gillow came running towards him. "sluice number six has busted, and the water's going in over hudson's ranch," shouted tom. "i've started all the men there's room for heaving dirt in, but the river's going through in spite of them." geoffrey asked no questions, but ran at full speed through the camp, shouting orders as he went, and presently stood breathless upon a tall bank of raw red earth. on one side the green-stained river went frothing past; on the other a muddy flood spouted through a breach, and already a shallow lake was spreading fast across the cleared land, licking up long rows of potato haulm and timothy grass. men swarmed like bees about the sloping side of the bank, hurling down earth and shingle into the aperture, but a few moments' inspection convinced geoffrey that more heroic measures were needed and that they labored in vain. raising his hand, he called to the men to stop work and, when the clatter of shovels ceased, he quietly surveyed the few poor fields rancher hudson had won from the swamp. his lips were pressed tight together, and his expression showed his deep concern. "there's only one thing to be done. open two more sluice gates, tom," he commanded. "you'll drown out the whole clearing," ventured the foreman, and geoffrey nodded. "exactly! can't you see the river will tear all this part of the dyke away unless we equalize the pressure on both sides of it? go ahead at once and get it done." the man from mattawa wondered at the bold order, but his master demanded swift obedience and he proceeded to execute it, while geoffrey stood fast watching two more huge sheets of froth leap out. he knew that very shortly rancher hudson's low-level possessions would be buried under several feet of water. "it's done, sir, and a blamed bad job it is!" said the foreman, returning; and geoffrey asked: "how did it happen?" "the sluice gate wasn't strong enough, river rose a foot yesterday, and she just busted. i was around bright and early and found her splitting. got a line round the pieces--they're floating beneath you." "heave them up!" ordered geoffrey. he was obeyed, and for a few minutes glanced at the timber frame with a puzzled expression, then turning to gillow, he said: "you know i condemned that mode of scarting, and the whole thing's too light. what carpenters made it?" "it's one of mr. savine's gates, sir. i've got the drawing for it somewhere," was the answer, and geoffrey frowned. "then you will keep that fact carefully to yourself," he replied. "it is particularly unfortunate. this is about the only gate i have not overhauled personally, but one cannot see to quite everything, and naturally the breakage takes place at that especial point." "very good, sir," remarked gillow. "things generally do happen in just that way. here's rancher hudson coming, and he looks tolerably angry." the man who strode along the dyke was evidently infuriated, a fact which was hardly surprising, considering that he owned the flooded property. the workmen, who now leaned upon their shovels, waited for the meeting between him and their master in the expectation of amusement. "what in the name of thunder do you mean by turning your infernal river loose on my ranch?" inquired the newcomer. thurston rejoined: "may i suggest that you try to master your temper and consider the case coolly before you ask any further questions." "consider it coolly!" shouted hudson. "coolly! when the blame water's washing out my good potatoes by the hundred bushel, and slooshing mud and shingle all over my hay. great columbus! i'll make things red hot for you." "see here!" and there were signs that thurston was losing his temper. "what we have done was most unfortunately necessary, but, while i regret it at least as much as you do, you will not be a loser financially. as soon as the river falls, we'll run off the water, measure up the flooded land, and pay you current price? for the crop at average acre yield. as you will thus sell it without gathering or hauling to market, it's a fair offer." most of the forest ranchers in that region would have closed with the offer forthwith, but there were reasons why the one in question, who was, moreover, an obstinate, cantankerous man, should seize the opportunity to harass thurston. "it's not half good enough for me," he said. "how'm i going to make sure you won't play the same trick again, while it's tolerably certain you can't keep on paying up for damage done forever. then when you're cleaned out where'll i be? this scheme which you'll never put through's a menace to the whole valley, and----" "you'll be rich, i hope, by that time, but if you'll confine yourself to your legitimate grievance or come along to my tent i'll talk to you," said geoffrey. "if, on the other hand, you cast doubt upon my financial position or predict my failure before my men, i'll take decided measures to stop you. you have my word that you will be repaid every cent's worth of damage done, and that should be enough for any reasonable person." "it's not--not enough for me by a long way," shouted the rancher. "i'll demand a government inspection, i'll--i'll break you." "will you show mr. hudson the quickest and safest way off this embankment, tom," requested geoffrey, coolly, and there was laughter mingled with growls of approval from the men, as the irate rancher, hurling threats over his shoulder, was solemnly escorted along the dyke by the stalwart foreman. he turned before descending, and shook his fist at those who watched him. "i think you can close the sluices," said geoffrey, when the foreman returned. "then set all hands filling in this hole. i want you, gillow." "we are going to have trouble," he predicted, when english jim stood before him in his tent. "hudson unfortunately is either connected with our enemies, or in their clutches, and he'll try to persuade his neighbors to join him in an appeal to the authorities. send a messenger off at once with this telegram to vancouver, but stay--first find me the drawing of the defective gate." english jim spent several minutes searching before he answered: "i'm sorry i can't quite lay my hands upon it. it may be in vancouver, and i'll write a note to the folks down there." he did so, and when he went out shook his head ruefully. "that confounded sketch must have been the one i lost on board the steamer," he decided with a qualm of misgiving. "however, there is no use meeting trouble half-way by telling thurston so, until i'm sure beyond a doubt." some time had passed, and the greater portion of hudson's ranch still lay under water when, in consequence of representations made by its owner and some of his friends, a government official armed with full powers to investigate held an informal court of inquiry in the big store shed, at which most of the neighboring ranchers were present. geoffrey and thomas savine, who brought a lawyer with him, awaited the proceedings with some impatience. "i have nothing to do with any claim for damages. if necessary, the sufferers can appeal to the civil courts," announced the official. "my business is to ascertain whether, as alleged, the way these operations are conducted endangers the occupied, and unappropriated crown lands in this vicinity. i am willing to hear your opinions, gentlemen, beginning with the complainants." rancher hudson was the first to speak, and he said: "no sensible man would need much convincing that it's mighty bad for growing crops to have a full-bore flood turned loose on them. what's the use of raising hay and potatoes for the river to wash away? and it's plain that what has just happened is going to happen again. before savine began these dykes the river spread itself all over the lower swamp; now the walls hold it up, and each time it makes a hole in them, our property's most turned into a lake. i'm neither farming for pleasure nor running a salmon hatchery." there was a hum of approval from the speaker's supporters, whose possessions lay near the higher end of the valley, and dissenting growls from those whose boundaries lay below. after several of the ranchers from the lower valley had spoken the official said: "i hardly think you have cited sufficient to convince an unprejudiced person that the works are a public danger. you have certainly proved that two holdings have been temporarily flooded, but the first speaker pointed out that this was because the river was prevented from spreading all over the lower end of the valley, as it formerly did. now a portion of the district is already under cultivation, and even the area under crop exceeds that of the damaged plots by at least five acres to one." there was applause from the men whose possessions had been converted into dry land, and hudson rose, red-faced and indignant, to his feet again. "has savine bought up the whole province, government and all? that's what i'm wanting to know," he rejoined indignantly. "what is it we pay taxes to keep you fellows for? to look the other way when the rich man winks, and stand by seeing nothing while he ruins poor settlers' hard-won holdings? i'm a law-abiding man, i am, but i'm going to let nobody tramp on me." a burst of laughter filled the rear of the building when one of hudson's supporters pulled him down by main force, and held him fast, observing, "you just sit right there, and look wise instead of talking too much. i guess you've said enough already to mix everything up." the official raised his hand. "i am here to ask questions and not answer them," he said. "any more speeches resembling the last would be likely to get the inquirer into trouble. i must also remind mr. hudson that, after one inundation, he signed a document signifying his approval of the scheme, and i desire to ask him what has caused the change in his opinions." again there was laughter followed by a few derisive comments from the party favoring thurston's cause, while one voice was audible above the rest, "hudson's been buying horses. some vancouver speculator's check!" the rancher, shaking off his follower's grasp, bounded to his feet, and glared at the men behind him. "i'll get square with some of you fellows later on," he threatened. turning towards the officer, he went on: "just because i'm getting tired of being washed out i've changed my mind. when he's had two crops ruined, a man begins to get uneasy about the third one--see?" "it is a sufficient reason," answered the official. "now, gentlemen, i gather that some of you have benefited by this scheme. if you have any information to give me, i shall be pleased to hear it." several men told how they had added to their holdings many acres of fertile soil, which had once been swamp, and the crown official said: "i am convinced that two small ranches have been temporarily inundated, and six or seven benefited. so much for that side of the question. i must now ascertain whether the work is carried out in the most efficient manner, and how many have suffered in minor ways by the contractors' willful neglect, as the petitioners allege." hudson and his comrades testified at length, but each in turn, after making the most of the accidental upset of a barrow-load of earth among their crops, or the blundering of a steer into a trench, harked back to the broken sluice. when amid some laughter they concluded, others who favored savine described the precautions thurston had taken. then the inquirer turned over his papers, and thomas savine whispered to geoffrey: "it's all in our favor so far, but i'm anxious about that broken sluice. it's our weak point, and he's sure to tackle it." "yes," agreed geoffrey, whose face was strangely set. "i am anxious about it, too. can you suggest anything i should do, mr. gray?" the vancouver lawyer, who had a long experience in somewhat similar disputes, hitched forward his chair. "not at present," he answered. "i think with mr. savine that the question of the sluice gate may be serious. allowances are made for unpreventable accidents and force of circumstances, but a definite instance of a wholly inefficient appliance or defective workmanship might be most damaging. it is particularly unfortunate it was framed timber of insufficient strength that failed." geoffrey made no answer, but thomas savine, who glanced at him keenly, fancied he set his teeth while the lawyer, turning to the official inquirer, said: "these gentlemen have given you all the information in their power, and if you have finished with them, i would venture to suggest that any technical details of the work concern only mr. thurston and yourself." there was a protest from the assembly, and the officer beckoned for silence before he answered: "you gentlemen seem determined between you to conduct the whole case your own way. i was about to dismiss with thanks the neighboring landholders who have assisted me to the best of their ability." with some commotion the store-shed was emptied of all but the official, his assistant, and thurston's party. beckoning to geoffrey, the official held up before his astonished eyes a plan of the defective gate. "do you consider the timbering specified here sufficient for the strain?" he asked. "i cannot press the question, but it would be judicious of you to answer it." "no!" replied geoffrey, divided between surprise and dismay. the drawing was savine's. he could recognize the figures upon it, but it had evidently been made when the contractor was suffering from a badly-clouded brain. the broken gate itself was damaging evidence, but this was worse, for a glance at the design showed him that the artificers who worked from it had, without orders even, slightly increased the dimensions. any man with a knowledge of mechanical science would condemn it, but, while he had often seen savine incapable of mental effort of late, this was the first serious blunder that he had discovered. the mistake, he knew, would be taken as evidence of sheer incapacity; if further inquiry followed, perhaps it would be published broadcast in the papers, and geoffrey was above all things proud of his professional skill. still, he had pledged his word to both his partner and his daughter, and there was only one course open to him, if the questions which would follow made it possible. the lawyer, leaning forward, whispered to thomas savine, and then said aloud, "if that drawing is what it purports to be, it must have been purloined. may we ask accordingly how it came into your possession?" "one of the complainants forwarded it to me. he said he--obtained--it," was the dry answer. "under the circumstances, i hesitate to make direct use of it, but by the firm's stamp it appears genuine." "that mr. savine could personally be capable of such a mistake as this is impossible on the face of it," said the inquirer's professional assistant. "it is the work of a half-trained man, and suggests two questions, do you repudiate the plan, and, if you do not, was it made by a responsible person? i presume you have a draughtsman?" "there is no use repudiating anything that bears our stamp," said geoffrey, disregarding the lawyer's frown, and looking steadily into the bewildered face of thomas savine. "i work out all such calculations and make the sketches myself. my assistant sometimes checks them." the official, who had heard of the young contractor's reputation for daring skill, looked puzzled as he commented: "from what you say the only two persons who could have made the blunder are mr. savine and yourself. i am advised, and agree with the suggestion, that mr. savine could never have done so. from what i have heard, i should have concluded it would have been equally impossible with you; but i can't help saying that the inference is plain." "is not all this beside the question?" interposed the lawyer. "the junior partner admits the plan was made in the firm's offices, and that should be sufficient." geoffrey held himself stubbornly in hand while the officer answered that he desired to ascertain if it was the work of a responsible person. he knew that this blunder would be recorded against him, and would necessitate several brilliant successes before it could be obliterated, but his resolution never faltered, and when the legal adviser, laying a hand upon his arm, whispered something softly, he shook off the lawyer's grasp. "the only two persons responsible are mr. savine and myself--and you suggested the inference was plain," he asserted. here gillow, who had been fidgeting nervously, opened his lips as if about to say something, but closed them again when his employer, moving one foot beneath the table, trod hard upon his toe. "i am afraid i should hardly mend matters by saying i am sorry it is," said the official, dryly. "however, a mistake by a junior partner does not prove your firm incapable of high-class work, and i hardly think you will be troubled by further interference after my report is made. my superiors may warn you--but i must not anticipate. it is as well you answered frankly, as, otherwise, i should have concluded you were endeavoring to make your profits at the risk of the community; but i cannot help saying that the admission may be prejudicial to you, mr. thurston, if you ever apply individually for a government contract. here is the drawing. it is your property." geoffrey stretched out his hand for it, but savine was too quick for him, and when he thrust it into his pocket, the contractor, rising abruptly, stalked out of the room. gillow, who followed and overtook him, said: "i can't understand this at all, sir. mr. savine made that drawing. i know his arrows on the measurement lines, and i was just going to say so when you stopped me. i have a confession to make. i believe i dropped that paper out of my wallet on board the steamer." "you have a very poor memory, gillow," and thurston stared the speaker out of countenance. "i fear your eyes deceive you at times as well. you must have lost it somewhere else. in any case, if you mention the fact to anybody else, or repeat that you recognise mr. savine's handiwork, i shall have to look for an assistant who does not lose the documents with which he is entrusted." gillow went away growling to himself, but perfectly satisfied with both his eyesight and memory. thurston had hardly dismissed him than thomas savine approached, holding out the sketch. "see here, geoffrey," began the contractor's brother, and one glance at the speaker was sufficient for thurston, who stopped him. "are you coming to torment me about that confounded thing? give it to me at once," he said. he snatched the drawing from savine's hand, tore it into fragments, and stamped them into the mould. "now that's done with at last!" he said. "no," was the answer. "there's no saying where a thing like this will end, if public mischief-makers get hold of it. you have your future, which means your professional reputation, to think of. in all human probability my poor brother can't last very long, and this may handicap you for years. i cannot----" "damn my professional reputation! can't you believe your ears?" geoffrey broke in. "i'm not blind yet, and would sooner trust my eyes," was the dry answer. "nobody shall persuade me that i don't know my own brother's figures. there are limits, geoffrey, and neither helen nor i would hold our peace about this." "listen to me!" geoffrey's face was as hard as flint. "i see i can't bluff you as easily as the government man, but i give you fair warning that if you attempt to make use of your suspicions i'll find means of checkmating you. just supposing you're not mistaken, a young man with any grit in him could live down a dozen similar blunders, and, if he couldn't, what is my confounded personal credit in comparison with what your brother has done for me and my promise to miss savine? so far as i can accomplish it, julius savine shall honorably wind up a successful career, and if you either reopen the subject or tell his daughter about the drawing, there will be war between you and me. that is the last word i have to say." "i wonder if helen knows the grit there is in that man," pondered savine, when, seeing all protests were useless, he turned away, divided between compunction and gratitude. neither he nor the lawyer succeeded in finding out how the drawing fell into hostile hands, while, if geoffrey had his suspicions, he decided that it might be better not to follow them up. chapter xix the abduction of black christy these were weighty reasons why christy black, whose comrades reversed his name and called him black christy instead, remained in thurston's camp as long as he did. although a good mechanic, he was by no means fond of manual labor, and he had discovered that profitable occupations were open to an enterprising and not over-scrupulous man. on the memorable night when thurston fished him out of the river, his rescuer had made it plain that he must earn the liberal wages that were promised to him. as a matter of fact, black had made the most of his opportunities, and in doing so had brought himself under the ban of the law during an altercation over a disputed mineral claim. black, who then called himself by another name, disappeared before an inquiry as to how the body of one of the owners of the claim came into a neighboring river. only one comrade, and a mine-floating speculator, who stood behind the humbler disputants, knew or guessed at the events which led up the fatality. the comrade shortly afterwards vanished, too, but the richer man, who had connived at black's disappearance, kept a close hand on him, forcing him as the price of freedom to act as cat's-paw in risky operations, until black, tired of tyranny, had been glad to tell thurston part of the truth and to accept his protection. the man from whose grip he hoped he had escaped was the one who had helped leslie out of a difficulty. black christy found, however, that a life of virtuous toil grew distinctly monotonous, and one morning, when mattawa tom's vigilance was slack, he departed in search of diversion in the settlement of red pine, which lay beyond the range. he found congenial society there, and, unfortunately for himself, went on with a boon companion next morning to a larger settlement beside the railroad track. he intended to complete the orgie there, and then to return to camp. accordingly it happened that, when afternoon was drawing towards a close, he sat under the veranda of a rickety wooden saloon, hurling drowsy encouragement at the freighter who was loading rock-boring tools into a big wagon. he wondered how far his remaining dollar would go towards assuaging a thirst which steadily increased, and two men, who leaned against the wagon, chuckled as they watched him. the hands of one of the men were busy about the brass cap which decorated the hub of the wheel, but neither black nor the teamster noticed this fact. black had seen one of the men before, for the two had loafed about the district, ostensibly prospecting for minerals, and had twice visited thurston's camp. it was a pity black had absorbed sufficient alcohol to confuse his memory, for when the men strolled towards him he might have recognized the one whose hat was drawn well down. as it was, he greeted them affably. "nice weather for picnicking in the woods. not found that galena yet? i guess somebody in the city is paying you by the week," he observed jocosely. "that's about the size of it!" the speaker laughed. "but we've pretty well found what we wanted, and we're pulling out with the pacific express. there don't seem very much left in your glass. anything the matter with filling it up with me?" "i'm not proud," was the answer. "i'm open to drink with any man who'll set them up for me." when the prospector called the bar-tender, black proceeded to prove his willingness to be "treated." nothing moved in the unpaved street of the sleepy settlement, when the slow-footed oxen and lurching wagon had lumbered away. the sun beat down upon it pitilessly, and the drowsy scent of cedars mingled with the odors of baking dust which eddied in little spirals and got into the loungers' throats. the bar-tender was liberal with his ice, however, and black became confidential. when he had assured them of his undying friendship, one of the prospectors asked: "what's a smart man like you muling rocks around in a river-bed for, anyway? can't you strike nothing better down to the cities?" "no," declared black, thickly. "couldn't strike a job nohow when i left them. british columbia played out--and i had no money to take me to california." "well," said the prospector, winking at his comrade, "there is something we might put you on to. the first question is, what kin you do?" according to black's not over-coherent answer, there was little he could not do excellently. after he had enumerated his capabilities, the other man said: "i guess that's sufficient. come right back with us to 'frisco and we'll have a few off days before we start you. this is no country for a live man, anyway." black nodded sagaciously and tried hard to think. he was afraid of thurston, but more so of the other man connected with the enterprise company. in san francisco he would be beyond the reach of either, and the city offered many delights to a person of his tastes with somebody else willing to pay expenses. "i'll come," he promised thickly. "so long as you've got the dollars i'll go right round the earth with either of you." "good man!" commended the prospector. "bring along another jugful, bar-tender." the attendant glanced at the three men admiringly, for the speaker was plainly sober, and he knew how much money black had paid him. he went back to his bottles, and there was nobody to see the other prospector, who had kept himself in the background, pour something from a little phial beneath his hand, into black's liquor. "not quite so good as last one. i know 'frisco. great time at china joe's, you an' me," murmured black as he collapsed with his head upon the table. he was soon snoring heavily. "your climate has been too much for him," one of the men declared, when the saloon-keeper came in. "say, hadn't you better help us heave him in some place where he can sleep, unless you'd prefer to keep him as an advertisement?" black was stored away with some difficulty, and two hours later he was wheeled on a baggage-truck into the station, where half the inhabitants of the settlement assembled to see him off. the big cars were already clanging down the track, when a tall man riding a lathered horse appeared among the scattered pines on the shoulder of the hill above the settlement. a bystander commented: "thurston's foreman coming round for some of his packages. as usual he's in an almighty hurry. that place is 'most as steep as a roof, and he's coming down it at a gallop." the prospectors glanced at each other, and one of them said, "lend me a hand, somebody, to heave our sick partner aboard." black was unceremoniously deposited upon the platform of the nearest car, where he sat blinking vacantly at the assembly, while the conductor, leaning out from the door of the baggage-car, looked back towards the rider who was clattering through a dust cloud down the street, as he asked: "anybody else besides the tired man? is that fellow yonder coming?" "no," answered the prospector. "he's only wanting one of those cases you've just dumped out. likes to fancy his time's precious. i know him." the conductor waved his hand, the big bell clanged, and the train had just rolled with a rattle over a trestle ahead, when mattawa tom, grimed with thick red dust, flung himself down beside the agent's office. "has a dark-faced thief in a plug hat with two holes in the top of it, gone out on the cars?" he shouted, and the spectators admitted that such a person boarded the train. "why didn't you come in two minutes earlier, tom?" one of them inquired. "he lit out with two strangers. has he been stealing something?" "he's been doing worse, and i'd have been in on time, but that i stopped ten minutes to help freighter louis cut loose the two live oxen left him," said the foreman, breathlessly. "one wheel came off his wagon going down the clearwater trail, and the whole blame outfit pitched over into a ravine. there's several thousand dollars' worth of our boring machines smashed up, and louis, who has pretty well split his head, is cussing the man who took the cotter out of his wheel hub." the two prospectors were heartily tired of their charge by the time they passed him off as the sick employé of an american firm, at the nearest station to the washington border. when black showed signs of waking up he was soothed with medicated liquor, and his guardians, who several times had high words with the conductor, at last unloaded him in a station hewn out of the forests encircling puget sound, where they managed to hoist him into a spring wagon. black leaned against one of the men, for he was feeling distressfully ill. his head throbbed, his vision was hazy and his throat was dry. blinking down at the rows of wooden houses among the firs, and the tall spars of vessels behind them, he said: "this isn't 'frisco--not half big enough. somebody made mistake somewhere. say! lemme out; i'm going back to the depot." "you're coming along with us," was the decided answer. "sit down at once before we make you." black slowly doubled up a still formidable fist, and grasping a rail, lurched to and fro unsteadily. "lemme out 'fore i kill somebody. claim rightsh of british citizensh," he said. "you'll get them if you're not careful," was the threat, and the speaker jerked black's feet from under him. "i was told to remind you if you made trouble that a sheriff on this side of the frontier had some papers describing you. there's one or two patrolmen yonder handy." "it was an accident," temporized black, endeavoring to pull his scattered wits together. "juss so!" was the answer, given with a gesture of indifference. "i was only told a name for the patrolmen, and to remind you that a man, who knows all about it, has got his eye on you." black leered upon him with drunken cunning, then his face grew stolid, and he said nothing further until the wagon drew up in a by-street, before a door, hung across with quaint signboards of chinese characters. the door opened and closed behind him when his companions knocked, and black, who recognized a curious sour smell, choked out, "gimme long drink of ice watah!" he drained the cool draught that was brought him, then flinging himself on a pile of matting in a corner of a dim room, sank forthwith into slumber. he had intended to pretend to sleep, but to lie awake and think. his custodians, however, had arranged things differently, and black's wits were not working up to their usual power. whenever railroad extension or mining enterprise provided high wages for all strong enough to earn them and crews deserted wholesale, seamen were occasionally shipped in a very irregular fashion from the ports of the pacific slope. at the time black was brought into one of the seaboard cities, the purveying of drugged and kidnaped mariners had risen to be almost a recognized profession. it accordingly happened that when the unfortunate black first became clearly conscious of anything again, he heard the gurgle of sliding water close beside his head, and, opening his eyes, caught sight of a smoky lamp that reeled to and fro, in very erratic fashion. moisture dripped from the beams above him, and there was a sickly smell which seemed familiar. black, who had been to sea before, decided that he caught the aroma of bilge water. rows of wooden shelves tenanted by recumbent figures, became discernible, and he started with dismay to the full recognition of the fact that he was in a vessel's forecastle. somebody or something was pounding upon the scuttle overhead. a black gap opened above him, a rush of cold night wind swept down, followed by a gruff order: "turn out, watch below, and help get sail upon her. stir round before i put a move on to you!" men scrambled from the wooden shelves growling as they did so. two lost their balance on the heaving floor, went down headlong, and lay where they fell. when a man in long boots floundered down the ladder, black sat up in his bunk. "now there's going to be trouble. some blame rascals have run me off aboard a lumber ship," he said. "correct!" observed a man who was struggling into an oilskin jacket. "you're blame well shanghaied like the rest of us, and as the mate's a rustler, you've got to make the best of it." "hello! what's the matter with you? not feeling spry this morning, or is it hot water you're waiting for?" the mate said, jerking black out of his bunk as he spoke. "great columbus! what kind of a stiff do you call yourself? up you go!" black went, with all the expedition he was capable of, and, blundering out through the scuttle, stood shivering on a slant of wet and slippery deck. a brief survey showed him that he was on board a full-rigged ship, timber laden, about to be cast off by a tug. there was a fresh breeze abeam. looking forward he could see dark figures hanging from the high-pointed bowsprit that rose and dipped, and beyond them the lights of a tug reeling athwart a strip of white-streaked sea. mountains dimly discernible towered in the distance, and he fancied it was a little before daybreak. bursts of spray came hurtling in through the foremast shrouds, and the whine and rattle of running wire and chain fell from the windy blackness overhead whence the banging of loosened canvas came to his ears. glancing aloft he watched the great arches of the half-sheeted topsails swell blackly out and then collapse again with a thunderous flap. somebody was shouting from the slanted top-gallant-yard that swung in a wide arc above them, but black had no time for further inspection. "lay aloft and loose maintopsails! are you figuring we brought you here to admire the scenery?" a hoarse voice challenged. half-dazed and sullenly savage black had still sense enough to reflect that it would be little use to expect that the harassed mate would listen to reason then. clawing his way up the ratlines he laid his chest upon the main-topsail-yard and worked his way out to the lower end of the long inclined spar. here, still faint and dizzy, he hung with the footrope jammed against his heel, as he felt for the gasket that held the canvas to the yard. swinging through the blackness across a space of tumbling foam he felt a horrible unsteadiness. there were other men behind him, for he could hear them swearing and coughing until a black wall of banging canvas sank beneath him when somebody roared: "sheet her home!" then a hail came down across the waters from the tug. there was a loud splash beneath the bows, while shadowy figures that howled a weird ditty as they hove the hawser in, rose and fell black against the foam-flecked sea on the dripping forecastle. nobody had missed black, who now sat astride the yard watching the tug, as the ship, listing over further and commencing to hurl the spray in clouds about her plunging bows, gathered way. the steamboat would slide past very close alongside, and he saw a last chance of escape. moving out to the very yard-arm he clutched the lee-brace, which rope led diagonally downwards to the vessel's depressed rail. he looked below a moment, bracing himself for the perilous attempt. the tug was close abreast of the ship's forecastle now, evidently waiting with engines stopped until the vessel should pass her. the crew was still heaving in the cable or loosing the top-gallants, and froth boiled almost level with the depressed rail. black was a poor swimmer, but he could keep his head above water for a considerable time. if the tug did not start her engines within the next few seconds she must drive close down on him. otherwise--but filled with the hope of escape and the lust for revenge black was willing to take the risk. he hooked one knee around the brace, gripped it between his ankles and slackened the grip of his hands. the topsails slid away from him, the spray rushed up below, his feet struck the rail, and the next moment he was down in utter blackness and conscious of a shock of icy cold water. he rose gasping and swung around, buffeted in the vessel's eddying wake. there was no shouting on board her, and, with a choking cry, he struck out for the black shape of the tug, now only a short distance away. somebody heard and flung down a line. he clutched at it and, by good fortune, grasped it. head downward he was drawn on board by the aid of a long boathook, and hauled, dripping, before the skipper. "did you fall or jump in?" asked the skipper. "i jumped," confessed black, putting a bold face on it, and the master of the towboat laughed. "shanghaied, i guess!" he said. "well, i don't blame you for showing your grit. the master of that lumber wagon is a blame avaricious insect! he beat us down until all we got out of him will hardly pay for the coal we used--that's what he did. so if you slip ashore quietly when we tie up, he'll think you pitched over making sail, and i'll keep my mouth shut." accordingly it happened that next morning black, who had left the wooden city before daylight to tramp back to the bush, sat down to consider his next move. "there's one thing tolerably certain, black christy's drowned, and he'll just stop drowned until it suits him," he decided. "next, though he's not over fond of it, there's lots of work for a good carpenter in this country and newspapers are cheap. so when it's worth his while to strike in with the thurston company and get even with the other side he'll probably hear of it." he laughed a little as he once more read the message on a strip of pulpy paper somebody had slipped into his pocket. "you are going to china for your health, and you had better stop there if you want to keep clear of trouble." black christy got upon his feet again and departed into the bush, where he wandered for several weeks, building fences and splitting shingles for the ranchers in return for food and shelter, until he found work and wages at a saw-mill. shortly after he was employed at the mill, the director who held leslie's receipt sat in his handsome offices with the englishman. a newspaper lay open on the table before him, and the director smiled as he read, "ship, _maria carmony_, timber laden for china, meeting continuous headwinds after sailing from this port, put into cosechas, cal., for shelter, and her master reported the loss of a seaman when making sail in the straits of san juan. the man's name was t. slater, and must have been a stranger, as nobody appears to have known him in this city." "those fellows haven't managed it badly," he commented. "anyway, there's an end of him." "they told me they had some trouble over it, and i gave them fifty dollars extra," said leslie. "they used the hint you mentioned--said it worked well. but the two men are always likely to turn up, unfortunately." "it wouldn't count," the other answered confidently. "you will have to bluff them off if they do. deny the whole thing--nobody would believe them--it's quite easy. it would have been different with that confounded black, for he would have had thurston's testimony. the joke of the whole thing is, that although he knew i held evidence which would likely hang him with a jury of miners, it's tolerably certain black never did the thing he was wanted for." thus, the two parties interested remained contented, and only thurston was left bewildered and furious at the loss of a witness who might be valuable to him. moreover, the destruction of machinery which, having been made specially for thurston, in england, could not be replaced for months. and not once did it ever occur to his subordinate, english jim, that he himself had furnished the clue which led to the abduction of the missing man. chapter xx under the stanley pines it was a pleasant afternoon when millicent leslie stood in the portico of her villa, which looked upon the inlet from a sunny ridge just outside vancouver. like the other residences scattered about, the dwelling quaintly suggested a doll's house--it was so diminutively pretty with its carved veranda, bright green lattices, and spotless white paint picked out with shades of paler green and yellow. flowers filled tiny borders, and behind the house small firs, spared by the ax, stood rigid and somber. with clear sunshine heating upon it and the blue waters sparkling close below, the tiny villa was so daintily attractive that one might almost suppose its inhabitants could carry neither care nor evil humor across its threshold, but there was disgust and weariness in millicent's eyes as she glanced from the little pony-carriage waiting at the gate to her husband leaning against a pillar. leslie was evidently in a complacent frame of mind, and he did not notice his wife's expression. there was a smile upon his puffy face which suggested pride of possession. it was justifiable, for mrs. leslie was still a distinctly handsome woman, and she knew how to dress herself. "you will meet very few women who excel you, and the team is unique," he remarked exultantly. "drive around by some of the big stores and let folks see you before you turn into the park. since that affair of thurston's i am almost beginning to grow proud of you." "isn't it somewhat late in the day?" was the answer, and millicent's tone was chilly. "if you had wished to pay me a compliment that was not intended ironically, it would have been wiser to omit all reference to the subject you mentioned. it is done now--and heaven knows why i told you--but i can't thank you for reminding me of a deed i am ashamed of. further, i understood the ponies were for my pleasure, and i have stooped far enough in your interest without displaying myself as an advertisement of a prosperity which does not exist." leslie laughed unpleasantly, noticing the flash in the speaker's eyes before he rejoined: "perhaps it is tardy praise i give you, but regarding your last remark, to pretend you have achieved prosperity is, so far as i can see, the one way to attain it, and i have a promising scheme in view. it is not a particularly pleasant part to play, and there was a time when it appeared very improbable that either of us would be forced, as you say, to stoop to it. neither was it my ambition which brought about the necessity. as to the ponies--i had fancied they might do their part, too, but they are a reward for services rendered in finding me a clue to the missing-man mystery. nobody need know that they're not quite our own. now you have got them, isn't it slightly unfair to blame me because you were willing to earn them?" "i suppose so," admitted millicent. "still, i can't help remarking that you take the man's usual part of blaming the woman for whatever happens. to-day i will not drive through the city, but straight into the park." leslie said nothing further, but followed his wife to the gate. on his way to his office, he turned and looked after her with a frown as she rattled her team along the uneven road. she was a vain and covetous woman with a bias towards intrigue, but there had been times since her marriage when she despised herself, and as a natural consequence blamed her husband. sometimes she hated thurston, also, though more often she was sensible of vague regrets, and grew morbid thinking of what might have been. now she flushed a little as she glanced at the ponies and remembered that they were the price of treachery. the animals were innocent, but she found satisfaction in making them feel the sting of the whip. she looked back at the city. it rose in terraces above the broad inlet--a maze of wooden buildings, giving place to stone. over its streets hung a wire network, raised high on lofty poles, which would have destroyed the beauty of a much fairer city. back of the city rose the somber forest over which at intervals towered the blasted skeleton of some gigantic pine. millicent felt that she detested both the city, with its crude mingling of primitive simplicity and western luxury, and the life she lived in it. it was a life of pretense and struggle, in which she suffered bitter mortifications daily. presently she reined the team in to a walk as she drove under the cool shade of the primeval forest which, with a wisdom not common in the west, the inhabitants of vancouver have left unspoiled as nature. a few drives have been cut through the trees and between the long rows of giant trunks she could catch at intervals the silver shimmer of the straits. in this park there was only restful shadow. its silence was intensified by the soft thud of hoofs. a dim perspective of tremendous trees whose great branches interlocked, forming arches for the roof of somber green very far above, lured her on. millicent felt the spell of the silence and sighed remembering how the lover whom she had discarded once pleaded that she would help him in a life of healthful labor. she regretted that she had not consented to flee with him to the new country. now she was tied to a man she despised, and who had put her, so she considered, to open shame. she could not help comparing his weak, greedy, yet venomous nature, with the other's courage, clean purpose and transparent honesty. "i was a fool, ten times a fool; but it is too late," she told herself, and then tightening her grip on the reins she started with surprise. the man to whom her thoughts had strayed was leaning against a hemlock with his eyes fixed on her face. it was the first time they had met since she played the part of delilah, and, in spite of her customary self-command, millicent betrayed her agitation. a softer mood was upon her and she had the grace to be ashamed. still, it appeared desirable to discover whether he suspected her. "i was quite startled to see you, geoffrey, but i am very glad. it is almost too hot for walking. won't you let me drive you?" she said with flurried haste. if geoffrey hesitated millicent noticed no sign of it beyond that he was slow in answering. he was conscious that mrs. leslie looked just then a singularly attractive companion, but she was the wife of another man, and, of late, he had felt a vague alarm at the confidences she seemed inclined to exchange with him. nevertheless, he could find no excuse at the moment which would not suggest a desire to avoid her, and with a word of thanks he took his place at her side. "i came down to consult my friend, mr. thomas savine, on business," he explained. "i had one or two other matters to attend to, and promised to overtake him and his wife during their stroll. i must have missed them. what a pretty team! have you had the ponies long?" millicent's well-gloved fingers closed somewhat viciously upon the whip, for the casual question was unfortunate, but she smiled as she answered and she chatted gayly until, in an interlude, thurston felt prompted to say: "coincidences are sometimes striking, are they not? you remember, the last time we met, suggesting that i was fortunate in having no enemies among the mountains?" "yes," she replied, shrinking a little, "i do--but do you know that it makes one shiver to talk about glaciers and snow on such a perfect day." a man of keener perceptions, reading the speaker's face, would have changed the subject at once, and millicent had earned his tactful consideration. it was a good impulse which prompted her to place herself beyond the reach of further temptation. geoffrey, however, was unobservant that afternoon. "i am certainly tired of glaciers and snow and other unpleasant things myself, and was merely going to say that, shortly after i last talked with you, i discovered another instance of an unknown enemy's ingenuity," he went on. "a wagon we had chartered upset down a steep ravine, and several costly pieces of machinery i had brought out from england, and can hardly replace, were smashed to pieces." "ah!" responded millicent, staring straight before her. "what a pity! still accidents of that description must be fairly common where the mountain roads are bad?" "they are; but this was not an accident. we found that somebody had pulled out the cotter or iron pin which held the wagon wheel on." "did any of your own men do it?" millicent inquired, concealing her eagerness, and thurston answered with pride in his tone: "my own men risk their lives almost every day in my service. there is not one among them capable of treachery--now. we made tolerably certain it was the work of two strangers, who hung about the neighboring settlement and disappeared immediately after the accident." millicent's eyes flashed, her white teeth were set together, and, filled with hot indignation against her husband, she lashed the ponies viciously. there were several reasons for what she had done, including a dislike to miss savine, but perhaps the greatest was the sordid fear of poverty. now she saw that her husband had tricked her. she had stooped to save his position and not to enable him to work further injury for thurston. the innocent ponies were leslie's gift, and the smart of the lash she drew across their sleek backs appeared vicarious punishment. "have i displeased you?" geoffrey asked. "no," replied millicent. "displeased me! how could i resent anything you might either say or do? have i not heaped injury upon you?" she turned to gaze straight at him with a curious glitter in her eyes. thurston, bewildered by it and by the traces of ill-suppressed passion in her voice, grew distinctly uneasy. he was glad that one of the ponies showed signs of growing restive under its punishment. "steady, millicent! they're a handsome pair, but not far off bolting, and there's no parapet to yonder bridge," he cautioned. in place of an answer the woman again flicked one of the beasts viciously with the whip, and, next moment, the light vehicle lurched forward with a whir of gravel hurled up by the wheels. the team had certainly shied, and the road curved sharply to the unguarded bridge over a little creek. "this is my business," declared geoffrey, wrenching the reins from her grasp. "sit well back, throw the whip down and clutch the rail fast." then he stood upright grasping the lines in his hard hands. it was, however, evident that he could not steer the ponies around the bend, and the fall to the rocks beneath the bridge might mean death. "hold fast for your life," he shouted, and let the team run straight on. there was a heavy shock as the light wheels struck a fallen branch on leaving the graded road. the vehicle lurched, and millicent, whose eyes were wide with terror, screamed faintly. geoffrey still stood upright driving the team straight ahead down a more open glade of the forest. he knew that the stems of the fern and the soft ground beneath would soon bring them to a standstill if they did not strike a tree-trunk first. the going was heavy, and with a plunge or two, the ponies stopped on the edge of a thicket. geoffrey, alighting, soothed the trembling creatures with some difficulty, led them back to the road, and, taking his place again, turned towards millicent. it appeared necessary that he should soothe her, too, for, though generally a self-possessed person, the emotions of the last few minutes had proved too much for her. she had suffered from remorse, disgust with herself, rage against her husband, and to these there had also been added the fear of sudden death. "it ended better than it might have done," said geoffrey, awkwardly. "very sorry, but you must really be careful in using the whip to the ponies. shall i get down and bring you some water, millicent? you look faint. the fright has made you ill." "no," millicent denied. "i am not ill; only startled a little--and very grateful." instinctively, she moved a little nearer him when geoffrey handed her the reins again. he bent his head and smiled reassuringly. millicent was white in the face, and shivered a little--she was also very pretty, and it would have been unkind not to try to comfort her. whether it was love of power, dislike to her husband, or perhaps something more than this, even the woman was not then sure, but she took full advantage of the position, and the ponies walked undirected, while geoffrey essayed to chase away her fears. he bent his head lower towards her, and millicent smiled at him with apparently shy gratitude. lifting his eyes a moment, geoffrey set his teeth as he met the coldly indifferent gaze of helen, who came towards them in company with mr. and mrs. thomas savine. millicent also saw the three savines, and, either tempted by jealousy of the girl or by mere vanity, managed to convey a subtle expression of triumph in her smile of greeting. possibly neither thomas savine nor geoffrey would have understood the meaning of the smile had they seen it, but helen read it, and it was with the very faintest bend of her head that she acknowledged thurston's salutation. geoffrey was silent after they had driven by, but millicent, who seemed to recover her spirits, chatted gayly and even said flattering things of miss savine. meantime helen felt confused, hurt and angry. it was true that she had rejected thurston's suit, but she had found his loyalty pleasant, and had believed implicitly in his rectitude. now a hot color rose to her temples as she remembered that it was the second time she had seen him under circumstances which suggested that he had transferred the homage offered her to a married woman. she felt the insult as keenly as if he had struck her. the dominion had not progressed so far in one direction as the great republic to the south of it, neither are friendships or flirtations of the kind looked upon as leniently as they are in tropical colonies, and there was a good deal of the puritan in helen savine. "well, i'm--just rattled. that's mrs. leslie!" remarked thomas savine. "thurston goes straight and steady, but what in the name of----" mrs. savine, whose one weakness was medicine, flashed a warning glance at him, and hastened to answer, perhaps for the benefit of helen who came up just then. "there is not a straighter man in the dominion, and one could stake their last cent on the honor of geoffrey thurston," she declared. "from several things i've heard, i've settled that's just a dangerous woman." helen heard, and, knowing her friendship for the young engineer, guessed her aunt's motive. the explanation, in any case, would not have improved the position much, for if the woman were utterly unprincipled, which she could well believe, why should the man who had, of his own will, pledged himself to her?--but she flushed again as she refused to follow that line of thought further. nevertheless, she clenched a little hand in a manner that boded ill for thurston when next he sought speech with her. afterwards she endeavored to treat the incident with complete indifference, and succeeded in deceiving her uncle only, for in spite of her efforts, her face and carriage expressed outraged dignity. her aunt was not in the least deceived, and her eyes twinkled now and then as she chattered on diverse topics, while the party drove leisurely towards the city. when leslie returned home from his office he found his wife awaiting him with the disdainful look upon her face which he had learned to hate. "what's the matter now, millicent? has something upset your usually pacific temper?" he asked with a sneer. "yes," was the direct answer. "when you last asked my assistance you, as usual, lied to me. i helped you to trace your--your confederate, because you told me it was the only way to escape ruin. for once i believed you, which was blindly foolish of me. i met mr. thurston and learned from him how somebody had plotted to destroy his machinery. he did not know it was you, and i very nearly told him." "don't be a fool, millicent," leslie admonished. "i'm sick of these displays of temper--they don't become you. i tell you i plotted nothing except to get my man into my own hands again. the other rascals exceeded their orders on their own responsibility. oh, you would wear out any poor man's patience! folks in my position don't do such childish things as hire people to upset wagons loaded with machinery." "i do not believe you," replied millicent, and leslie laughed ironically. "i don't know that it greatly matters whether you do or not. have you any more such dutiful things to say?" "just this. one hears of honor among thieves, and it is evident you cannot rise even to that. you have once more tricked me, and henceforward i warn you that you must carry on your work in your own way. further, if i hear of any more plotting to do thurston injury, i shall at once inform him." "then," leslie gripped her arm until his fingers left their mark on the soft white flesh, "i warn you that it will be so much the worse for you. good heavens, why don't you--but go, and don't tempt me to say what i feel greatly tempted to." millicent shook off his grasp, moved slowly away, turning to fling back a bitter answer from the half-opened door. "confound her!" said leslie, refilling the glass upon the table. "now, what the devil tempted me to ruin all my prospects by marrying that woman?" chapter xxi reparation "you will have to go," said henry leslie, glancing sharply at his wife across the breakfast-table as he returned her an open letter which had lately arrived by the english mail. "i hardly know where to find the money for your passage out and home just now, and you will want new dresses--women always seem to. still, we can't afford to miss an opportunity, and it may prove a good investment," he added, reflectively. millicent sighed as she took the letter, and, ignoring her husband's words, read it through again. it had been written by a relative, a member of the legal profession, and requested her to return at once to england. the stern old man, who had reared her, was slowly dying, and had expressed an urgent wish to see her. "isn't that the man who wanted you to marry thurston, and when you disappointed him washed his hands of both of you?" leslie inquired. "there were reasons why i hadn't the pleasure of duly making the acquaintance of your relatives, but i think you said he was tolerably wealthy, and, as he evidently desires a reconciliation, you must do your best to please him. let me see. you might catch the next new york cunarder or the allan boat from quebec." millicent looked up at him angrily. she was not wholly heartless, and her kinsman had not only provided for her after her parents died in financial difficulties, but in his own austere fashion he had been kind to her. accordingly, her husband's comments jarred upon her. "i should certainly go, even if i had to travel by colonist car and steerage," she declared. "i should do so if there were no hope of financial benefit, which is, after all, very uncertain, for anthony thurston is not the man to change his mind when he has once come to a determination. the fact that he is dying and asks for me is sufficient--though it is perhaps useless to expect you to believe it." "we must all die some day," was the abstracted answer. "hardly an original observation, is it? but it would be folly to let such a chance pass, and i must try to spare you. if you really feel it, i sympathize with you, and had no intention of wounding your sensibilities, but as, unfortunately, circumstances force us to consider these questions practically, you will--well, you will do your best with the old man, millicent. to put it so, you owe a duty to me." leslie and his wife had by this time learned to see each other's real self, naked and stripped of all disguise, and the sight was not calculated to inspire either with superfluous delicacy. the man, however, overlooked the fact that his partner in life still clung to a last grace of sentiment, and could, on occasion, deceive herself. "i owe you a duty! how have you discharged yours to me?" she said, reproachfully. "do not force me to oppose you, harry, but if you are wise, go around to the depot and find out when the steamers sail." "yes, my dear," leslie acquiesced with a smile, which he did not mean to be wholly ironical. "would it be any use for me to say that i shall miss you?" "no," answered millicent, though she returned his smile. "you really would not expect me to believe you. still, if only because of the rareness of such civility, i rather like to hear you say so." mrs. leslie sailed in the first cunarder, and duly arrived at a little station in the north of england where a dogcart was waiting to drive her to crosbie ghyll. she had known the man, who drove it long before, and he told her, with full details, how anthony thurston, having come down from an iron-working town to visit the owner of the dilapidated mansion had been wounded by a gun accident while shooting. the wound was not of itself serious, but the old man's health was failing, and he had not vitality enough to recover from the shock. meantime, while millicent leslie was driven across the bleak brown moorlands, anthony thurston lay in the great bare guest-chamber at crosbie ghyll. he had been a hard, determined man, a younger son who had made money in business, while his brothers died poor, clinging to the land, and it was with characteristic grimness that he was quietly awaiting his end. the narrow, deep-sunk window in front of him was open wide, though the evening breeze blew chilly from the fells, which rose blackly against an orange glow. though he manifested no impatience, the sunset light beating in showed an expectant look in his eyes. a much younger man sat at a table close by and laid down the pen he held, when the other said: "that will do, halliday. is there any sign of the dog-cart yet? you are sure she will come to-night?" "there is a vehicle of some kind behind the larches, but i cannot see it clearly," was the answer. "you can rest satisfied, sir, for if mrs. leslie has missed the train, she will arrive early to-morrow." "to-morrow may be too late," said the old man. "i do not feel well to-night. yes, she will come. millicent is like her father, and, though he ruined himself, it was not because he hadn't a keen eye for the main chance. because i was a lonely man and because, in my struggling days her mother was kind to me, i was fond of her. you needn't be jealous, halliday. you will have the winding up of my estate, and it won't affect your share." there was a vein of misanthropic irony in most of what anthony thurston said, but the other man had the same blood in him, and answered quickly: "my own business is flourishing, and i have tried to serve you hitherto because of the relationship. i have no other reason, sir." "no," assented thurston, with something approaching a laugh. "there is no doubt you are genuine. millicent took after her father and, in spite of it, i was fond of her. tell me again. did you consider her happy when you saw her in canada?" "as i said before, it is a delicate question, but i did not think so. her husband struck me as a particularly poor sample, sir." "ah! she married the rascal suddenly out of pique, perhaps, when geoffrey left her. i could never quite get at the truth of that story, which, of course, was framed in the conventional way, but even now, though he's nearer of kin than millicent, i can't quite forgive geoffrey. you saw him, you said, on your last visit to those mines." the speaker's tone was indifferent, but his eyes shoved keen interest, and halliday answered: "if ever the whole truth came out i don't think you would blame geoffrey, sir. individually, i would take his word against--well, against any woman's solemn declaration. yes, i saw him. he was making a pretty fight single-handed against almost overwhelming natural difficulties." "why?" asked anthony thurston. "a woman out there, eh? are you pleading his cause, halliday? remember, if you convince me, he may be another participant in the property." "he did not explain all his motives to me, and nobody ever gained much by attempting to force a thurston's confidence. if you were not my kinsman and were in better health i should feel tempted to recommend you to place your affairs in other hands. confound the property!" there was a curious cackle in the sick man's throat, and the flicker of a smile in his sunken eyes. "i can believe it. you are tarred with the same brush as geoffrey. the obstinate fool must go out there with a couple of hundred pounds or so, when he knew he had only to humor me by marrying millicent and wait for prosperity. and yet, in one way, i'm glad he did. he never wrote me to apologize or explain--still, that's hardly surprising either. i don't know that any of us ever troubled much about other folks' opinions or listened to advice. here am i, who might have lived another ten years, dying, because, when an officious keeper warned me, i went the opposite way. i hear wheels, halliday." "it is the dogcart," halliday announced. "yes--i see mrs. leslie." "thank god!" said the sick man. "bring her here as soon as she's ready. meantime, send in the doctor. i feel worse to-night." the light was dying fast when millicent leslie came softly into the great bare room, and, for anthony thurston had paid for overtaxing his waning strength, her heart smote her as she looked upon him. she could recognize the stamp of fast approaching death. there was an unusual gentleness in his eyes, which brightened at her approach, and with the exception of geoffrey, whose sympathy filled her with shame, it was long since anyone had looked upon her with genuine kindliness. so it was with real sorrow she knelt beside the bed and kissed him. "i was shocked to hear of your accident, but it was some time ago, and you are recovering," she remarked, trying to speak hopefully, but with a catch in her breath. "i am dying," was the answer, and millicent sobbed when the withered fingers rested on her hair. "i wanted to see you before i went. i was fond of you, milly, and you--you and geoffrey angered me. it was not your fault," the somewhat strained voice added wistfully. "he--i don't wish to hurt you, or hear the stereotyped version he of course endorsed. he left you?" millicent leslie was not wholly evil. she had a softer side, and, in the moment of reconciliation, dreaded to inflict further pain upon one to whom she owed much. if the truth was not in her, there was one thing in her favor, so at least the afterwards tried to convince herself. prompted by a desire to soothe a dying man's last hours, she voluntarily accepted a very unpleasant part. she was thankful her head was bent as she said: "it was perhaps my fault. i would not--i could not consent to humor him in what appeared a senseless project--and so geoffrey went to canada." she felt the old man's hand move caressingly across her hair. "poor millicent," he sympathized. "and you chose another husband. are you happy with him out there? but stay, it is twilight and the old place is gloomy. if you would like them, ask for candles. geoffrey--geoffrey left you!" millicent did not desire candles, but gently drew herself away. anthony thurston's tenderness had touched her, and, with sudden compunction, she remembered that she had deceived a dying man. he believed her, but she did not wish him to see her face. she drew a chair towards the bed, and for a moment looked about her, striving to collect her scattered thoughts. framed by the stone-ribbed window, the afterglow still shimmered, a pale luminous green, and one star twinkled over the black shoulder of crosbie fell. curlews called mournfully down in the misty mosses, and when she turned her head the sick man's face showed faintly livid against the darker coverings of the bed. for a moment she felt tempted to make full confession, or at least excuses for geoffrey, but anthony thurston spoke again just then and the moment was lost. "i asked are you happy in canada, millicent," he repeated, and there was command as well as kindness in his tone. anthony thurston, mine owner and iron works director, was dying, but he had long been a ruler of stiff-necked men, and the habit of authority still remained with him. it struck millicent that he was in many ways very like geoffrey. "i am not," she admitted. "i would not have told you if you had not insisted. it is the result of my own folly, and there is no use complaining." anthony thurston stretched out a thin, claw-like hand and laid it on one of her own. "tell me," he said. "we are poor. that is, my husband's position is precarious, and it is a constant struggle to live up to it." "then why do you try?" millicent sighed as she answered: "it is, i believe, necessary or he would lose it, while he aims at obtaining sufficient influence to win him a connection, if he resumed his former land business." "from what i know it is a rascally business; but there is more than this. my time is very short, millicent, but it seems such a very little while since a bright-haired girl who atoned for another's injury sat upon my knee, and for the sake of those days i can still protect you. your husband treats you ill?" there was a vibration in the strained voice which more strongly reminded the listener of geoffrey's, and awoke her bitterness against the man she had married. it was so long since she had taken a living soul into her confidence, that she answered impulsively: "there is no use hiding the truth from you. he does not treat me well." then she related the story of her married life, and anthony thurston listened gravely, comprehending more than she meant to tell him, for when she had finished he commented: "you have neither been over loyal nor over wise--too quick to see the present gain, blind to the greater one behind--but it is my part to help, not blame you, and i will try to do so. it is dark now. please ask for my draught and the candles. then i want you to tell me about geoffrey. you have met him in canada." millicent, retiring, stood for a few minutes looking down from a narrow window in the bare stone corridor on to the moor. there was no moon, but the night was luminous, for the stars twinkled with a windy glitter that was flung back by a neighboring tarn. the call of the curlew seemed more mournful, the crying of lapwing rose from the meadow land, and she started at a hollow hoot as an owl swept by on muffled wing. the night voices filled her with an eerie sensation--there was, she recollected, always something creepy about crosbie ghyll, and, for millicent was superstitious, she shivered again at the reflection that she had cheated a dying man. but she could make partial reparation to the living at least, and when she came back with the candles there was resolve in her face. "you asked me about geoffrey. he has no reason to be ashamed of his record in canada," she said. "i will tell you what i know from the beginning--and i hope i shall tell it well." it was a relief to do so, and the story of geoffrey's struggle and prospective triumph was a stirring one as it fell from the lips of the woman who had thrice wronged him. she guessed how her husband's employers had plotted, having gathered much from the talk of his guests, and the old man listened eagerly, until he struck the coverlet when she concluded. grim satisfaction was stamped upon his twitching face. "it is a brave story. i thank you, millicent; you told it very well. ay, the old blood tells--and i was proud of the lad. went his own way in spite of me--he is my kinsman, what should i expect of him? standing alone for a broken master, with cunning and wealth against him and his last dollar in the scheme! quite in keeping with traditions, and there'll be broken crowns before they beat him down." the dying man, who had fought perhaps as stubbornly all his life long, gasped once or twice before he added, "you must go now, millicent. send halliday to me." millicent went out with a throbbing pulse and downcast eyes, and when the lawyer came in thurston said: "read over that partly completed will." "had you not better rest until to-morrow, sir?" was the answer. "dr. maltby warned you----" "you ought to know by this time that i seldom take a warning, and to-morrow may be too late. write, and write quickly. after payment of all bequests above, balance of real estate to yourself and forsyth as trustees, to apply and use for the individual benefit of millicent leslie. if her husband lays hands upon it, i'll haunt you. you have power to nominate geoffrey thurston as your co-trustee. god knows what may happen, and her rascally husband may get himself shot by somebody he has swindled some day. what i wished for mightn't follow then? i'm paying you to make my will and not dictate to me. repeat it as many times as may appear necessary to let my meaning show clearly through your legal phraseology." "i have got it down, sir," the writer told him presently. "now, after deductions enumerated, all my floating investments in mines, stocks and shares to geoffrey thurston, to hold or sell as pleases him, unconditionally. bequeathed in the hope that this will help him to confound his enemies." it was written, signed and witnessed by musker and the surgeon, then anthony thurston asked once more and very faintly for millicent. he drew her down beside him and took her hand in his thin, gnarled one before he said: "i have done my best for you, milly--and again thank you for the story. after what halliday said, it has helped to conquer an old bitterness, and--for my work is finished--i can die contented. i may be gone to-morrow, and my strength is spent. good-by, milly. god bless you!" millicent stooped and kissed him with a sense of shame. before morning all power of speech or volition left anthony thurston, and twelve hours later he was dead. chapter xxii a reprieve it was with a heavy heart that geoffrey thurston turned over the papers thomas savine spread out before him in the vancouver offices. "i'm almost scared to do any more figuring," said savine. "money is going to be uncommonly tight with us, and, to make things worse, i can neither realize nor borrow. my brother's investments are way below par now, and the first sign of any weakness would raise up an opposition that would finish us. i can't stay here forever, and poor julius is steadily getting worse instead of better. are you still certain you can get the work done before the winter's through?" "yes," asserted geoffrey. "if i can get the machinery and sufficient men--which means money. there's a moderate fortune waiting us once we can run the water out of the valley, and it's worth a desperate effort to secure it." "we have made a good many daring moves since my brother gave me his power of attorney, and i have sunk more of my own money than my partners, who have backed me pluckily, care about. still, i can't see how i'm going to meet your estimate, nohow." "you have just got to do it," geoffrey insisted. "it is the part you chose. at my end, i'll stop for nothing short of manslaughter. we simply can't afford to be beaten, and we're not going to be." "i hope not," and thomas savine sighed dubiously. "your assurance is refreshing, geoffrey, but i own up i can't see--well, we've done enough for one day. come round and spend the evening with me. mrs. savine is anxious to see you." geoffrey hesitated for a few seconds, and thomas savine smiled at something which faintly amused him. remembering helen's freezing look and his occupation when she last saw him, geoffrey felt that it might not be pleasant to meet her so soon. then, because he was a proud man, he endeavored to accept the invitation with cordiality. "i am glad you will come," said thomas savine, with a trace of the dry humor which occasionally characterized him. geoffrey, who felt that in this instance the pleasure was hardly mutual, and that helen might not share it with her uncle, said nothing further on that subject, until mrs. savine met him in the hotel corridor. a friendship had grown up between them since the day geoffrey endured the elixir, after mending the bicycle, and there was a mischievous amusement in the lady's eyes as she said; "my compliments, geoffrey. you are a brave man." "i don't deserve them, madam. wherein lies the bravery? being at present in perfect health, i have no cause to fear you." mrs. savine laughed good-naturedly, then laid her hand upon his arm with a friendly gesture. "sober earnest, i am glad you came. i believe in you, geoffrey, and like to see a man show the grit that's in him." "i am honored," returned geoffrey, with a little bow. there was a grateful look in his brown eyes, which did not quail in the slightest under the lady's scrutiny. in spite of her good-will, he, however, derived little pleasure from that evening of relaxation. helen showed no open displeasure, but he was painfully conscious that what she had seen had been a shock to her. it was impossible for him to volunteer an explanation. he was glad to retire with savine and a cigar-box to the veranda, and trying to console himself with the reflection that he had at least shown no weakness--he took his leave early. helen was not present when he bade mrs. savine farewell, but she saw him stride away over the gravel. though she would not ask herself why, she felt gratified that he had not stayed away. it was some time later when, one day of early winter, he sat in his wooden shanty, which at that season replaced the tent above the cañon. close by english jim was busy writing, and geoffrey, gnawing an unlighted pipe, glanced alternately through the open door at his hurrying workmen and at the letter from thomas savine which he held in his hand. the letter expressed a fear that a financial crisis was imminent. "tell him he must settle all local bills up to the minute," said thurston, throwing it across to his amanuensis. "i daresay the english makers will wait a little for payment due on machinery. did you find that the amount i mentioned would cover the wages through the winter?" "only just," was the answer. "that is, unless you could cut some of them a little." "not a cent," geoffrey replied. "the poor devils who risk their lives daily fully earn their money." "do you know their wages equal the figure the strikers demanded and you refused to pay? summers told me about that dispute, sir," ventured english jim. "the strikers were not prepared to earn higher pay--and that one word, 'demanded,' makes a big difference. hello! who is the stranger?" mattawa tom was directing a horseman towards the shanty, and geoffrey, who watched the newcomer with growing interest, found something familiar in his face and figure, until he rose up in astonishment when the man rode nearer. "halliday, by all that's wonderful!" he cried. "uncommonly glad to see you; but whatever brought you back to this far-off land again?" "several things," was the answer, as halliday, shaking the snow from his furs, dismounted stiffly. "strain of overwork necessitated a change, my doctor told me. trust estate i'm winding up comprised doubtful british columbian mining interests, and last, but not least, to see you, geoffrey." the man's fur coat was open now, and geoffrey, who glanced at the black coat beneath it, said: "i'm glad you wanted to see me, anyway, but come in. here, jake, take the horse to the stable. are my sympathies needed, halliday--any of my new friends over yonder dead?" halliday stared at him blankly. "haven't you read the letter i sent you? do you get no english papers?" he questioned. "no, to both. i fancy very few people over yonder trouble themselves as to whether i'm living. how did you address your letter?" "orchard city, or was it orchardville? mrs. leslie told me the name of the postoffice, and i looked it up on a map." geoffrey thrust his guest into a chair. "that explains it. this is orchard valley; the other place is away across the province, a forlorn hamlet, and some ox-driving postmaster has no doubt returned your letter. do you bring bad news? don't keep me in suspense." "anthony thurston's dead. died in your old place, partly the result of a gun accident," answered halliday, and geoffrey sat silent for a moment. "i'm sorry--yes, sincerely," he said at last. "i can say it freely, because, as i daresay you know, i disappointed him, and can in no way benefit by his death. in fact, he had the power to refuse me what was morally my right, and no doubt he exercised it. still, now it's too late, i feel ashamed that i never tried to patch up the quarrel. poor old anthony!" halliday smiled. "you are a better fellow than you often lead folks to suppose, geoffrey--and i quite believe you. such regrets are, however, generally useless, are they not? in this case especially so, for anthony thurston forgot the quarrel before he died, and sent you his very good wishes. i see i have a surprise in store. you are a beneficiary. he has bequeathed you considerably more than your moral share in the property." thurston strode up and down the shanty before he halted. "i'm glad that, though perhaps i deserved it, he didn't carry the bitterness into the grave with him," he declared with earnestness. "we were too much like each other to get on well, but there was a time when he was a good friend to me. it's no use pretending i'm not pleased at what you tell me--it means a great deal to me. but you must be tired and hungry, and i want to talk by the hour to you." halliday did full justice to the meal which the camp cook produced, and afterwards the two men sat talking until the short winter afternoon had drawn to a close and the first stars were blinking down on untrodden snows. answering a question halliday said: "your share--i'll show you a complete list when i unpack my things--will, if left invested, provide you with a moderate income for a single man. indeed, with your spartan tastes, you might live in what you would consider luxury. as usual, however, in such cases, the securities are not readily marketable, and your interest in some ventures could hardly be summarily realized at any sacrifice. the whole is left to you unconditionally, but my advice is decidedly that you hold on." "i am sorry," geoffrey replied, "because even at a sacrifice i intend to sell. if you're not too tired to listen a little longer, i'll try to explain why." halliday listened gravely. then he commented: "as anthony thurston said, it is characteristic of you, and it's possible that he would have approved of what on the surface looks like folly. he stated that he hoped the bequest would help you to confound your enemies. but you must act as a business man. you say that, if you go deeper, your firm might still wind up just solvent; then why not abandon the apparently hopeless project, and withdraw? follow your profession if you must work, or live upon your income. this drainage scheme looks tolerably desperate on your own showing, and if, selling at a sacrifice you sink all your new possessions in it, you may be left utterly cleaned out, a beggar. you have no other relatives likely to leave you another competence, geoffrey." "it can't be helped--or rather i don't want to help it. i've pledged my word and honor to see this undertaking through, and i mean to redeem it if it ruins me. now what were you telling me about mrs. leslie?" halliday explained for some minutes before he said: "you are on the spot, and it's your duty to join us. anthony thurston was always eccentric, and has left us a very troublesome charge. her husband is not to get at the money, and this discrimination between man and wife is going to be confoundedly awkward. however, as i'm going to stay some little time, and if possible shoot a mountain sheep, we can discuss it at leisure." thomas savine, who came up in a day or two, speedily became good friends with halliday. geoffrey had his work to superintend, and was suspicious that halliday seized the opportunity his absence afforded to explain what appeared to him a sacrifice of anthony thurston's legacy. one evening when halliday was down in the cañon watching the workmen toiling in the river, under the lurid blaze of the lucigen, thomas savine said: "i'm going to talk straight, geoffrey. your friend told me the whole thing, and i agree with his opinion. see here, you are safe for life if you hold fast to what you have got now--and the lord knows whether we will ever be successful in the cañon. of course the money would help us, but it isn't sufficient to make victory dead certain, and it would be a drop in the bucket if we came down with a bang, as we may very well do. even considering what's at stake, i couldn't let you make the plunge without protesting." "if i had ten times as much, or ten times as little, it would all go after the rest," replied geoffrey. "i appreciate your good intentions, but you can't, and never will, convince me, so there's no use talking. you will, in the meantime, say not a word to miss savine on the subject." next morning geoffrey said to his guest: "i want you to write out a telegram to your partner in england. yonder's a mounted messenger waiting for it. he's to sell everything bequeathed to me at the best price he can. you have done your best, halliday, and i suppose i ought to be more grateful than i am, but you see i'm rather fond than otherwise of a big risk. we'll ride over with mr. savine and call upon my partner to-day." it was late in the afternoon when the two arrived at the ranch which savine had rented. it was the nearest dwelling to the camp that could be rendered comfortable, but lay some distance from it, over a very bad trail. helen was not cordial towards geoffrey, who left her to entertain halliday, and slipped away to the room looking down the valley, where his partner sat with a fur robe wrapped about his bent shoulders. savine's face had grown very hollow and his eyes were curiously dim. "it was good of you to come, geoffrey," he said; "how are you getting on in the cañon?" "famously, sir. we are certainly going to beat the river," was the prompt answer, and remembering the accession of capital, geoffrey's cheerfulness was real. "i'm hoping to ask miss savine to fire the final shot some time before the snows melt." savine looked at him with a trace of his old keenness, and appeared satisfied that the speaker believed in his own prediction. then he smiled as he answered: "you do me good, geoffrey. good news is better than gallons of medicine, and when you make such a promise i feel i can trust you. i'm grateful, but it's mighty trying to lie here helpless while another man plays out my last and boldest game for me. lord! what wouldn't i give for just three months of my old vigor! still, i'll never be fit again, and as i must lean on somebody, i'm glad it should be you." "lean on me! you have given me the chance of my life, sir. you don't look quite comfortable there. let me settle that rug for you," said geoffrey, and as with clumsy gentleness he rearranged the sick man's wrappings, helen came unobserved into the room. she read the pity beneath the smile on the younger man's bronze face and noticed how willingly his hard fingers did their unaccustomed work. her heart grew soft towards geoffrey as she heard her father's sigh of content. the sight touched, though, for a reason she was ashamed of, it also troubled her. unwilling to disturb them, she merely smiled when thurston saw her, and found herself a seat in a corner. "my brain's not so clear as it used to be. no use hiding things. why," began savine, and geoffrey, who surmised that he had not seen his daughter, knocked over a medicine bottle with his elbow and spent some time noisily groping under the table for it. the action might have deceived one of his own sex, but helen, who wondered what his motive was, grew piqued as well as curious. "i've been worrying over things lately," continued savine. "there was one of the rancher's hired men in and he told our folks a mixed story about a sluice gate bursting. you never mentioned it to me. now i have a hazy notion that i made a drawing for a gate one day, when i was--sick, we'll say. i looked for it afterwards and couldn't find it. i've been thinking over it considerable lately." "then you are very foolish, sir," declared geoffrey. "of course, we have had one or two minor breakages, but nothing we were unable to remedy. just now everything is going ahead in the most satisfactory manner." helen, who watched the speaker, decided that he was concealing something, and also fancied her father did not seem quite satisfied. "i've been wondering whether it was that gate which burst. see here, geoffrey, i feel you have had bad trouble; isn't it a little mean not to tell me? you will remember i'm still julius savine--and only a little while ago there was no man in the province who dared to try to fool me." a measure of the speaker's former spirit revealed itself in a clearer vibration of his voice, and, raising himself in his chair, savine became for a moment almost the man he had been. thurston had determined to hold his fallen leader's credit safe, not only before the eyes of others but even in his own, and was doing it to the best of his ability. "of course, we have had trouble--lots of it, but nothing we could not overcome," he repeated. "if everything went smoothly it would grow monotonous. still, you can rest perfectly contented, sir, and assist us with your judgment in the difficult cases. for instance, would you let me know what you think of these specifications?" savine, who seemed to find a childish pleasure in being consulted, forgot his former anxiety, and geoffrey, leaving him contented, slipped out of the ranch, and, finding a sheltered path among the redwoods, paced to and fro. he was presently surprised to see helen move out from among the trees. she had a fur about her shoulders which set off the finely-chiselled face above it. nevertheless, for once at least, he was by no means pleased to see her. "i wish to ask you a question," she said. "of course, i have heard there was an inquiry into the breaking of the sluice, but neither you nor my uncle thought fit to give me any definite information on the subject. unfortunately, my father heard distorted rumors of the accident, and has been fretting ever since. as you know, this is most detrimental to his failing health, and, so that i may be the better able to soothe him i want you to tell me all that happened." "there is absolutely no cause for uneasiness. as i said, we had one or two difficulties which may have been vanquished. your uncle will bear me out in this," answered geoffrey, who would have spoken more freely had he not feared the girl's keenness. helen's face, which was at first scornful, grew anxious as she responded: "i have no doubt he would! in fact, when i asked him he explained with such readiness that i cannot help concluding you have both conspired to keep me in the dark. can you not see that, situated as i am in caring for an invalid who will not let his mind rest, uncertainty is almost worse than the knowledge of disaster to me. will you not tell me frankly what you fear?" "i would do anything to drive your fears away." geoffrey, who felt helpless beneath the listener's searching eyes, spoke with sympathy in his voice. "but i can only say again there is very slight cause for anxiety." helen turned half from him, angrily, then she faced round again. "you are not a good dissembler. if quick at making statements you are not prepared to substantiate them," she declared. "you would do anything to dispel my fears--but the one most necessary thing i ask. you have passed through, or are now facing, a crisis, and though some knowledge of it would be of great help to me you do not consider me worthy of your confidence." "heaven forbid that i should think so. there is no one more worthy--but----" helen checked him with a gesture. "i desire the simple truth and not indifferent compliments," she said. "you will not tell it to me, and i will plead with you no further, even for my father's sake. when will you men learn that a woman's discretion is at least equal to your own?" with a flash in her eyes, she added: "how dare you once offer what you did to a woman you had no trust in?" "you are almost cruel," geoffrey answered, clenching his hand as he mastered his own anger. "some day, perhaps, you will yet believe i tried to do what was best. meantime, since i dare not presume to resent it, i must try to bear your displeasure patiently." he might have said more, but that helen left him abruptly. "it is confoundedly hard. once strike a certain vein of bad luck and you can neither get around nor under it, but there's no use groaning--and what on earth could i have done?" he said to the whispering firs. he went back presently to the ranch, and found helen, who apparently did not notice his return, chatting with halliday. when the two men bade their host farewell, halliday, who lingered a few minutes, observed to thomas savine: "i always knew my friend was reckless, but when i spoke as i did i failed to comprehend what was at once his incentive and justification. i must thank you for your attempt to aid me, but even against the dictates of my judgment i can't help sympathizing with him now. if you don't mind my saying so--because i see you know--i think what he hopes to win is very well worth the risk." "i certainly know, and perhaps i am prejudiced in favor of my niece, but i feel tempted to agree with you," answered savine. "there are few better women in the dominion, but she is wayward, and whether geoffrey will ever win her only heaven knows. meantime, though we depend so much upon him, i am often ashamed to let him take his chances with us. believe me, i have endeavored to dissuade him." halliday smiled. "i am a kinsman of his and know him well," he said. "it is quite in keeping with traditions that he should be perfectly willing to ruin himself for a woman, and i am at least thankful that the woman proves worthy. in this case, however, i venture to hope the end may be the achievement of prosperity. i generally speak my mind and hope i have not offended you." chapter xxiii the ultimatum winter creeping down from the high peaks held the whole valley fast in its icy grip when mrs. thomas savine, who was seldom daunted by the elements, went up from vancouver to persuade her niece to seek sheltered quarters on the sunny coast until spring. her visit was, however, in this respect a failure, for julius savine insisted upon remaining within touch of the reclamation works. though seldom able to reach them, he looked eagerly forward to geoffrey's brief visits, which alone seemed to arouse him from his lethargy. mrs. savine and helen sat in the general living-room at the ranch one day when her brother-in-law came in leaning heavily upon his partner's arm. geoffrey had set his carpenters to build a sleigh, and from one hill shoulder bare of timber it was possible, with good glasses, to see what went on in the cañon. savine was listening with evident satisfaction to the tall, frost-bronzed man who led him towards the room that he delighted to call his office, and mrs. savine, noticing it, smiled gratefully upon geoffrey. worn by anxious watching, helen was possibly a little out of humor that afternoon, and the sight awoke within her a certain jealousy. she had done her best, and had done it very patiently, but she had failed to arouse her father to the animation he showed in geoffrey's presence. "i haven't felt so well since i saw you last," observed savine, oblivious for the moment of his daughter. "you won't fail to come back as soon as ever you can--say the day after to-morrow?" geoffrey glanced towards helen, who made no sign, and mrs. savine noticed that for a moment his face clouded. then, as he turned towards his partner, he seemed to make an effort, and his expression was confident again. "i am afraid i cannot leave the works quite so often. yes--we are progressing at least as well as anyone could expect," he said. "i will come and consult you whenever i can. in fact, there are several points i want your advice upon." "come soon," urged savine, with a sigh. "it does me good to talk to you--after the life i've lived, this everlasting loafing comes mighty hard to me. i believe once i knew we were victorious i could let go everything and die happy." helen heard, and, overwrought as she was by nights of assiduous care, the speech both pained and angered her. geoffrey's answer was not audible, as they passed on. he came back alone, off his guard for a moment, looking worn and weary, and mrs. savine said: "you are tired, geoffrey, and if you don't appear more lively next time i will attend to you. no--don't get scared. it is not physic i'm going to prescribe now. take this lounge and just sit here where it's cosy. talk to helen and me until supper's ready." thurston had been crawling over ice-crusted rocks and wading knee-deep in water most of the preceding night. the chair stood temptingly between the two ladies and near the stove. he glanced towards it and helen longingly. some impulse tempted the girl to say: "mr. thurston has usually so little time to spare that it would be almost too much to hope that he could devote an hour to us." the tone was ironical, and geoffrey, excusing himself, went out. he sighed as he floundered down the snow-cumbered trail. there was indignation in the elder lady's voice as she declared: "i am ashamed of you, helen. the poor man came in too late, for dinner, and he must be starving. if you had just seen how he looked at you! you'd feel mean and sorry if they found him to-morrow frozen hard in the snow." helen could not fancy geoffrey overcome by such a journey because he had missed two meals, and she smiled at her aunt's dismal picture, answering her with a flippancy which increased the elder lady's indignation, "mr. thurston is not a cannibal, auntie." "i can't figure why you are fooling with that man if you don't want him," said mrs. savine. "oh, yes; you're going to sit here and listen to some straight talking. isn't he good enough for you?" helen's face was flushed with angry color. "you speak with unpleasant frankness, but i will endeavor to answer you," she responded. "i have told mr. thurston--that is, i have tried to warn him that he was expecting the impossible, and what more could i do? he is my father's partner, and i cannot refuse to see him. i----" mrs. savine, leaning forward, took her niece's hands in her own, saying gravely, "are you certain it is quite impossible?" for a moment helen looked startled, and her eyes fell. then, raising her head, she answered: "have i not told you so? i have been anxious about my father lately and do not feel myself to-day. surely you have no wish further to torment me." "no, but i mean to finish what i have to say. do you know all that man is doing for you? he has----" but mrs. savine ceased abruptly, remembering she had in return for her husband's confidence promised secrecy. "yes. i think i know everything," replied helen, with something suspiciously like a sob, while her aunt broke her pledge to the extent of shaking her head with a gesture of negation. "it--it makes it worse for me. i dare not bid him go away, and i grow horribly ashamed because--because it hurts one to be conscious of so heavy a debt. besides, he is consoling himself with mrs. leslie!" "geoffrey thurston would be the last man to consider you owed him anything, and as to mrs. leslie--pshaw! it's as sure as death, geoffrey doesn't care two bits for her. he would never let you feel that debt, my dear, but the debt is there. from what tom has told me he has declined offer after offer, and you know that, if he carries this last scheme through, the credit and most of the money will fall to your father." "i know." the moisture gathered in helen's eyes. "i am grateful, very grateful--as i said, ashamed, too; but my father comes first. i tried to warn geoffrey, but he would not take no. i feel almost frightened sometimes lest he will force me to yield against my will, but you know that would be a wrong to him--and what can i do?" helen, unclasping her hands from her aunt's, looked straight before her, and mrs. savine answered gently: "not that. no--if you can't like him it would not be fair to him. only try to be kind, and make quite sure it is impossible. it might have been better for poor geoffrey if he had never mixed himself up with us. you, with all your good points, are mighty proud, my dear, but i have seen proud women find out their mistake when it was too late to set things straight. wait, and without the help of a meddlesome old woman, it will perhaps all come right some day." "auntie," said helen, looking down, some minutes later. "though you meant it in kindness, i am almost vexed with you. i have never spoken of these things to anyone before, and though it has comforted me, you won't remind me--will you?" "no." the older woman smiled upon the girl. "of course not! but you are pale and worried, and i believe that there is nothing that would fix you better than a few drops of the elixir. i think i sent you a new bottle." then, though her eyes were misty, helen laughed outright, as she replied: "it was very kind of you, but i fear i lost the bottle, and have wasted too much time over my troubles. what can i tempt my father with for supper?" when geoffrey returned to camp, halliday, who had arrived that day from vancouver, had much to tell him. "i've sold your english property, and the value lies to your credit in the b. o. m. agency. all you have to do is to draw upon your account," he said. "as you intend to sink the money in these works i can only wish you the best of good luck. now, i'm starting for home to-morrow, and there's the other question--how to protect the interests of mrs. leslie. anthony thurston made a just will, and her share, while enough to maintain her, is not a large one, but i don't see yet just how it's to be handled. it was the testator's special wish that you should join the trustees, and that her husband should not lay his hands upon a dollar. from careful inquiries made in vancouver, i judge he's a distinctly bad lot. anyway, you'll have to help us in the meantime, geoffrey, and in opening a small bank account i made your signature necessary on every check." "it's a confoundedly unpleasant position under the circumstances. what on earth could my kinsman have been thinking of when he forced it upon me of all men?" geoffrey responded with a rueful face. "still, i owe him a good deal, and suppose that i must cheerfully acquiesce to his wishes." "i cannot take upon myself to determine what the testator thought," was the dry answer. "he said the estimable mr. leslie might either shoot or drink himself to death some day. the late anthony thurston was a tenacious person, and you must draw your own conclusions." "if there was one thing which more than another tempted me to refuse you every scrap of assistance it was the conclusion i arrived at," said geoffrey. "however, i'll try to keep faith with the dead man, and heaven send me sense sufficient to steer clear of difficulties." "i can trust your honesty any way," remarked halliday. "there's a heavy load off my mind at last. you are a good fellow, geoffrey, and, excuse the frankness, even in questions beyond your usual scope not so simple as you sometimes look." a day or two before this conversation took place, henry leslie, sitting at his writing-table in the villa above the inlet, laid down his pen and looked up gratefully at his wife, who placed a strip of stamped paper before him. millicent both smiled and frowned as she noticed how greedily his fingers fastened upon it. "it is really very good of you. you don't know how much this draft means to me," he said. "i wish i needn't take it, but i am forced to. it's practically the whole of the first dole your skinflint trustee made you, isn't it?" "it is a large share," was the answer. "almost a year's allowance, and i'm going to pay off our most pressing debts with the rest. but i am glad to give it to you, harry, and we must try to be better friends, and keep on the safe side after this." "i hope we shall," replied the man, who was touched for once. "it's tolerably hard for folks like us, who must go when the devil drives, to be virtuous, but i got hold of a few mining shares, which promise to pay well now, for almost nothing; and if they turn up trumps, i'd feel greatly tempted to throw over the company and start afresh." he hurriedly scribbled a little note, and millicent turned away with a smile that was not far from a sigh. she had returned from england in a repentant mood, and her husband, whose affairs had gone smoothly, was almost considerate, so that, following a reconciliation, there were times when she cherished an uncertain hope that they might struggle back to their former level. it was on one of the occasions when their relations were not altogether inharmonious that she had promised to give him a draft to redeem the loan director shackleby held like a whip lash over him. had leslie been a bolder man, it is possible that his wife's aspirations might have been realized, for millicent was not impervious to good influences. unfortunately for her, however, a free-spoken man called shackleby, who said that he had been sent by his colleagues who managed the industrial enterprise company, called upon thurston and savine together in their city offices. he came straight to the point after the fashion of western business men. "julius savine has rather too big a stake in the orchard valley for any one man," he said. "it's ancient history that if, as usual with such concerns as ours, we hadn't been a day or two too slow, we would have held the concessions instead of him. neither need i tell you about the mineral indications in both the reefs and alluvial. now we saw our way to rake a good many dollars out of that valley, but when savine got in ahead we just sat tight and watched him, ready to act if he found the undertaking too big for him. it seems to me that has happened, which explains my visit to-day. we might be open to buy some of those conditional lands from you." "they may never be ours to sell, though i hope for the contrary," geoffrey replied. "exactly," said the other. "that is why we're only ready to offer you out-district virgin forest value for the portions colored blue in this plan. in other words, we speculate by advancing you money on very uncertain security." geoffrey laughed after a glance at the plan. "you have a pretty taste! after giving you all the best for a tithe of its future value, where do we come in?" "on the rest," declared shackleby, coolly. "we would pay down the money now, and advance you enough on interest to place you beyond all risks in completing operations. though you might get more for the land, without this assistance, you might get nothing, and it will be a pretty heavy check. i suppose i needn't say it was not until lately that we decided to meet you this way." "by your leave!" broke in thomas savine, who had been scribbling figures on a scrap of paper, which he passed to geoffrey. it bore a few lines scrawled across the foot of it: "value absurdly low, but it might be a good way to hedge against total loss, and we could level up the average on the rest. what do you think?" geoffrey grasped a pen, and the paper went back with the brief answer, "that it would be a willful sacrifice of miss savine's future." "suppose we refuse?" he asked, and shackleby stroked his mustache meditatively before he made answer: "don't you think that would be foolish? you see, we were not unanimous by a long way on this policy, and several of our leaders agree with me that we had better stick to our former one. it's a big scheme, and accidents will happen, however careful one may be. then there's the risk of new conditions being imposed upon you by the authorities. besides, you have a time limit to finish in, and mightn't do it, especially without the assistance we could in several ways render you. you can't have a great many dollars left either--see?" "i do," said geoffrey, with an ominous glitter in his eyes. "you needn't speak more plainly. accidents, no doubt of the kind you refer to, have happened already. they have not, however, stopped us yet, and are not going to. i, of course, appreciate your delicate reference to your former policy; i conclude it was your policy individually. i don't like threats, even veiled ones, and nobody ever succeeded in coercing me. accordingly, when we have drained it, we'll sell you all the land you want at its market value. you can't have an acre at anything like the price you offer now." "that's your ultimatum. yes? then i'm only wasting time, and hope you won't be sorry," returned shackleby. when he went out geoffrey turned to thomas savine. "a declared enemy is preferable to a treacherous ally," he observed dryly. "that man would never have kept faith with us." "i don't know," was the answer. "of course, he's crooked, but he has his qualities. anyway, i'd sooner trust him than the invertebrate crawler, leslie." a day or two later shackleby called upon leslie in his offices and with evident surprise received the check millicent had given to her husband. "i wasn't in any hurry. have some of your titled relatives in the old country left you a fortune?" he inquired ironically. "no," was the answer. "my folks are mostly distinctly poor commoners. i, well--i have been rather fortunate lately." "here's your receipt," said shackleby, with an embarrassing stare, adding when leslie, after examining it carefully, thrust the paper into the glowing stove, "careful man! nobody is going to get ahead of you, but can't you see that blame paper couldn't have made a cent's worth of difference between you and me. well, if you still value your connection with the company, i have something to tell you. that infernal idiot thurston won't hear of making terms, and, as you know, there's a fortune waiting if we can corral the valley." "i can see the desirability, but not the means of accomplishing it," replied leslie. "no!" and the speaker glanced at him scornfully. "well, thurston must finish by next summer, or his conditional grants are subject to revision, while it's quite plain he can only work in the cañon in winter. something in the accident line has got to happen." "it failed before." shackleby laughed. "what's the matter with trying again, and keeping on trying? i've got influence enough to double your salary if thurston doesn't get through. it will be tolerably easy, for this time i don't count on trusting too much to you. i'll send you along a man and you'll just make a bet with him--we'll fix the odds presently and they'll be heavy against us--that thurston successfully completes the job in the cañon. the other man bets he doesn't. when it appears judicious we'll contrive something to draw thurston away for a night or two." "but if you know the man, and it's so easy, why not make the bet yourself?" shackleby smiled pleasantly. "because i'm not secretary hoping to get my salary doubled and a land bonus. there are other reasons, but i don't want to hurt your feelings any more than i wish to lacerate those of my worthy colleagues. they'll ask no questions and only pass a resolution thanking you for your zealous services. nothing is going to slip up the wrong way, but if it did you could only lose your salary, and i'd see you safe on the way to mexico with say enough to start a store, and you would be no worse off than before, because i figure you'd lose the berth unless you chip in with me." leslie realized that this might well be so, but he made a last attempt. "suppose in desperation i turned round on you?" "i'd strike you for defamation and conspiracy, publish certain facts in your previous record, and nobody would believe you, or dare to say so. besides, you haven't got grit enough in you by a long way, and that's why i'm taking your consent for granted. by the way, i forgot to mention that confounded britisher raked an extra hundred dollars out of me. said i'd got to pay for his traveling and hotel expenses. i'm not charging you, leslie, and you ought to feel grateful to me." chapter xxiv an unexpected ally winter was drawing towards its close at last, when, on the evening of a day in which the result of a heavy blasting charge had exceeded his utmost expectations, geoffrey thurston stood beside his foreman in his workmen's mess shanty. tin lamps hung from the beams blackened with smoke, and sturdy men were finishing their six o'clock supper beneath them. the men were the pick of the province, for, until tempted by the contractor's high wages, most of them had been engaged in laying the foundations of its future greatness by wresting new spaces for corn and cattle from the forest. they ate, as they worked, heroically. the supper was varied and bountiful, for geoffrey, who was conscious of a thrill of pride as he glanced down the long rows of weather-beaten faces, fed his workmen well. they had served him faithfully through howling gale and long black night, under scorching sun and bitter frost, and now that the result of that day's operations had brought the end of the work in sight, there was satisfaction in the knowledge that he had led such men. "they're a fine crowd, tom, and i'll be sorry to part with them," he said. "it's hard to believe, after all we have struggled with, that less than three weeks will see us through, but i'd give many dollars for every hour we can reduce the time by. send for a keg of the hardest cider and i'll tell them so." there was applause when the keg was lifted to the table with its head knocked in. geoffrey, who had filled a tin dipper, said: "here's my best thanks for the way you have backed me, boys. since they carried the railroad across beaver creek, few men in the province have grappled as you have with a task like this; but it's sometimes just possible to go a little better than what looks like one's best, and i'm asking as a favor from all of you that you will redouble your efforts. i estimate that we'll finish this tough section in eighteen days from now, but i want the work done in less time, and accordingly i'll promise a bonus to every man if we can fire the last big shot a fortnight from to-day." "stan' by!" shouted a big section foreman, as he hove himself upright. "fill every can up an' wait until i've finished. now, mr. thurston, i'm talking for the rest. you've paid us good wages, an' we've earned them, every cent, though that wasn't much to our credit, for tom from mattawa saw we did. still, even dollars won't buy everything, and what you can't pay us for we're ready to give. if flesh an' blood can do it, a fortnight will see us through, an' the next contract you take, if it's to wipe out the coast range or run off the pacific, we're coming along with you. i've nailed you to the bargain, boys, an' here's--the boss, victorious, an' to ---- with his bonus!" the long shanty rang to the roar that followed, and, when it died away, geoffrey, who set down his can, turned to his foreman. "who is the little man next to walla jake?" he asked. "an old partner of his from oregon. came in one day when you were away, and, as jake allowed he was a square man, i took him on. found him worth his money, and fancied i'd told you." "you did not," said geoffrey. "jake's quite trustworthy, but watch the stranger well. no doubt he's honest, but i'm getting nervous now we're so near the end." the foreman answered reassuringly, and geoffrey, who turned away, rode beneath the snow-sprinkled firs to savine's ranch. it was late when he reached it, but his partner and helen were expecting him. savine sighed with satisfaction when geoffrey said: "in all probability we shall fire the decisive shot a fortnight from to-day." "it is great news," replied julius savine. "as i have said already, it was a lucky day for me--and mine--when i first fell in with you. two more anxious weeks and then the suspense will be over and i can contentedly close my career. lord! it will be well worth the living for--the consummation of the most daring scheme ever carried out in the mountain province. i won't see your next triumph, geoffrey, but it can hardly be greater than this you have won for me." "you exaggerate, sir," said geoffrey. "it was you who won the concession and overcame all the initial difficulties, while we would never have gone so far without your assistance. such a task would have been far beyond me alone." "no--though it is good of you to say so. there were times when i tried to fancy i was running the contract, but that was just a sick man's craze. you have played out the game well and bravely, geoffrey, as only a true man could. perhaps helen will thank you--just now i don't feel quite equal to it." savine's voice broke a little, and he glanced at helen, who sat very still with downcast eyes. geoffrey also looked at her for a second, and his elation was tinged with bitterness. he could see that she was troubled, and, with a pang of sudden misgiving, he watched her anxiously. without the one prize he had striven for, the victory would be barren to him. still, he desired to save her embarrassment, and when she raised her head to obey her father, he broke in: "miss savine can place me under an obligation by firing the fateful charge instead. it was her first commission which brought good luck to me, and it is only fitting she should complete the result of it by turning the firing key." helen's eyes expressed her gratitude, as, consenting, she turned them upon the speaker. geoffrey rising to the occasion, said: "did you ever hear the story of the first contract i undertook in british columbia, sir? may i tell it to your father, miss savine?" helen was quick to appreciate his motive, and allowed him to see it. while, seizing the opportunity to change the subject, geoffrey told the story whimsically. humor was not his strong point, but he was capable of brilliancy just then. julius savine laughed heartily, and when the tale was finished all had settled down to their normal manner. when geoffrey took his leave, however, helen followed him to the veranda, and held out her hand. she stood close to him with the moonlight full upon her, and it was only by an effort that the man who gripped the slender fingers, conquered his desire to draw her towards him. helen never had looked so desirable. then he dropped her hand, and stood impassively still, waiting for what she had to say. "i could not thank you before my father, but neither could i let you go without a word," she said, with a quiet composure which, because she must have guessed at the struggle within him, was the badge of courage. "you have won my undying gratitude, and----" "that is a great deal, very well worth the winning," he responded. "it will be one pleasant memory to carry away with me." "to carry with you! you are not going away?" asked helen, with an illogical sense of dismay, which was not, however, in the least apparent. she knew that any sign of feeling would provoke the crisis from which she shrank. "yes," declared geoffrey. "once this work is completed, i shall seek another field." "you must not!" though her voice was strained, helen, who dared not do otherwise, looked him steadily in the eyes. "you must not go. now, when, if you stay in the province, fame and prosperity lie within your grasp you will not overwhelm me by adding to the knowledge of all i have robbed you of. it is hard for me to express myself plainly--but i dare not take this from you, too." "can you not guess how hard it all is for me?" he strode a few paces apart from her while the words fell from his lips. then he halted again and turned towards her. "i had not meant to distress you--but how can i go on seeing you so near me, hearing your voice, when every word and smile stir up a longing that at times almost maddens me? what i have done i did for you, and did it gladly, but this new command i cannot obey. fame and prosperity! what are either worth to me when the one thing i would sell my life for is, you have told me, not to be attained?" "i am sorry," faltered helen, whose breath came faster. "more sorry than i can well express. i dare not ruin a bright future for you. is there nothing i can say that will prevent you?" "only one thing," geoffrey moving nearer looked down upon her until his gaze impelled helen to lift her eyes. there was no longer any trace of passion in his face, which in spite of its firm lines had grown gentle. "only one thing," he repeated. "please listen--it is necessary, even if it hurts you. i cannot blame you for my own folly, but my love is incurable. you are a dutiful daughter, with an almost exaggerated idea of justice, and i know the power circumstances give me. still, i am so covetous that i must have all or nothing; i love you so that i dare not use the advantage chance has given me. nevertheless, i will not despair even yet, and some day when, perhaps, absence has hidden some of my many shortcomings, i will come back and beg speech with you." "you are very generous." the words vibrated with sincerity. "once--always--i have cruelly wronged you----" but here geoffrey raised his hand and looked at the girl with a wry smile that had no mirth in it. "you have never wronged me, miss savine. once you spoke with a marvelous accuracy, and i am not generous, only so unusually wise that you must have inspired me. i cannot be content with less than the best, and what that is--again, if i am brutal you must remember i cannot help my nature--i will tell you." he stooped, and, before she realized his intentions, deftly caught helen's hands in each of his own, tightening his grip on them masterfully, until he forced her to look up at him. helen trembled as she met his eyes. the man had spoken no more than the truth when he said he could not help his nature, and, suddenly transformed, it was the former geoffrey thurston she had shrunk from who held her fast. "yes, i am wise. i know i could bend you to my will now, and that afterwards you would hate me for it," he told her. "i--i would not take you so, not if you came to me. further, for we have dropped all disguises, and face the naked truth, i have striven, and starved, and suffered for you, risked my life often--and you shall not cheat me of my due, which alone is why, because my time is not come yet, i shall go away. the one reward that will satisfy me is this, that of your own will you will once more hold my hands and say, 'i love you, geoffrey thurston,' and i can wait with patience--for you will come to me thus some day." he bent his head; and helen felt her heart leap; but it was only her fingers upon which his lips burned hot. the next moment he had gone, while leaning breathless against the balustrade she gazed after him. geoffrey did not glance behind him until, when some distance from the ranch, he reined his horse in, and wiped his forehead. he had yielded at last to an uncontrollable impulse which was perhaps part of his inheritance from the old moss troopers, who had carried off their brides on the crupper. as he walked his horse, a muffled beat of hoofs came up the trail, and he fancied he heard a voice say: "the twentieth--i'll be ready." then a mounted figure appearing for a moment, vanished among the firs. geoffrey, turning back to camp, noticed that beside the hollows the hoofs had made, there was the print of human feet in the powdery snow. "there is nothing to bring any rancher down this way, and a man must have walked beside the rider," he speculated. "who on earth could it be?" dismissing the incident from his mind, he went on his way. it was only afterwards that the significance of the footprints became apparent. there was a light in geoffrey's quarters when at last he approached them, and the foreman met him at the door. "that blame waster, black, has come back. rode in quietly after dark, and none of the boys have set eyes on him," he said; and, noting his master's surprise, he added with a chuckle, "i put him in there for safety, and waited right here to take care of him." geoffrey went into the shanty, carefully closed the door, and turned somewhat sternly upon the visitor. black's outer appearance suggested a degree of prosperity, but his face was anxious as he said, "i guess you're surprised to see me?" "i am," was the answer. "in view of the fact that it is my duty to hand you over to the nearest magistrate, my surprise is hardly astonishing." "no," agreed black, "it is not. still, i don't think you'll surrender me. anyway, you've got to listen to a little story first. you didn't hear the whole of it last time. i figure i can trust you to do the square thing." "be quick, then." geoffrey leaned against the table while his visitor began: "you've heard of the blue bird mine, and how one of the men who relocated the lapsed claim was found in the river with a gash, which a rock might have made, in the back of his head? of course you have. well, it was me and bob morgan who located the blue bird. morgan was a good prospector, but the indications were hazy, and he got drunk when he could. i knew mighty little of minerals, and we done nothing with it until the time to put in our legal improvements was nearly up. then morgan struck rich pay ore, and we worked night and day. but we weren't quite quick enough--one night two jumpers pulled our stakes up. oh, yes, they had the law behind them, for says the crown, 'unless you've developed your claim within the legal limit, it lapses; and any free miner can relocate.'" "come to the point," said thurston. "i'm sleepy." "i'm coming," black continued; "morgan had no grit. he got on to the whiskey, and talked about shooting himself. i swore i'd shoot the first of the other crowd who set foot on the claim instead, and half the boys who started driving pegs all round us heard me. there was a doubt as to whether the jumpers had hit the time putting their stakes in, and the boys were most for me, but as usual the thieves had a man with money behind them. his name was shackleby." "ah! i begin to understand things now," said geoffrey. "i was sitting alone in my tent at night when one of them jumpers came in," black went on, unheeding. "all the rest were sleeping, and the bush was very still. he'd a roll of dollar bills to give me if i'd light out quietly. said i'd nothing to stand on, but the man behind him didn't want to figure in the papers if it went to court. well, i wouldn't take the money, and ran him out of my tent. when he touched his pistol, i had an ax in my hand, and it was a poor man's luck that one of the boys must come along. when he'd slouched off, i began to hanker for the money, went after the jumper to see if i could raise his price, missed him and came back again, but i struck his tracks in the mud beside a creek, with another man's hoof-marks behind them. well, next morning that jumper was found in the river with no money in his wallet, and the boys looked black at me until i had an interview with mr. shackleby. he'd fixed the whole thing up good enough to hang me, and nailed me down to blame hard terms as the price of my liberty. you're getting tired--no? shackleby got the blue bird, and kept his claws on me until his man, leslie, sent me up to bust your machines; but shackleby has worn me thin, until i'm ready to stand my trial sooner than run any more of his mean jobs for him; and now, to cut the long end off, do you believe me?" "i think i do," replied geoffrey. "what made you bolt from here, and what do you want from me? is it the same promise as before?" black related the incidents of his abduction. he raised his right hand with a dramatic gesture as he concluded: "as i have been a liar, this is gospel truth, s'help me. whoever killed that jumper--and i figure shackleby knows--it wasn't me. the night you fished me out of the river i said, 'here's a man with sand enough to stand right up to shackleby,' and i'll make a deal with you." "the terms?" said geoffrey. "rather better than before. on your part, a smart lawyer to take my case if shackleby sets the police on me. on mine--with you behind me, i can tell a story that will bring two companies down on shackleby. what brought me to the scratch now was, that i read in _the colonist_ that you'd be through shortly, and i guessed shackleby's insect, leslie, would have another shot at you. i'm open to take my chances of hanging to get even with them." the mingled fear and hatred in the speaker's face was certainly genuine, and geoffrey said briefly: "if i thought you guilty, i'd slip irons on to you. as it is, i'm willing to close that deal. you'll have to take my word and lie quiet, until you're wanted, where i hide you." "i guess that is good enough for me," black declared exultantly. chapter xxv millicent's revolt "i really feel mean over it, and, of course, i will pay you back, but unless i get the money to meet the call, i shall have to sacrifice the stock," said henry leslie, glancing furtively at his wife across the breakfast-table. leslie was seldom at his best in the morning, but he seemed unusually nervous, and the coffee-cup shook in his fingers as he raised it. "it's the last i'll ask you for," he continued, "and if you press him, thurston will sign the check. he said he was coming, did he not?" "yes," was the answer. "here is his note. it must be the last, harry, for i have overdrawn my allowance already. you will notice that geoffrey hesitates, and will not sign the check without seeing me. he will be here on thursday." leslie took the letter with an eagerness which did not escape his wife, while, as the sum in question was small, she could not quite understand the satisfaction in his face. it had grown soddened and coarse of late, and there were times when she looked upon her husband with positive disgust. still, she had, in spite of occasional disputes, resumed her efforts to play the part of a dutiful wife, and it was easier to pay her husband money than respect, the more so because he had usually some specious excuse, which appealed both to her ambition and her gambling instinct. at times he handed her small amounts of money, said to be her share of the profits on speculations, for which he required the loans. "'pressure of work, but must make an effort to see you as you suggest,'" leslie read aloud. "h'm! 'limit exceeded already. will be in town, and try to call upon you on thursday.'" "it is very good of him," remarked millicent. "he evidently finds every minute precious, and i am very reluctant to bring him here. i gather that, except for my request, he would have deferred his other business. still, i suppose you must have the money, harry?" "i must," was the answer, and leslie, who did not look up, busied himself with his plate. "better write that you expect him, and i will post the note. by the way, i must remind you that we take the eastern fishery delegates on their steamer trip the day after to-morrow, and though there may be rather a mixed company, i want you to turn out smartly, and get hold of the best people. it would be well to see a mention of the handsome mrs. leslie in the newspaper report." millicent frowned. she was a vain woman, but she had some genuine pride, and there were limits to her forbearance. by the time her husband had induced her to withdraw her refusal to accompany him, it was too late further to discuss thurston's visit, which was exactly what leslie desired. accordingly, well pleased with himself, he set out for his office, with a letter in his hand. mrs. leslie had reason to remember the steamer excursion. a party of prominent persons had been invited to accompany the fishery delegates on the maritime picnic, organized for the purpose of displaying the facilities that coast afforded for the prosecution of a new industry. it was difficult for the committee to draw a rigid line, and the company was decidedly mixed, more so than even millicent at first surmised. her husband, who acted as marshal, was kept busy most of the time, but she noticed a swift look of annoyance on his face when, before the steamer sailed, a tastefully-dressed young woman ascended the gangway, where he was receiving the guests. there was nothing dubious in the appearance of the lady or her elderly companion, and yet millicent felt that leslie was troubled by their presence, and hesitated to let them pass. the younger lady, however, smiled upon him in a manner that suggested they had met before, and leslie stood aside when shackleby beckoned him with what looked like an ironical grin. then the gangway was run in, and the engines started. it was a mild day for the season, and millicent, who found friends, dismissed the subject from her thoughts, when she saw her husband exchange no word with his latest guests. she was sitting with a young married lady, where the sun shone pleasantly in the shelter of the great white deck-house, when a sound of voices came out, with the odor of cigar smoke, from an open window. "you fixed it all right?" observed one voice which sounded familiar, and there was a laugh which, though muffled, was more familiar still. while, with curiosity excited, millicent listened, a companion broke in: "where's mr. leslie? i have scarcely seen him all morning." "making himself useful as usual. discoursing on fisheries and harbors, of which he knows nothing, to men who know a good deal, and no doubt doing it very neatly," said millicent, smiling. "why do you let him?" asked the other, with a little gesture of pride, which became her. "now, my husband knows better than to stay away from me, even if he wanted to. ah, here he is, bringing good things from the sunny south piled up on a tray." perhaps it was the contrast, for millicent felt both resentful and neglected when a young man approached carrying choice fruits and cakes upon a nickeled tray; but before he reached them a voice came through the window again: "you're quite certain? that man has eyes all over him, and it won't do to take any chances with him. he must be kept right here in vancouver all night, and the game will be in our own hands before he gets back again." "i've done my best," was the answer, and millicent fancied, but was not certain, that it was her husband who spoke. "i have fixed things so that he will come to vancouver. the only worry is, can we depend upon the fellow i laid the odds with?" "oh, yes," responded the second voice. "i guess he knows better than fail me. by the way, you nearly made a fool of yourself over coralie." "somebody inside there talking secrets," observed the younger lady. "i think it is mr. shackleby, and i don't like that man. charley, set down that tray and carry my chair and mrs. leslie's at least a dozen yards away." millicent, at the risk of being guilty of eavesdropping, would have greatly preferred to stay where she was; but when the man did his wife's bidding, she could only follow and thank him. lifting a cluster of fruit from the tray, she asked one question. "can you tell me, mr. nelson, who is coralie?" nelson looked startled for a moment, and found it necessary to place another folding chair under the tray. he did not answer until his wife said: "didn't you hear mrs. leslie's question, charley? who is coralie?" "sounds like the name of a variety actress," answered the man, by no means glibly. "why should you ask me? i really don't know. i'm not good at conundrums. isn't this a beautiful view? i fancied you'd have a better appetite up here than amid the crowd below." millicent's curiosity was further excited by the speaker's manner, but she could only possess her soul in patience, until presently it was satisfied on one point at least. she sat alone for a few minutes on the steamer's highest deck against the colored glass dome of the great white and gold saloon. several of the brass-guarded lights were open wide, and, hearing a burst of laughter, she looked down. the young woman, who had spoken to leslie at the gangway, sat at a corner table, partly hidden by two carved pillars below. she held a champagne glass in a lavishly jeweled hand, and there was no doubt that she was pretty, but there was that in her suggestive laugh and mocking curve of the full red lips, something which set millicent's teeth on edge. if more were needed to increase the unpleasant impression, a rich mine promoter sat near the young woman, trying to whisper confidentially, and another man, whose name was notorious in the city, laughed as he watched them. but millicent had seen sufficient, and turning her head, looked out to sea. there were, however, several men smoking on the opposite side of the dome, and one of them also must have looked down, for his comment was audible. "they're having what you call a good time down there! who and what is she?" "ma'mselle coralie. ostensibly a _clairvoyante_," was the dry reply. "_clairvoyante_!" repeated the first unseen speaker, who, by his clean intonation, millicent set down as a newly-arrived englishman. "do you mean a professional soothsayer?" "something of the kind," said the other with a laugh. "we're a curious people marching in the forefront of progress, so we like to think, and yet we consult hypnotists and all kinds of fakirs, even about our business. walk down ---- street and you'll see half-a-dozen of their name-plates. when they're young and handsome they get plenty of customers, and it's suspected that coralie, with assistance, runs a select gambling bank of evenings. the charlatan is not tied to one profession." "i catch on--correct phrase, isn't it?" rejoined the englishman. "of course, you're liberal minded and free from effete prejudice, but i hardly fancied the wives of your best citizens would care to meet such ladies." "they wouldn't if they knew it!" was the answer. "coralie's a newcomer; such women are birds of passage, and before she grows too famous the police will move her on. in fact, i've been wondering how she got on board to-day." "leslie passed her up the gangway," said another man, adding, with a suggestive laugh as he answered another question: "why did he do it? well, perhaps he's had his fortune told, or you can ask him. anyway, although i think he wanted to, he dared not turn her back." millicent, rising, slipped away. trembling with rage, she was glad to lean upon the steamer's rail. she had discovered long ago that her husband was not a model of virtue, but the knowledge that his shortcomings were common property was particularly bitter to her. of late she had dutifully endeavored to live on good terms with him, and it was galling to discover that he had only, it seemed, worked upon her softer mood for the purpose of extorting money to lavish upon illicit pleasures. she felt no man could sink lower than that, and determined there should be a reckoning that very night. "my dear mrs. leslie," said a voice beside her. "why, you look quite ill. my husband brought a bottle of stuff guaranteed to cure steamboat malady. run and get it, charley," and millicent turned to meet her young married friend. "please don't trouble, mr. nelson. i am not in the least sea-sick," millicent replied. "you might, however, spread out that deck chair for me. it is a passing faintness which will leave me directly." she remembered nothing about the rest of the voyage, except that, when the steamer reached the wharf, her husband, who helped her down the gangway, said: "i have promised to go to the conference and afterwards dine with the delegates, millicent, so i dare say you will excuse me. i shall not be late if i can help it, and you might wait up for me." millicent, who had intended to wait for him, in any case, merely nodded, and went home alone. she sat beside the english hearth all evening with an open book upside down upon her knee, and her eyes turned towards the clock, which very slowly ticked away the last hours she would spend beneath her husband's roof. there was spirit in her, and though she hardly knew why, she dressed herself for the interview carefully. when leslie entered, his eyes expressed admiration as she rose with cold dignity and stood before him. leslie was sober, but unfortunately for himself barely so, for the delegates had been treated with lavish western hospitality, and there had been many toasts to honor during the dinner. he leaned against the wall with one hand on a carved bracket, looking down upon her with what seemed to be a leer of brutal pride upon his slightly-flushed face. "you excelled yourself to-day, millicent. i saw no end of folks admiring you," he said. "most satisfactory day! everything went off famously! enjoyed yourself, eh?" "i can hardly say i did, but that is not what you asked me to wait for," was the cold answer, and millicent with native caution waited to hear what the man wanted before committing herself. "no. i meant it, but it wasn't. i couldn't help saying i was proud of you." leslie paused, doubtless satisfied, his wife thought, that he had smoothed the way sufficiently by a clumsy compliment. his abilities were not at their best just then. millicent's thin lips curled scornfully as she listened. "thurston will be here on thursday," he continued. "never liked the man, but he has behaved decently as your trustee, and i want to be fair to him. besides, he's a rising genius, and it's as well to be on good terms with him. couldn't you get him to stay to dinner and talk over the way they've invested your legacy?" "do you think he would care to meet you?" asked millicent, cuttingly. "perhaps he mightn't. you could have the nelsons over, and press of business might detain me. anyway, you'll have no time to settle all about that money and your english property if he goes out on the atlantic train. you two seem to have got quite friendly again, and i'm tolerably sure he'd stay if you asked him." millicent's anger was rising all the time; but, because her suspicions increased every moment, she kept herself in hand. feeling certain this was part of some plot, and that her husband was not steady enough to carry out his _rôle_ cleverly, she desired to discover his exact intentions before denouncing him. "why should i press him?" had it been before the dinner leslie might have acted more discreetly. as it was, he looked at the speaker somewhat blankly. "why? because i want you to. now don't ask troublesome questions or put on your tragedy air, millicent, but just promise to keep him here until after the east-bound train starts, anyway. i'm not asking for caprice--i--i particularly want a man to see him who will not be in the city until the following day." then, remembering what she had heard outside the steamer's deck house, a light suddenly broke in upon the woman. the man whose keen eyes would interfere with shackleby's plans must be thurston, and it was evident there was a scheme on hand to wreck his work in his absence. once she had half-willingly assisted her husband to thurston's detriment; but much had changed since then, and remembering that she had already, without knowing it, played into the confederate's hands by writing to him, her indignation mastered her. "i could not persuade him against his wishes, and would not do so if i could," she declared, turning full upon her husband. "you can and must," replied leslie, whose passion blazed up. "i'm about sick of your obstinacy and fondness for dramatic situations. you could do anything with any man you laid yourself out to inveigle, as i know to my cost, and in this case--by the lord, i'll make you!" "i will not!" millicent's face was white with anger as she fixed her eyes on him. "for a few moments you shall listen to me. what you and shackleby are planning does not concern me; but i will not move a finger to help you. once before you said--what you have done--and if i have never forgotten it i tried to do so. this time i shall do neither. i have borne very much from you already, but, sunk almost to your level as i am, there are things i cannot stoop to countenance. for instance, the draft i am to cajole from thurston is not intended for a speculation in mining shares, but--for coralie." the little carved bracket came down from the wall with a crash, and leslie, whose face was swollen with fury, gripped the speaker's arm savagely. "after to-morrow you can do just what pleases you and go where you will," he responded in a voice shaking with rage and fear. "but in this i will make you obey me. as to coralie, somebody has slandered me. the money is for what i told you, and nothing else." millicent with an effort wrenched herself free. "it is useless to protest, for i would not believe your oath," she said, looking at him steadily with contempt showing in every line of her pose. "obey--you! as the man i, with blind folly, abandoned for you warned me, you are too abject a thing. liar, thief, have i not said sufficient?--adulterer!" "quite!" cried leslie, who yielded to the murderous fury which had been growing upon him, and leaning down struck her brutally upon the mouth. "what i am you have made me--and, by heaven, it is time i repaid you in part." millicent staggered a little under the blow, which had been a heavy one, but her wits were clear, and, moving swiftly to a bell button, the pressure of her finger was answered by a tinkle below. "i presume you do not wish to make a public scandal," she said thickly, for the lace handkerchief she removed from her smarting lips was stained with blood. then, as their chinese servant appeared in the doorway, "your master wants you, john." before leslie could grasp her intentions she had vanished, there was a rustle of drapery on the stairway, followed by the jar of a lock, and he was left face to face was the stolid asiatic. "wantee someling, sah?" the chinaman asked. leslie glared at him speechless until, with a humble little nod, the servant said: "linga linga bell; too much hullee, john quick come. wantee someling. linga linga bell." "go the devil. oh, get out before i throw you," roared leslie, and john vanished with the waft of a blue gown, while millicent's book crashed against the door close behind his head. chapter xxvi a reckless journey the rising moon hung low above the lofty pines behind the city, when millicent sank shivering into a chair beside the window of her bedroom. under the impact of the blow her teeth had gashed her upper lip, but she did not feel the pain as she sat with hands clenched, looking down on the blaze of silver that grew broader across the inlet. she was faint and dizzy, incapable as yet of definite thought; but confused memories flashed through her brain, one among them more clearly than the rest. instead of land-locked water shimmering beneath the western pines, she saw dim english beeches with the coppery disk of the rising moon behind, and she heard a tall man speak with stinging scorn to one who cowered before him among the shadows. "i was mad that night, and have paid for the madness ever since. now when it is too late i know what i have lost!" she gasped with a catch of the breath that was a sob repressed. there was a heavy step on the stairway, and millicent shrank with the nausea of disgust as somebody tried the door. she drew a deep breath of relief, when the steps passed on unevenly. the memories returned. they led her through a long succession of mistakes, falsehoods, slights and wrongs up to the present, and she shivered again, while a heavy drop of blood splashed warm upon her hand. then she was mistress of herself once more, and a hazy purpose grew into definite shape. she could at least warn the man whom she had wronged, and so make partial reparation. it was not a wish for revenge upon her husband which prompted her to desire that amends might be made for her past treachery. smarting with shame, she longed only to escape from him. after the day's revelations she could never forgive that blow. millicent was a woman of action, and it was a relief to consider practical details. she decided that a telegram might lie for days at the station nearest the cañon, while what distance divided one from the other she did not know. there was no train before noon the next day, and she feared that the plot might be put into execution as soon as geoffrey left his camp. therefore, she must reach it before he did so. afterwards--but she would not consider the future then, and, if she could but warn him, nothing mattered greatly, neither physical peril nor the risk of her good name. it was long before millicent leslie had thought all this out, but when once her way seemed clear, exhausted by conflicting emotions, she sank into heavy slumber, and the sun was high before she awakened. leslie had gone to his office, and she ate a little, chose her thickest furs, and waited for noon in feverish suspense. her husband might return and prevent her departure by force. she feared that, should he guess her intention, a special locomotive might be hired, even after the train had started. it was, therefore, necessary to slip away without word or sign, unless, indeed, she could mislead him, and, smiling mirthlessly, she laid an open letter inside her writing-case. at last the time came, and she went out carrying only a little hand-bag, passed along the unfrequented water side to the station by the wharf, and ensconced herself in the corner of the car nearest the locomotive, counting the seconds until it should start. once she trembled when she saw shackleby hurry along the platform, but she breathed again when he hailed a man leaning out from the vestibule of a car. at last, the big bell clanged, and the atlantic express, rolling out of the station, began its race across the continent. it was nearly dusk when, with a scream of brakes, the cars lurched into a desolate mountain station, and millicent shivered as she alighted in the frost-dried dust of snow. a nipping wind sighed down the valley. the tall firs on the hillside were fading into phantom battalions of climbing trees, and above them towered a dim chaos of giant peaks, weirdly awe-inspiring under the last faint glimmer of the dying day. a few lights blinked among the lower firs, and millicent, hurrying towards them at the station agent's direction, was greeted by the odors of coarse tobacco as she pushed open the door of the new eldorado saloon. a group of bronze-faced men, some in jackets of fringed deerskin and some in coarse blue jean, sat about the stove, and, though millicent involuntarily shrank from them, there was no reason why she should feel any fear in their presence. they were rude of aspect--on occasion more rude of speech--but, in all the essentials that become a man, she would have found few to surpass them in either english or western cities. there was dead silence as she entered, and the others copied him when one of the loungers, rising, took off his shapeless hat, not ungracefully. "i want a guide and good horse to take me to thurston's camp in the orchard river cañon to-night," she said. the men looked at one another, and the one who rose first replied: "sorry to disappoint you, ma'am, but it's clean impossible. we'll have snow by morning, and it's steep chances a man couldn't get through in the dark now the shelf on the wagon trail's down." "i must go. it is a matter of life and death, and i'm willing to pay whoever will guide me proportionate to the risk," insisted millicent, shaking out on the table a roll of bills. then, because she was a woman of quick perceptions, and noticed something in the big axeman's honest face, she added quickly, "i am in great distress, and disaster may follow every moment lost. is there nobody in this settlement with courage enough to help me?" this time the listeners whispered as they glanced sympathetically at the speaker. the big man said: "if you're willing to face the risk i'll go with you. you can put back most of your money; but, because we're poor men you'll be responsible for the horses." millicent felt the cold strike through her with the keenness of steel when the went out into the night. somebody lifted her to the back of a snorting horse, and a man already mounted seized its bridle. there was a shout of "good luck!" and they had started on their adventurous journey. loose floury snow muffled the beat of hoofs, the lights of the settlement faded behind and the two were alone in a wilderness of awful white beauty, wherein it seemed no living thing had broken the frozen silence since the world was made. staring vacantly before her millicent saw the shoulders of the mighty peaks looming far above her through a haze of driving snow, which did not reach the lower slopes, where even the wind was still. the steam of the horses hung in white clouds about them as they climbed, apparently for hours, past scattered vedettes of dwindling pines. after a long pull on a steep trail the man checked the horses on the brink of a chasm filled with eddying mist. "that should have been our way, but the whole blame trail slipped down into the valley," the man said. "let me take hold of your bridle and trust to me. we're going straight over the spur yonder until we strike the trail again." it was no longer a ride but a scramble. even those sure-footed horses stumbled continually, and where the wind had swept the thin snow away, the iron on the sliding hoofs clanged on ice-streaked rock, or hundredweights of loose gravel rattled down the incline. then there was juniper to be struggled through. they came to slopes almost precipitous up which the panting guide somehow dragged the horses, but, one strong with muscular vigor and the other sustained by sheer force of will, the two riders held stubbornly on. millicent had risen superior to physical weakness that night. "four hours to the big divide! we've pretty well equaled thurston's record," said the guide, striking a match inside his hollowed palm to consult his watch. "it's all down grade now, but we'll meet the wind in the long pass and maybe the snow." millicent's heart almost failed her when, as the match went out, she gazed down into the gulf of darkness that opened at her feet, but she answered steadily: "press on. i must reach the camp by daylight, whatever happens." they went on. the pace, instead of a scramble, became in places a wild glissade, and no beast of burden but a mountain pack-horse could have kept its footing ten minutes. dark pines rose up from beneath them and faded back of them, here and there a scarred rock or whitened boulder flitted by, and then millicent's sight was dimmed by a whirling haze of snow. how long the descent lasted she did not know. she could see nothing through the maze of eddying flakes but that a figure, magnified by them to gigantic proportions, rode close beside her, until they left the cloud behind and wound along the face of a declivity, which dipped into empty blackness close beneath. suddenly her horse stumbled; there was a flounder and a shock, and millicent felt herself sliding very swiftly down a long slope of crusted snow. hoarse with terror, she screamed once, then something seized and held her fast, and she rose, shaking in every limb, to cling breathless to the guide. "hurt bad?" he gasped. "no!--i'm mighty glad. snow slide must have gouged part of the trail out. can you hold up a minute while i 'tend to the horse?" "i don't think i am much hurt," stammered millicent, whose teeth were chattering, and the man floundering back a few paces, stooped over a dark object that struggled in the snow. she fancied that he fumbled at his belt, after which there was a horrible gurgle, and he returned rubbing his fingers suggestively with a handful of snow. "poor brute's done for--i had to settle him," he explained. "it will cost you--but we can fix that when we get through. i'll have to change your saddle, and the sooner we get on the better. won't keep you five minutes, ma'am." millicent felt very cold and sick, for the unfortunate horse still struggled feebly, while the gurgle continued, and she was devoutly thankful when they continued their journey. the traveling was, if possible, more arduous than before. at times they forced a passage through climbing forest, and again over slopes of treacherous shale where a snow slide had plowed a great hollow in the breast of the hill. the puffs of snow which once more met them grew thicker until millicent was sheeted white all over. at last the man said: "it can't be far off daylight and i'm mighty thankful. i've lost my bearings, but we're on a trail, which must lead to somewhere, at last. stick tight to your saddle and i'll bring you through all right, ma'am." millicent was too cold to answer. a blast that whirled the drifts up met her in the face, numbing all her faculties and rendering breathing difficult. the hand that held the bridle was stiffened into uselessness. still, while life pulsed within her, she was going on, and swaying in the saddle, she fixed her eyes ahead. at last the trail grew level, the snow thinner. in the growing light of day a cluster of roofs loomed up before her, and she made some incoherent answer when her guide confessed: "i struck the wrong way at the forking of the trail. here's a ranch, however, and the camp can't be far away. horse is used up and so am i, but you could get somebody to take thurston a message." some minutes later he lifted millicent from the saddle, and she leaned against him almost powerless as he pounded on the door. the loud knocking was answered by voices within, the door swung open, and millicent reeled into a long hall. two women rose from beside the stove, and, for it was broad daylight now, stared in bewilderment at the strangers. the guide leaned wearily against the wall, while millicent, overcome by the change of temperature, stood clutching at the table and swaying to and fro. then her failing strength deserted her. somebody who helped her into a chair presently held a cup of warm liquid to her lips. she gulped down a little, and, recovering command of her senses, found herself confronted by helen savine. it was a curious meeting, and even then millicent remembered under what circumstances they had last seen each other. it appeared probable that helen remembered, too, for she showed no sign of welcome, and mrs. thomas savine, who picked up the fallen cup, watched them intently. "i see you are surprised to find me here," said millicent, with a gasp. "i left the railroad last night for geoffrey thurston's camp. we lost the trail and one of the horses in the snow, and just managed to reach this ranch. we can drag ourselves no further. i did not know the ranch belonged to you." "that's about it!" the guide broke in. "this lady has made a journey that would have killed some men--it has pretty well used me up, anyway. i'll sit down in the corner if you don't mind. can't keep myself right end up much longer." "please make yourself comfortable!" said helen, with a compassionate glance in his direction. "i will tell our chinaman to see to your horse." she turned towards millicent, and her face was coldly impassive. "anyone in distress is welcome to shelter here. you were going to mr. thurston's camp?" even mrs. savine had started at millicent's first statement, and now she read contemptuous indignation in helen's eyes. it was certain her niece's voice, though even, was curiously strained. "yes!" answered millicent, rapidly. "i was going to geoffrey thurston's camp. it is only failing strength that hinders me from completing the journey. somebody must warn him at once that he is on no account to leave for vancouver as he promised me that he would. there is a plot to ruin him during his absence--a traitor among his workmen, i think. at any moment the warning may be too late. he was starting west to-day to call on me." millicent was half-dazed and perhaps did not reflect that it was possible to draw a damaging inference from her words. nevertheless, there was that in helen's expression which awoke a desire for retaliation. helen asked but one question, "you risked your life to tell him this?" and when millicent bent her head the guide interposed, "you can bet she did, and nearly lost it." "then," said the girl, "the warning must not be thrown away. unfortunately, we have nobody i could send just now. auntie, you must see to mrs. leslie; i will go myself." "i'm very sorry, miss. if you like i'll do my best, but can hardly promise that i won't fall over on the way," apologized the guide; but helen hastened out of the room, and now that the strain was over, millicent lay helpless in her chair. still, she was conscious of a keen disappointment. after all she had dared and suffered, it was helen who would deliver the warning. thurston was standing knee-deep in ground-up stone and mire, inside a coffer dam about which the river frothed and roared, when a man brought him word that miss savine waited for him. he hurried to meet her, and presently halted beside her horse--a burly figure in shapeless slouch hat, with a muddy oilskin hanging from his shoulders above the stained overalls and long boots. helen sat still in the saddle, a strange contrast to him, for she was neat and dainty down to the little foot in indian dressed deerskin against the horse's flank. she showed no sign of pleasure as she returned his greeting, but watched him keenly as she said: "mrs. leslie arrived this morning almost frozen at the ranch. she left the railroad last night to reach your camp, but her guide lost the trail." the man was certainly startled, but his face betrayed no satisfaction. it's most visible expression was more akin to annoyance. "could she not have waited?" he asked impatiently, adding somewhat awkwardly, "did mrs. leslie explain why she wanted to see me so particularly?" "yes," was the quick answer. "she has reason to believe that while you journeyed to vancouver to visit her, an attempt would be made to wreck these workings. she bade me warn you that there is a traitor in your camp." "ah," replied geoffrey, a flush showing through the bronze on his forehead. he thought hastily of all his men and came back to the consciousness of helen's presence with a start. "it was very good of you to face the rough cold journey, but you cannot return without rest and refreshment," he said with a look that spoke of something more than gratitude. "i will warn my foremen, and when it seems safe will ride back with you." if helen had been gifted with a wider knowledge of life she might perhaps have noticed several circumstances that proved thurston blameless. as it was she had a quick temper, and at first glance facts spoke eloquently against him. "you cannot," was the cold answer. "the warning was very plain, and considering all that is at stake you must not leave the workings a moment. neither are any thanks due to me. i am an interested party, and the person who has earned your gratitude is mrs. leslie. the day is clear and fine, and i can dispense with an escort." "you shall not go alone," declared thurston, doggedly. "you can choose between my company and that of my assistant. and you shall not go until you rest. further, i must ask you a favor. will you receive mrs. leslie until i have seen her and arranged for her return? there is no married rancher within some distance, and i cannot well bring her here." "you cannot," agreed helen averting her eyes. "if only on account of the service she has rendered, mrs. leslie is entitled to such shelter as we can offer her, as long as it appears necessary." "thanks!" said thurston, gravely. "you relieve me of a difficulty." then, stung by the girl's ill-concealed disdain into one of his former outbreaks, he gripped the horse's bridle, and backed the beast so that he and its rider were more fully face to face. "am i not harassed sufficiently? good lord! do you think----" he began. "i have neither the right nor desire to inquire into your motives," responded helen distantly. "we will, as i say, shelter mrs. leslie, and, since you insist, will you ask your assistant to accompany me?" geoffrey, raising his hat a moment, swung round upon his heel, and blew a silver whistle. "tom," he said to the man who came running up, "tell john to get some coffee and the nicest things he can in a hurry for miss savine. straighten up my office room, and lay them out there. english jim is to ride back with miss savine when she is ready. send a mounted man to allerton's to bring black in, see that no man you wouldn't trust your last dollar to lay's hand on a machine. that would stop half the work in camp? it wouldn't--confound you--you know what i mean. call in all explosives from the shot-firing gang. nobody's to slip for a moment out of sight of his section foreman." helen heard the crisp sharp orders as she rode up the hill, and glanced once over her shoulder. she had often noticed how the whole strength of geoffrey's character could rise to face a crisis. still, appearances were terribly against him. geoffrey, taking breath for a moment, scowled savagely at the river. "if ever there was an unfortunate devil--but i suppose it can't be helped. damn the luck that dogs me!" he ejaculated as he turned to issue more specific commands. chapter xxvii mrs. savine speaks her mind millicent slept brokenly while helen carried her message, and awakening feverish, felt relieved to discover that the girl was still absent. miss savine was younger than herself, and of much less varied experience, but the look in the girl's eyes hurt her, nevertheless. "i am ashamed to force myself upon you," she said to mrs. savine, who had shown her many small courtesies, "but i am afraid i cannot manage the journey back to the railroad to-day. i must also see mr. thurston before i leave for england, and it would be a great favor if i could have the interview here." "we are glad to have you with us," said mrs. savine, who was of kindly nature and fancied she saw her opportunity. "yes, i just mean it. the journey has tried you so much that you are not fit for another now. besides, i have heard so much about you, that i want a talk with you." "you have probably heard nothing that makes this visit particularly welcome," answered millicent, bitterly, and the elder lady smiled. "i guess folks are apt to make the most of the worst points in all of us," she observed. "but that is not what we are going to talk about. you are an old friend of a man we are indebted to, and, just because i believe there's no meanness in geoffrey thurston, you are very welcome to the best that we can do for you. i will ask him over to meet you." millicent flushed. under the circumstances she was touched by the speaker's sincerity, and grateful for the way she expressed herself. perhaps it was this which prompted her to an almost involuntary outpouring of confidence. "i am the woman who should have married him," she said simply. mrs. savine merely nodded, and dipped her needle somewhat blindly into the embroidery on her knee before she replied: "i had guessed it already. you missed a very good husband, my dear. i don't want to force your confidence, but i imagine that you have some distress to bear, and i might help you. i have seen a good deal of trouble in my time." millicent was unstable by nature. she was also excited and feverish. afterwards she wondered why a kindly word from a woman she knew so slightly should excite in her such a desire for advice and sympathy. in spite of her occasional brusqueries, it was hard for anyone to say no to mrs. savine. so millicent answered, with a sigh: "i know it now when it is too late--no one knows it better. you do well to believe in geoffrey thurston." mrs. savine looked at her very keenly, then nodded. "i believe in you, too. there! i guess you can trust me." millicent bent her head, and her eyes were misty. a raw wound, which the frost had irritated, marred the delicate curve of her upper lip. it became painfully visible. "it is only fit that i should tell you, since i am your guest," she said, touching the scar with one finger. "that is the mark of my husband's hand, and i am leaving him forever because i would not connive at geoffrey's ruin. geoffrey is acting as trustee for my property, and i cannot leave for england without consulting him. so much is perhaps due to you, and--because of your kindness i should not like you to think too ill of me--i will tell you the rest. to begin with, geoffrey has never shown me anything but kindness." mrs. savine gently patted the speaker's arm, and millicent related what had led up to her journey, or part of it. when she had finished, the elder lady commented: "you are doing a risky thing; but i can't quite blame you, and if i could, i would not do it now. you will stay right here until geoffrey has fixed up all plans for your journey, and you can trust me to be kind to you. still, there's one favor i'm going to ask. i want you to let me tell my niece as much of what you have told me as i think desirable. remember, geoffrey has been good to you." for a moment millicent's face grew hard, and her eyes defiant. she smiled sadly as she answered: "it is his due, and can make no difference now. tell her what seems best." meanwhile, geoffrey was busy in the cañon camp. with black and mattawa tom beside him, he stood holding as symbol, both of equality and authority, a bright ax in his hand, while driller, laborer, and machine-tender, wondering greatly, were passed in review before him. black had been boarded with a trust rancher some distance from the camp. at last a certain rock driller passed in turn, and tom from mattawa explained: "he's a friend of walla jake, and as i told you, the last man we put on." "that's the blame reptile who backed up shackleby's story at the blue bird mine," cried black, excitedly. "if there's anyone up to mischief, you can bet all you've got he's the man." "stop there, you!" geoffrey's voice was sharp and stern. "cut him down if he feels for a revolver or tries to make a break of it, section foreman. come here, close in behind him, you two." after a swift glance over his shoulder the man who was summoned advanced, scowling darkly. he sullenly obeyed geoffrey's second command, "stand there--now a few steps aside," leaving his footprints clearly outlined in a patch of otherwise untrodden snow. "good!" observed geoffrey. "lay your template [transcriber's note: corrected from "templet"] on those marks, tom." after the foreman had produced a paper pattern which fitted them, thurston added: "we're going to make a prisoner of you, and jail you ourselves, until we can get a formal warrant. what for? well, you're going to be tried for conspiracy among the other things. you see that pattern? it fits the foot of a man who went out one night with a spy shackleby sent over to see how and when you would play the devil with our work in the cañon. it even shows the stump of the filed-off creeper-spike on your right boot. there's no use protesting--a friend of yours here will help us to trace your career back to the finding of the blue bird mine. take him along and lock him into the galvanized store shed." the prisoner was taken away, and geoffrey turned to his foreman. "he was in the drilling gang, tom?" "juss so! working under the wall bed of the cañon." "that lets some light on to the subject. you can dismiss the others. come with me, tom." twenty minutes later geoffrey stood among the boulders that the shrunken river had left exposed near the foot of a giant cliff which, instead of overhanging, thrust forward a slanting spur into the rush of water, and so formed a bend. it was one of the main obstacles geoffrey, who wondered at the formation, had determined to remove by the simultaneous shock of several heavy blasting charges. to that end a gang of men had long been drilling deep holes into the projecting spur, and on the preceding day charges of high explosives had been sunk in most of them with detonators and fuses ready coupled for connection to the igniting gear. geoffrey stood upon a boulder and looked up at the tremendous face of rock which, rising above the spur, held up the hill slope above. the stratification was looser than usual, and several mighty masses had fallen from it into the river. there were also crannies at its feet. "you've seen all the drilled holes. anything strike you yet?" inquired mattawa tom. "yes," was the answer. "it occurs to me that french louis said he couldn't tally out all the sticks of giant powder that he'd stowed away a week or two ago. i think you foolishly told him he couldn't count straight." "i did," admitted tom from mattawa. "louis ain't great at counting, and he allowed he'd never let go of the key to the powder magazine." "i fancy a smart mechanic could make a key that would do as well," remarked geoffrey. "it strikes me, also, after considering the strata yonder, that, if sufficient shots were fired in those crannies, they would bring the whole cliff and the hillside above it down on top of us--you'll remember i cautioned you to drill well clear of the rock face itself? now, if coupled fuses were led from the shot holes we filled to those we didn't, so that both would fire simultaneously, nobody afterwards would find anything suspicious under several thousand tons of debris. i'm inclined to think there are such fuses. take your shovel, and we'll look for them." they worked hard for half an hour, and then geoffrey chuckled. lifting what looked like a stout black cord from among the rubble where it was carefully hidden, mattawa tom said: "this time i guess you've struck it dead." "follow the thing up," geoffrey commanded. this was done, and further searching revealed the charges for which they were searching, skillfully concealed in the crannies. geoffrey's face was grim as he said: "it was planned well. they would have piled half yonder shoulder of the range into the cañon if they had got their devilish will. pull up every fuse, and fix fresh detonators to all the charges. change every man in that gang, and never leave this spot except when the section boss replaces you, until we're ready for firing. thank heaven that will be in a few more days, and my nerves may hold out that long. i've hardly had an hour's sleep in the last week, tom." while geoffrey was acting in accordance with the warning she had delivered, helen was on her way back to the ranch with his assistant as her escort. helen had not forgotten that it was her remonstrance which had originally obtained a humble appointment for english jim. he had several times visited the ranch with messages, and was accordingly invited to enter when they reached the house. he recognized mrs. leslie at once, but he could be discreet, and, warned by something in her manner, addressed no word to her until he found opportunity for a few moments' private speech before leaving. "you remember me, i see," millicent said, and english jim bowed. "i do; perhaps because i have reason to. though most reluctant to say so, i lost a valuable paper the last time i was in your presence, and that paper was afterwards used against my employer. pardon me for speaking so plainly; you said you were a friend of mr. thurston's." "you need not be diffident," replied millicent, checking him with a wave of her hand. "suppose it was i who found the drawing? you would be willing to keep silence in return for----" it was english jim who interrupted now. "in return for your solemn promise to render no more assistance to our enemies. i do not forget your kindness, and hate the painful necessity of speaking so to you, but i am thurston's man, soul and body." "i ask your pardon," said millicent. "will you believe me if i say that i lately ran some risk to bring mr. thurston a much-needed warning? i am going to england in a day or two, and shall never come back again. therefore, you can rely upon my promise." "implicitly," returned english jim. "you must have had some reason i cannot guess for what you did. that sounds like presumption, doesn't it? but you can count upon my silence, madam." "you are a good man." millicent impulsively held out her hand to him. "i have met very few so loyal or so charitable. may i wish you all prosperity in your career?" english jim merely bowed as he went out, and millicent's eyes grew dim as she thought of her treachery to geoffrey. "there are good men in the world after all, though it has been my misfortune to chiefly come across the bad," she admitted to herself. darkness had fallen when thurston rode up to the ranch. he passed half an hour alone with millicent and went away without speaking to anyone else. after he had gone millicent said to mrs. savine: "i start for england as soon as possible, and mr. thurston is going to the railroad with me. i shall never return to canada." pleading fatigue, she retired early, and for a time mrs. savine and helen sat silently in the glow of the great hearth upon which immense logs were burning. there was no other light in the room, and each flicker of the fire showed that helen's face was more than usually serious. "did you know that it was mrs. leslie geoffrey should have married?" asked mrs. savine at length. "no," answered helen, flushing. with feeling she added. "perhaps i ought to have guessed it. she leaves shortly, does the not? it will be a relief. she must be a wicked woman, but please don't talk of her." "that is just what i'm going to do," declared her aunt, gravely. "i wouldn't guarantee that she is wholly good, but i blame her poison-mean husband more than her. anyway, she is better than you suppose her." "i made no charge against her, and am only glad she is going," said helen savine. mrs. savine smiled shrewdly. "well, i am going to show you there is nothing in that charge. not quite logical, is it, but sit still there and listen to me." helen listened, at first very much against her will, presently she grew half-convinced, and at last wholly so. she blushed crimson as she said: "may i be forgiven for thinking evil--but such things do happen, and though i several times made myself believe, even against, the evidence of my eyes, that i was wrong, appearances were horribly against her. i am tired and will say good-night, auntie." "not yet," interposed mrs. savine, laying a detaining grasp upon her. "sit still, my dear, i'm only beginning. appearances don't always count for much. now, there's mrs. christopher who started in to copy my elixir. oh, yes, it was like it in smell and color, but she nearly killed poor christopher with it." "she said it cured him completely," commented helen, hoping to effect a diversion; but mrs. savine would not be put off. "we won't argue about that, though there'll be a coroner called in the next time she makes a foolish experiment. now i'm going to give my husband's confidences away. hardly fair to tom, but i'll do it, because it seems necessary, and the last time i didn't go quite far enough. to begin with. did you know the opposition wanted to buy geoffrey over, paying him two dollars for every one he could have made out of your father?" "no," answered helen, starting. "it was very loyal of him to refuse. why did he do so?" mrs. savine smiled good-humoredly. "i guess you think that's due to your dignity, but you don't fool me. look into your mirror, helen, if you really want to know. did you hear that he put every dollar he'd made in canada into the scheme? of course you didn't; he made tom promise he would never tell you. besides--but i forgot, i must not mention that." "please spare me any more, auntie," pleaded helen, who was overcome by a sudden realization of her own injustice and absolute selfishness. "no mercy this time," was the answer, given almost genially. "like the elixir which doesn't taste pleasant, it's good for you. you didn't know, either, for the same reason, that not long ago tom was badly scared for fear he'd have to let the whole thing go for lack of money. it would have been the end of julius savine if he had been forced to give up this great enterprise." "i never thought things were so bad, but how does it concern mr. thurston?" helen questioned her aunt in a voice that was trembling. "geoffrey straightened out all the financial affairs in just this way. a relative in england left an estate to be divided between him and mrs. leslie. there was enough to keep him safe for life, if he'd let it lie just where it was, but he didn't. no, he sold out all that would have earned him a life income for any price he could, and turned over every cent of it to help your father. now i've about got through, but i've one question to ask you. would the man who did all that--you can see why--be likely to fool with another man's wife, even if it was the handsome mrs. leslie?" "no," said helen, whose cheeks, which had grown pallid, flushed like a blush rose. "i am glad you told me, auntie, but i feel i shall never have the courage to look that man in the face again." mrs. savine smiled, though her eyes glistened in the firelight as she laid a thin hand on one of helen's, which felt burning hot as the fingers quivered within her grasp. "you will, or that will hurt him more than all," she replied. "it wasn't easy to tell you this, but i've seen too many lives ruined for the want of a little common-sense talking--and i figure jacob wouldn't come near beating geoffrey thurston." helen rose abruptly. "auntie, you will see to father--he has been better lately--for just a little while, will not you?" she asked. "mrs. crighton has invited me so often to visit her, and i really need a change. this valley has grown oppressive, and i must have time to think." "yes," assented mrs. savine. "but you must stand by your promise to fire the final shot." the door closed, and mrs. savine, removing her spectacles, wiped both them and her eyes as she remarked: "i hope the almighty will forgive a meddlesome old woman for interfering, knowing she means well." chapter xxviii leslie steps out henry leslie did not return home at noon on the day following the altercation with his wife. millicent had an ugly temper, but she would cool down if he gave her time, he said to himself. in the evening he fell in with two business acquaintances from a mining district, who were visiting the city for the purpose of finding diversion and they invited him to assist them in their search for amusement. leslie, though unprincipled, lacked several qualities necessary for a successful rascal, and, oppressed by the fear of shackleby's displeasure should thurston return to the mountains prematurely, and uncertain what to do, was willing to try to forget his perplexities for an hour or two. the attempt was so far successful that he went home at midnight, somewhat unsteadily, a good many dollars poorer than when he set out. trying the door of his wife's room, he found it locked. he did not suspect that it had been locked on the outside and that millicent had thrown the key away. he was, however, rather relieved than otherwise by the discovery of the locked door, and, sleeping soundly, wakened later than usual next morning. millicent, however, was neither at the breakfast-table nor in her own room when he pried the door open. he saw that some garments and a valise were missing, and decided that she had favored certain friends with her company, and, returning mollified, would make peace again, as had happened before. still, he was uneasy until he espied her writing-case with the end of a letter protruding. reading the letter, he discovered it to be an invitation to victoria. he noticed on the blotter the reversed impression of an addressed envelope, which showed that she had answered the invitation. two days passed, and, hearing nothing, he grew dissatisfied again, and drafted a diplomatic telegram to the friends in victoria. it happened that shackleby was in his office when the answer arrived. "has thurston come into town yet? you told me you saw your way to keep him here," said shackleby. "didn't you mention he had the handling of a small legacy left mrs. leslie?" "it is strange, but he has not arrived," was the answer. "my wife is an old friend of his, and i had counted on her help in detaining him, but, unfortunately, she considered it necessary to accept an invitation to victoria somewhat suddenly." "i should hardly have fancied thurston was an old friend of--yours," shackleby remarked with a carelessness which almost blunted the sneer. "i'm also a little surprised at what you tell me, because i saw mrs. leslie hurrying along to the atlantic express. she couldn't book that way to victoria." "you must have been mistaken," said leslie, who turned towards a clerk holding out a telegraphic envelope. he ripped it open and read the enclosure with a smothered ejaculation. "can't understand your wire. mrs. leslie not here. wrote saying she could not come." "excuse the liberty. i believe i have a right to inspect all correspondence," observed shackleby, coolly leaning over and picking up the message. then he looked straight at leslie, and there was a moment's silence before he asked, "how much does mrs. leslie know about your business?" "i don't know," answered the anxious man in desperation. "i had to tell her a little so that she could help me." "so i guessed!" commented shackleby. "now, i don't want to hurt your feelings, but you can't afford to quarrel with me if i do. you're coming straight with me to the depot to find out where mrs. leslie bought a ticket to." "i'll see you hanged first," broke out leslie. "isn't it enough that you presume to read my private correspondence? i'll suffer no interference with my domestic affairs." shackleby laughed contemptuously. "you'll just come along instead of blustering--there's not an ounce of real grit in you. this is no time for sentiment, and you have admitted that mrs. leslie was on good terms with thurston. if she has warned him, one of us at least will have to make a record break out of this country. if he doesn't it won't be the divorce court he'll figure in." leslie went without further protest, and shackleby looked at him significantly when the booking-clerk said, "if i remember right, mrs. leslie bought a ticket for thompson's. it's a flag station at the head of the new road that's to be driven into the orchard valley." "i guess that's enough," remarked shackleby. "you and i are going there by the first train too. oh, yes, i'm coming with you whether you like it or not, for it strikes me our one chance is to bluff thurston into a bargain for the cessation of hostilities. it's lucky he's supposed to be uncommonly short of money." geoffrey thurston, mrs. leslie, and thomas savine of course, could not know of this conversation, but the woman was anxious as they rode together into sight of the little flag station shortly before the atlantic express was due. when the others dismounted, thomas savine, who had been summoned by telegram from vancouver, remained discreetly behind. it was very cold, darkness was closing down on the deep hollow among the hills, and some little distance up the ascending line, a huge freight locomotive was waiting with a string of cars behind it in a side track. thurston pointed to the fan-shaped blaze of the great head lamp. "we have timed it well. they're expecting your train now," he said. "i am glad," was millicent's answer. "i shall feel easier when i am once upon the way, for all day i have been nervously afraid that harry might arrive or something unexpected might happen to detain me. there will be only time to catch the allan boat, you say, and once the train leaves this station nobody could overtake me?" "of course not!" answered geoffrey, reassuringly. "it is perhaps natural that you should be apprehensive, but there is no reason for it. whether you are doing right or wrong i dare not presume to judge, and, under the circumstances, i wish there had been somebody else to counsel you; but if your husband has treated you cruelly and you are in fear of him, i cannot venture to dissuade you. you will write to me when you have settled your plans?" "yes," she promised. after a moment's pause, she went on: "i have hardly been able to consider the position yet, but i will never go back to harry. my trustees must either help me to fight him or bribe him not to molest me. it is a hateful position, but though i have suffered a great deal there are things i cannot countenance." the hoot of a whistle came ringing up the valley, the light of another head lamp, growing brighter, flickered among the firs, and millicent looked up at her companion as she said: "i may never see you again, geoffrey, but i cannot go without asking you to forgive me. you do not know, and i dare not tell you, in how many ways i have injured you. i would like to think that you do not cherish any ill-will against me." "you may be quite sure of it," was the answer, and geoffrey smiled upon her. "what i shall remember most clearly is how much you risked to warn me, and that the safe completion of the work i have set my heart on is due to you. we will forget all the unpleasant things that have happened in the past and meet as good friends next time, millicent." the woman's voice trembled a little as she replied: "i hope when one by one you hear of the unpleasant things you will be charitable. but a last favor--you will not tell harry where i have gone until i am safely on my way to england?" "no," promised geoffrey. "you can depend upon that. i have not forgiven your husband, but the train is coming in and it will only stop a few seconds." with couplings clashing the long cars lurched in. geoffrey hurried millicent into one of them. he felt his hand grasped fervently, and fancied he saw a tear glisten in millicent's eyes by the light of the flashing lamps. then the great engine snorted, and he sprang down from the vestibule footboard as the train rolled out. turning back towards the station to join thomas savine, he found himself confronted by two men who had just alighted. their surprise was mutual, but thomas savine, who stood beside a box just hurled out of the baggage car, had his wits about him. "here's one case, geoffrey. the conductor thinks that some fool must have labelled the others wrong, and they'll come on by first freight," he said. this was an accurate statement, and for millicent's sake geoffrey was grateful that his comrade should make it so opportunely. it accounted for his presence at the station. "it can't be helped," he said, and then turned stiffly towards shackleby and henry leslie, who waited between him and the roadway. "we want a few words with you, but didn't expect to find you here," abruptly remarked shackleby. "is there any place fit to sit in at the saloon yonder?" "i really don't know," geoffrey replied. "having no time to waste in conversation, neither do i care. if you have anything to say to me you can say it--very briefly--here." shackleby pinched the cigar he was smoking. laying his hand on leslie's shoulder warningly, he whispered, "keep still, you fool." "i don't know that i can condense what i have to say," he answered airily, addressing thurston. "fact is, in the first place, and before mr. leslie asks a question, i want to know whether we--that is i--can still come to terms with you. it's tolerably well-known that my colleagues are, so to speak, men of straw, and individually i figure it might be better for both of us if we patched up a compromise. i can't sketch out the rest of my programme in the open air, but, as a general idea, what do you think, mr. savine?" "that your suggestion comes rather late in the day," was the answer. shackleby was silent for a moment, though, for it was quite dark now that the train had gone. savine could not be quite certain whether he moved against leslie by accident or deliberately hustled him a few paces away. geoffrey, however, felt certain that neither had seen millicent, nor, thanks to savine, suspected that she was on board the departing cars. just then a deep-toned whistle vibrated across the pines, somebody waved a lantern between the rails, and the panting of the freight locomotive's pump became silent. the track led down grade past the station towards the coast. "better late than never," said shackleby. "my hand's a good one still. i'm not sure i won't call you." "to save time i'll show you mine a little sooner than i meant to do, and you'll see the game's up," replied geoffrey, grimly. "it may prevent you from worrying me during the next week or two, and you can't well profit by it. i've got black, who is quite ready to go into court at any time, where you can't get at him. i've got the nearest magistrate's warrant executed on the person of your other rascal, and black will testify as to his record, which implies the throwing of a sidelight upon your own. no doubt, to save himself, the other man will turn against you. in addition, if it's necessary, which i hardly think possible, i have even more damaging testimony. i have sworn a statement before the said magistrate for the crown-lands authorities, and purpose sending a copy to each of your directors individually. that ought to be sufficient, and i have no more time to waste with you." "but you have me to settle with, or i'll blast your name throughout the province if i drag my own in the mud. where's my wife?" snarled leslie, wrenching himself free from his confederate's restraining grasp. "if you're bent on making a fool of yourself, and i guess you can't help it, go on your own way," interposed shackleby, with ironical contempt. "i have no intention of telling you where mrs. leslie is," asserted geoffrey. "you will hear from her when she considers it advisable to write." a whir of driver wheels slipping on the rails came down the track, followed by a shock of couplings tightening and the snorting of a heavy locomotive, but none of the party noticed it. "she was here; you can't deny it," shouted leslie, who had yielded to a fit of rabid fury. he was not a courageous man, and had been held in check by fear of shackleby, but there was some spirit in him, and, perhaps because he had injured thurston, had always hated him. now when his case seemed desperate, with the boldness of a rat driven into a corner, he determined to tear the hand that crushed him. "i'll take action against you. i'll blazon it in the press. i'll close every decent house in the province against you," he continued, working himself up into a frenzy. "where have you hidden my wife? by heaven, i'll make you tell me." "take care!" warned geoffrey, straightening himself and thrusting one big hand behind his back. "it is desperately hard for me to keep my fingers off you now, but if you say another word against mrs. leslie, look to yourself. shackleby, you have heard him; now for the woman's sake listen to me. i have never wronged your wife by thought or word, leslie, and the greatest indiscretion she was ever guilty of was marrying you." "you have hidden her!" almost screamed the desperate man. "i'll have satisfaction one way if you're too strong for me another. liar, traitor, sed----" geoffrey strode forward before the last word was completed, leslie flung up one hand, but shackleby struck it aside in time, and something that fell from it clinked with a metallic sound. exactly how what followed really happened was never quite certain. leslie, blind with rage, either tripped over his confederate's outstretched foot, or lost his balance, for just as a blaze of light beat upon the group, he staggered, clutched at thurston, and missing him, stepped over the edge of the platform and fell full length between the rails. there was a yell from a man with a lantern and a sudden hoot from the whistle of the big locomotive. savine's face turned white under the glare of the headlight. with a reckless leap geoffrey followed his enemy. only conscious of the man's peril, he acted upon impulse without reflection. "good god! they'll both be killed!" exclaimed shackleby. thurston was strong of limb and every muscle in him had been toughened by strenuous toil, but leslie had struck his head on the rails and lay still, stunned and helpless. the lift was heavy for the man who strove to raise him, and though the brakes screamed along the line of cars the locomotive was almost upon them. standing horrified, and, without power to move, the two spectators saw geoffrey still gripping his enemy's shoulders, heave himself erect in a supreme effort, then the cow-catcher on the engine's front struck them both, and savine felt, rather than heard, a sickening sound as the huge machine swept resistlessly on. afterward he declared that the suspense which followed while the long box-cars rolled by was horrible, for nothing could be seen, and the two men shivered with the uncertainty as to what might be happening beneath the grinding wheels. when the last car passed both leapt down upon the track, and a man joined them holding a lantern aloft. savine stooped over thurston, who lay just clear of the rails, looking strangely limp. "another second would have done it--did i heave him clear?" he gasped. he tried to raise himself by one hand but fell back with a groan. "i guess not," answered a railroad employé, holding the lantern higher, and while two others ran up the tracks, the light fell upon a shapeless, huddled heap. "that one has passed his checks in, certain," the holder of the lantern announced. within ten minutes willing assistants from the tiny settlement were on the spot and stretchers were improvised. savine had bidden the agent telegraph for a doctor, and the two victims were slowly carried towards the new eldorado saloon. when they were gently laid down an elderly miner, familiar with accidents, pointing to thurston after making a hasty examination said: "this one has got his arm broken, collar-bone gone, too, but if there's nothing busted inside he'll come round. the other one has been stone dead since the engine hit him." there were further proffers of help from several of his comrades, who, as usual with their kind, possessed some knowledge of rude surgery. when all that was possible had been done for the living, savine was drawn aside by shackleby. "this is what he dropped on the platform--i picked it up quietly," he said, holding out an ivory-handled revolver. "no use letting any ugly tales get round or raking up that other story, is it? i don't know whether thurston induced leslie's wife to run off or not--from what i have heard of him i hardly think he did--but one may as well let things simmer down gracefully." "i am grateful for your thoughtfulness," replied savine. "probably it is more than he would have done for you. this is hardly the time to discuss such questions, but what has happened can't affect our position. still, personally, i may not feel inclined to push merely vindictive measures against you." "i didn't think it would change matters," said shackleby, with a shrug. "if i should be wanted i'm open to describe the--accident--and let other details slide. the railroad fellows suspect nothing. thurston has made your side a strong one, and in a way i don't blame him. if he had stood in with me, we'd have smashed up your brother completely." chapter xxix a revelation two persons were strangely affected and stirred to unexpected action by the news of thurston's injury, and the first of these was julius savine. it was late next night when his brother's messenger arrived at the ranch, for thomas had thought of nothing but the sufferer's welfare at first, and savine lay, a very frail, wasted figure, dozing by the stove. his sister-in-law sat busy over some netting close at hand. both were startled when a man, who held out a soiled envelope, came in abruptly. savine read the message and tossed the paper across to mrs. savine before he rose shakily to his feet. "i would sooner have heard anything than that geoffrey was badly hurt," he exclaimed with a quaver in his voice. to the chinaman, who brought the stranger in, he gave the order, "get him some supper and tell fontaine i want him at once." "poor geoffrey! we must hope it is not serious," cried mrs. savine with visible distress. "but sit down. you can't help him, and may bring on a seizure by exciting yourself, julius." savine, who did not answer her, remained standing until the hired hand whom he had summoned, entered. "ride your hardest to the camp and tell foreman tom i'm coming over to take charge until mr. thurston, who has met with an accident, recovers," he said. "he's to send a spare horse and a couple of men to help the sleigh over the washed-out trail. come back at your best pace. i must reach the cañon before morning." "are you mad, julius?" asked his sister-in-law when the men retired. "it's even chances the excitement or the journey will kill you." "then i must take the chances," declared savine. "while there was a man i could trust to handle things, i let this weakness master me. now the poor fellow's helpless, somebody must take hold before chaos ensues, and i haven't quite forgotten everything. you'll have to nurse geoffrey, and it's no use trying to scare me. fill my big flask with the old brandy and get my furs out." mrs. savine saw further remonstrance would be useless. she considered her brother-in-law more fit for his grave than to complete a great undertaking, but he was clearly bent on having his way. when she hinted something of her thoughts, he answered that even so he would rather die at work in the cañon than tamely in his bed. so shivering under a load of furs he departed in the sleigh, and after several narrow escapes of an upset, reached the camp in the dusk of a nipping morning. "help me out. mr. thurston, i am sorry to say, has met with a bad accident, and you and i have got to finish this work without him," he said to the anxious foreman. "from what he told me i can count upon your doing the best that's in you, tom." "i won't go back on nothing mr. thurston said," was the quiet answer; but when tom from mattawa left savine, whose nerveless fingers spilled half the contents of the silver cup he strove to fill, gasping beside the stove in thurston's quarters, he gravely shook his head. several days elapsed after helen's departure for vancouver before mrs. savine, who had gone at once to the scene of the accident, considered it judicious to inform her of geoffrey's condition, and so it happened that one evening helen accompanied her hostess to witness the performance of a western dramatic company. despite second-rate acting the play was a pretty one, and each time the curtain went down helen found the combination of bright light, pretty dresses, laughter and merry voices strangely pleasant after her isolation. at times her thoughts would wander back to the ice-bound cañon and the man who had pitted himself against the thundering river in its gloomy depths. perhaps the very contrast between this scene of brightness and luxury and the savage wilderness emphasized the self-abnegation he had shown. she knew now that he had toiled beyond most men's strength, when he might have rested, and casting away what would have insured him a life of ease, had voluntarily chosen an almost hopeless struggle for her sake. few women had been wooed so, she reflected, and then she endeavored to confine her attention to the play, for as yet, though both proud and grateful, she could not admit that she had been won. presently the son of her hostess, who joined the party between the acts, handed her a note. "i am sorry i could not get here before, but found this waiting, and thought i'd better bring it along. i hope it's not a summons of recall," he said. helen opened the envelope, and the hurriedly-written lines grew blurred before her eyes as she read, "i am grieved to say that geoffrey has been seriously injured by an accident. the doctor has, however, some hopes of his recovery, though he won't speak definitely yet. if you can find an intelligent woman in vancouver you could trust to help me nurse him, send her along. didn't write before because----" "what is it? no bad news of your father, i hope," her hostess asked, and the son, a fine type of the young western citizen, noticed the dismay in helen's face as she answered: "nothing has happened to my father. his partner has been badly hurt. i must return to-morrow, and, as it is a tiresome journey, if you will excuse me, i would rather not sit out the play." the young man noticed that helen seemed to shiver, while her voice was strained. he discreetly turned away his head, though he had seen sufficient to show him that certain lately-renewed hopes were vain. "miss savine has not been used to gayety of late, and i warned her she must take it quietly, especially with that ride through the ranges before her. this place is unsufferably hot, and you can trust me to see her safe home, mother," he said. helen's grateful, "thank you!" was reward enough, but it was in an unenviable humor that the young man returned to the theater when she sought refuge in her own room. solitude appeared a vital necessity, for at last helen understood. ever since thurston first limped, footsore and hungry, into her life she had been alternately attracted and repelled by him. his steadfast patience and generosity had almost melted her at times, but from the beginning, circumstances had seemed to conspire against the man, shadowing him with suspicion, and forcing him into opposition to her will. mrs. savine's story had made his unswerving loyalty plain, and helen had begun to see that she would with all confidence trust her life to him; but she was proud, and knowing how she had misjudged him, hesitated still. as long as a word or a smile could bring him to her feet she could postpone the day of reckoning at least until his task was finished, and thus allow him to prove his devotion to the uttermost test. now, however, fate had intervened, tearing away all disguise, and her eyes were opened. she knew that without him the future would be empty, and the revelation stirred every fiber of her being. growing suddenly cold with a shock of fear she remembered that she had perhaps already lost him forever. it might be that another more solemn summons had preceded her own, and that she might call and geoffrey thurston would not hear! he had won his right to rest by work well done, but she--it now seemed that a lifetime would be too short to mourn him. helen shivered at the thought, then she felt as if she were suffocating. turning the light low, she flung the long window open. beyond the electric glare of the city, with its shapeless pile of roofs and towering poles, the mountains rose, serenely majestic, in robes of awful purity. they were beckoning her she felt. the man whom she had learned to love too late lay among them, perhaps with the strong hands that had toiled for her folded in peace at last, and, living or dead, she must go to him. she remembered that the message said,--"hire a capable woman in vancouver," and it brought her a ray of comfort. if the time was not already past she would ask nothing better than to wait on him herself. presently, when there was a hum of voices below, helen, white of face but steady in nerves, descended to meet her hostess. "i must go back to-morrow, and as it is a fatiguing journey you will not mind my retiring early," she said to excuse her absence from the supper party that was assembled after the play. on reaching the railroad settlement helen found the doctor in charge of thurston willing to avail himself of her assistance. the physician had barely held his own in several encounters with her aunt, whom he suspected of endeavoring to administer unauthorized preparations to his patient, while on her part mrs. savine freely admitted that at her age she could not sit up all night forever. so helen was installed, and it was midnight when she commenced her first watch. "you will call me at once if the patient wakes complaining of any pain," said the surgeon. "do i think he is out of danger? well, he is very weak yet, my dear young lady, but if you will carry out my orders, i fancy we may hope for the best. but you must remember that a nurse's chief qualifications are presence of mind and a perfect serenity." "i will not fail you," promised helen, choking back a sob of relief; and, trusting that the doctor did not see her quivering face, she added softly, "heaven is merciful!" she had been prepared for a change, but she was startled at the sight of thurston. he lay with blanched patches in the paling bronze on his face, which had grown hollow and lined by pain. still he was sleeping soundly, and did not move when she bent over him. she stooped further and touched his forehead with her lips, rose with the hot blood pulsing upwards from her neck, and stood trembling, while, either dreaming or stirred by some influence beyond man's knowledge, the sleeper smiled, murmuring, "helen!" it was daylight when thurston awakened, and stared as if doubtful of his senses at his new nurse, until, approaching the frame of canvas whereon he lay, helen, with a gentle touch, caressingly brushed the hair from his forehead. "i have come to help you to get better. we cannot spare you, geoffrey," she said simply. the sick man asked no question nor betrayed further astonishment. he looked up gratefully into the eyes which met his own for a moment and grew downcast again. "then i shall certainly cheat the doctors yet," he declared. under the circumstances his words were distinctly commonplace, but speech is not the sole means of communion between mind and mind, and for the present both were satisfied. helen laughed and blushed happily when, as by an after thought, geoffrey added, "it is really very kind of you." "you must not talk," she admonished with a half-shy assumption of authority, strangely at variance with her former demeanor. "i shall call in my aunt with the elixir if you do." geoffrey smiled, but the brightness of his countenance was not accounted for by his answer: "i believe she has treated me with it once or twice already, and i still survive. in fact, i am inclined to think the doctor caught her red-handed on one occasion, and there was trouble." after that geoffrey recovered vigor rapidly, and the days passed quickly for helen as she watched over him in the dilapidated frame house to which he had been removed after the accident. no word of love passed between them, nor was any word necessary. the man, still weak and languid, appeared blissfully contented to enjoy the present, and helen, who was glad to see him do so, abided her time. meanwhile, supported by sheer force of will and a nervous exaltation, that would vanish utterly when the need for it ceased, julius savine, leaning on his foreman's arm, or sitting propped up in a rude jumper sleigh, directed operations in the cañon. he knew he was consuming the vitality that might purchase another few years' life in as many weeks of effort, but he desired only to see the work finished, and was satisfied to pay the price. he slept little and scarcely ate, holding on to his work with desperate purpose and living on cordials. though progress was much slower than it would have been under geoffrey's direction, he accomplished that purpose. one afternoon thomas savine entered the sick man's room in a state of complacent satisfaction. "glad to see you getting ahead so fast, and you must hurry, for we'll want you soon," he said. "the great charge is to be fired the day after to-morrow. shackleby, who was at the bottom of the whole opposition, has cleared out with considerable expedition. sold all his stock in the company, and if his colleagues knew much about his doings, which is quite possible, they emphatically disown them. as a result i've made one or two good provisional deals with them, and expect no more trouble. in short, everything points to a great success." when savine went out geoffrey beckoned helen to him. "i am getting so well that you must leave me to your aunt to-morrow," he said. "you remember your promise to fire the decisive charge for me, and i hope when you see it you will approve of the electric firing key. tell your father i owe more to him than the doctor, for i should have worried myself beyond the reach of physic if he had not been there to take charge instead of me--that is to say, before you came to cure me." "i will go," agreed helen, with signs of suppressed agitation that puzzled geoffrey. she knew that after that charge had been fired their present relations, pleasant as they were, could not continue. it appeared to her the climax to which all he had dared and suffered, and with a humility that was yet akin to pride she had determined, in reparation, voluntarily to offer him that which, whether victorious or defeated otherwise, he had with infinite patience and loyal service won. it was early one clear cold morning when helen savine stood on a little plank platform perched high in a hollow of the rock walls overhanging the river opposite thurston's camp. each detail of the scene burned itself into her memory as she gazed about her under a tense expectancy--the rift of blue sky between the filigree of dark pines high above, the rush of white-streaked water thundering down the gorge below and frothing high about the massive boulders, and one huge fang of promontory which a touch of her finger would, if all went well, reduce to chaotic débris. groups of workmen waited on the opposite side of the flood, all staring towards her expectantly, and thomas savine stood close by holding an insignificant box with wires attached to it, in a hand that was not quite steady. tom from mattawa sat perched upon a spire of rock holding up a furled flag, and her father leaned heavily upon the rails of the staging. no one spoke or stirred, and in spite of the roar of hurrying water a deep oppressive silence seemed to brood over cañon and camp. "this is the key," said thomas savine. "it is some notion of geoffrey's, and he had it made especially in toronto. you fit it in here." helen glanced at the diminutive object before she took the box. the finger grip had been fashioned out of a dollar cut clean across bearing two dates engraved upon it. the first, it flashed upon her, was the one on which she had given the worn-out man that very coin, while the other had evidently been added more recently, with less skill, by some camp artificer. "it's to-day," said thomas savine following her eyes, and helen noticed that his voice was strained. "geoffrey told me to get it done. quaint idea; don't know what it means. but put us out of suspense. we're all waiting." helen knew what the dates meant, and appreciated the delicate compliment. it was she who had started the daring contractor on his career who was to complete his triumph, and she drew a deep breath as she looked down into the thundering gorge realizing it was a great fight he had won. human courage and dogged endurance, inspired by him, had mocked at the might of the river, and, blasting a new pathway for it through the adamantine heart of the hills, would roll back the barren waters from a good land that the stout of heart and arm might enter in. swamps would give place to wheat fields, orchards blossom where willow swale had been, herds of cattle fatten on the levels of the lake, and the smoke of prosperous homesteads drift across dark forests where, for centuries, the wolf and deer had roamed undisturbed. that was one aspect only, but she knew the man who loved her had won a greater triumph over his own nature and others' passions and infirmities. it was with a thrill of pride that the girl realized all that he had done for her, and yet for a few seconds she almost shrank from the responsibility as high above the waiting men the stood with slender fingers tightening upon the key. the issues of what must follow its turning would be momentous, for it flashed upon her that the tiny combination of copper and silver might, with equal chance, open the way to a golden future or let in overwhelming disaster upon all she loved. then the doubt appeared an injustice to geoffrey thurston and those who had followed him through frost and flood and whirling snow, and, with a color on her forehead, and a light in her eyes, she pressed home the key. then there was bustle and hurry. julius savine raised his hand, and tom from mattawa whirled high the unfurled flag. somebody beat upon an iron sheet invisible below and the strip of beach in the depths of the cañon became alive with running men. next followed a deep stillness intensified by the clamor of the river which would never raise the same wild harmonies again, for the slender hand of a woman had bound it fast henceforward under man's dominion. the hush was ended suddenly. for a second the great hollow seemed filled with tongues of flame; then, while thick smoke quenched them and crag and boulder crumbled to fragments, a stunning detonation rang from rock to rock and rolled upwards into the frozen silence of untrodden hills. huge masses which eddied and whirled, filling the gorge with the crash of their descent leaped out of the vapor; there was a ceaseless shock and patter of smaller fragments, and then, while long reverberations rolled among the hills, the roar of the tortured river drowned the mingled din. rising, tremendous in its last revolt, its majestic diapason was deepened by the boom of grinding rock and the detonation of boulders reduced to powder. the draught caused by the water's passage fanned the smoke away, and the blue vapor, curling higher, drifted past the staging, so that helen could only dimly see a great muddy wave foam down the cañon, bursting here and there into gigantic upheavals of spray. she watched it, held silent, awe-stricken, by the sound and sight. at last mattawa tom appeared again, and his voice was faintly audible through the dying clamors as he waved his hands: "juss gorgeous. gone way better than the best we hoped," he hailed. his comrades heard and answered. they were not mere hirelings toiling for a daily wage, but men who had a stake in that region's future, and would share its prosperity, and, had it been otherwise, they were human still. toiling long with stubborn patience, often in imminent peril of life and limb; winning ground as it were by inches, and sometimes barely holding what they had won; fulfilling their race's destiny to subdue and people the waste places of the earth with the faith which, when aided by modern science, is greater than the mountains' immobility, they too rejoiced fervently over the consummation of the struggle. twice a roar that was scarcely articulate filled the cañon, and then, growing into the expression of definite thought, it flung upward their leader's name. helen listened, breathless, intoxicated as by wine. julius savine stood upright with no trace of weakness in his attitude. then suddenly he seemed to shrink together, and, with the power gone out of him, caught at the rails as he turned to his daughter. "we have won! it is geoffrey's doing, and my last task is done," he spoke in a voice that sounded faint and far-away. "fast horses and bold riders i can trust you, too, are waiting. tell him!" helen noticed a strange wistfulness in her father's glance, but she asked no question and turned to thomas savine. "i leave him in your charge. i will go," she said. that afternoon passed very slowly for geoffrey. he lay near a window, which he insisted should be opened, glancing alternately at his watch and the trail that wound down the hillside as the minutes crept by. he was hardly civil to the doctor, and almost abrupt with mrs. savine, who, knowing his anxiety, straightway forgave him. "you tell me i must avoid excitement and await the news with composure. for heaven's sake, man, be reasonable. you might as well recommend your next moribund victim to get up and take exercise," he grumbled to the physician. but the longest afternoon passes at length, and when the sunset glories flamed in the western sky, and the great peaks put on fading splendors of saffron and crimson, three black moving objects became visible on a hill-crest bare of the climbing firs. geoffrey watched them with straining eyes, and it was a wonderful picture that he looked upon--black gorge, darkening forest, drifting haze in the hollows, and unearthly splendors above; but he regarded it only as a fit setting for the slight figure in the foreground that swayed to the stride of a galloping horse. he was not surprised--it seemed perfectly appropriate that helen should bring him the news--though his fingers trembled and his lips twitched. "we shall know the best or worst in five minutes. you have done your utmost, doctor, but i'll get up and annihilate you with your own bottles if you give me good advice now," he said, and the surgeon, seeing protests were useless, laughed. mrs. savine said nothing. she was in a state of nervous tension, too, and merely laid her hand on the patient, restrainingly, as he strove with small success to raise himself a little. meantime the horse came nearer, its bridle dripping with flakes of spume. its rider was sprinkled with snow and her skirt was besmeared with lather, but she came on at a gallop until she reined in the panting horse beneath the window, and flinging one arm aloft sat in the saddle with her flushed face turned towards the watchers. no bearer of good tidings ever appeared more beautiful to an anxious man. "it is triumph!" she cried. "thank god!" answered mrs. savine, who slipped quietly from the room. little time elapsed before helen entered the room where geoffrey impatiently waited for her, but brief as it was, there was no sign of hurried travel about her. her apparel was fresh and dainty, and there was even a flower from mexico at her belt. she went straight to geoffrey and bent over him. "all has gone well--better, i understand, than you even hoped for, and you have done a great thing, geoffrey," she said. "you have saved me my inheritance--which is of small importance--and--i know all now--my father's honor. you have repaid him tenfold, and gratified his heart's desire." "then i am thankful," answered geoffrey very quietly. he lay still a moment looking at her with a great longing in his eyes. helen was very beautiful, more beautiful even than usual, it seemed to him. he did not guess that she had an offering to make, and for the sake of the man at whose feet she would lay it, would not even so far as trifles went, depreciate the gift, hence her careful attire. helen's eyes fell beneath his gaze. she discerned what he was thinking, and, though the words "heart's desire" were accidental, there was no mistaking the suggestion. she said slowly: "i have been unjust, proud and willful--and i am going to do full penance. you have surely the gift of prophecy. do you remember your last bold prediction?" geoffrey's lip twitched. he strove to raise himself that he might see the speaker more clearly, and, still almost helpless in his bandages, slipped back again. helen slipped her hand into his. "i have come to beg you not to go away." "there is one thing that would prevent me." geoffrey, bewildered, seemed to lose his usual crispness of speech, but helen checked him. "therefore," and helen's voice was very low, while surging upwards from her neck a swift wave of color flushed cheek and brow. "i have come of my own will to say what you asked of me. you have loved and served me faithfully, and it is not gratitude--only--which prompts me now." there was a space in which helen caught her breath. then she lifted her head, and said proudly: "geoffrey thurston--i love you." popular copyright books at moderate prices any of the following titles can be bought of your bookseller at the price you paid for this volume alternative, the. by george barr mccutcheon. angel of forgiveness, the. by rosa n. carey. angel of pain, the. by e. f. benson. annals of ann, the. by kate trimble sharber. battle ground, the. by ellen glasgow. beau brocade. by baroness orczy. beechy. by bettina von hutten. bella donna. by robert hichens. betrayal, the. by e. phillips oppenheim, bill toppers, the. by andre castaigne. butterfly man, the. by george barr mccutcheon. cab no. . by r. f. foster. calling of dan matthews, the. by harold bell wright. cape cod stories. by joseph c. lincoln. challoners, the. by e. f. benson. city of six, the. by c. l. canfield. conspirators, the. by robert w. chambers. dan merrithew. by lawrence perry. day of the dog, the. by george barr mccutcheon. depot master, the. by joseph c. lincoln. derelicts. by william j. locke. diamonds cut paste. by agnes & egerton castle. early bird, the. by george randolph chester. eleventh hour, the. by david potter. elizabeth in rugen. by the author of elizabeth and her german garden. flying mercury, the. by eleanor m. ingram. gentleman, the. by alfred ollivant. girl who won, the. by beth ellis. going some. by rex beach. hidden water. by dane coolidge. honor of the big snows, the. by james oliver curwood. hopalong cassidy. by clarence e. mulford. house of the whispering pines, the. by anna katherine green. imprudence of prue, the. by sophie fisher. in the service of the princess. by henry c. rowland. island of regeneration, the. by cyrus townsend brady. lady of big shanty, the. by berkeley f. smith. lady merton, colonist. by mrs. humphrey ward. lord loveland discovers america. by c. n. & a. m. williamson. love the judge. by wymond carey. man outside, the. by wyndham martyn. marriage of theodora, the. by molly elliott seawell. my brother's keeper. by charles tenny jackson. my lady of the south. by randall parrish. paternoster ruby, the. by charles edmonds walk. politician, the. by edith huntington mason. pool of flame, the. by louis joseph vance. poppy. by cynthia stockley. redemption of kenneth galt, the. by will n. harben. rejuvenation of aunt mary, the. by anna warner. road to providence, the. by maria thompson davies. romance of a plain man, the. by ellen glasgow. running fight, the. by wm. hamilton osborne. septimus. by william j. locke. silver horde, the. by rex beach. spirit trail, the. by kate & virgil d. boyles. stanton wins. by eleanor m. ingram. stolen singer, the. by martha bellinger. three brothers, the. by eden phillpotts. thurston of orchard valley. by harold bindloss. title market, the. by emily post. vigilante girl, a. by jerome hart. village of vagabonds, a. by f. berkeley smith. wanted--a chaperon. by paul leicester ford. wanted: a matchmaker. by paul leicester ford. watchers of the plains, the. by ridgwell cullum. white sister, the. by marion crawford. window at the white cat, the. by mary roberts rinehart. woman in question, the. by john reed scott. popular copyright books at moderate prices any of the following titles can be bought of your bookseller at the price you paid for this volume anna the adventuress. by e. phillips oppenheim. ann boyd. by will n. harben. at the moorings. by rosa n. carey. by right of purchase. by harold bindloss. carlton case, the. by ellery h. clark. chase of the golden plate. by jacques futrelle. cash intrigue, the. by george randolph chester. delafield affair, the. by florence finch kelly. dominant dollar, the. by will lillibridge. elusive pimpernel, the. by baroness orczy. ganton & co. by arthur j. eddy. gilbert neal. by will n. harben. girl and the bill, the. by bannister merwin. girl from his town, the. by marie van vorst. glass house, the. by florence morse kingsley. highway of fate, the. by rosa n. carey. homesteaders, the. by kate and virgil d. boyles. husbands of edith, the. george barr mccutcheon. inez. (illustrated ed.) by augusta j. evans. into the primitive. by robert ames bennet. jack spurlock, prodigal. by horace lorimer. jude the obscure. by thomas hardy. king spruce. by holman day. kingsmead. by bettina von hutten. ladder of swords, a. by gilbert parker. lorimer of the northwest. by harold bindloss. lorraine. by robert w. chambers. loves of miss anne, the. by s. r. crockett. marcaria. by augusta j. evans. mam' linda. by will n. harben. maids of paradise, the. by robert w. chambers. man in the corner, the. by baroness orczy. marriage a la mode. by mrs. humphry ward. master mummer, the. by e. phillips oppenheim. much ado about peter. by jean webster. old, old story, the. by rosa n. carey. pardners. by rex beach. patience of john moreland, the. by mary dillon. paul anthony, christian. by hiram w. hays. prince of sinners, a. by e. phillips oppenheim. prodigious hickey, the. by owen johnson. red mouse, the. by william hamilton osborne. refugees, the. by a. conan doyle. round the corner in gay street. grace s. richmond. rue: with a difference. by rosa n. carey. set in silver. by c. n. and a. m. williamson. st. elmo. by augusta j. evans. silver blade, the. by charles e. walk. spirit in prison, a. by robert hichens. strawberry handkerchief, the. by amelia e. barr. tess of the d'urbervilles. by thomas hardy. uncle william. by jennette lee. way of a man, the. by emerson hough. whirl, the. by foxcroft davis. with juliet in england. by grace s. richmond. yellow circle, the. by charles e. walk. none patience wins; or, war in the works, by george manville fenn. ________________________________________________________________________ the boy hero of the book, his father and his three uncles live in canonbury, london, and run a factory in bermondsey, the other side of the thames in london. but they feel they need to expand, and they buy a steel working business in the north of england. here they try to introduce various profitable practices, such as improved methods for working the steel, and various ingenious and new items of factory equipment. but these new ideas are objected-to by the trades unions, and the despicable behaviour of the work-force is due to this attitude. all sorts of the most dreadful and wicked deeds are perpetrated, and unpleasant things are done to the few workmen who seem to be coming round to sense. the uncles reflect on how much more amenable and sensible a london workforce would have been in the same circumstances. but eventually various incidents occur in which it can be seen what excellent people the hero and his uncles really are, and the whole town starts to welcome them. hence the title of the book--"patience wins". it's not a long book, but there is plenty of action. it is not in the general tradition of manville fenn books, but it is a very good read. ________________________________________________________________________ patience wins; or, war in the works, by george manville fenn. chapter one. a family council. "i say, uncle dick, do tell me what sort of a place it is." "oh, you'll see when you get there!" "uncle jack, you tell me then; what's it like?" "like! what, arrowfield? ask uncle bob." "there, uncle bob, i'm to ask you. do tell me what sort of a place it is?" "get out, you young nuisance!" "what a shame!" i said. "here are you three great clever men, who know all about it; you've been down half a dozen times, and yet you won't answer a civil question when you are asked." i looked in an ill-used way at my three uncles, as they sat at the table covered with papers; and except that one would be a little darker than the other, i could not help thinking how very much they were alike, and at the same time like my father, only that he had some grey coming at the sides of his head. they were all big fine-looking men between thirty and forty, stern enough when they were busy, but wonderfully good-tempered and full of fun when business was over; and i'm afraid they spoiled me. when, as i say, business was over, they were ready for anything with me, and though i had a great feeling of reverence, almost dread, for my father, my three big uncles always seemed to me like companions, and they treated me as if i were their equal. cricket! ah! many's the game we've had together. they'd take me fishing, and give me the best pitch, and see that i caught fish if they did not. tops, marbles, kite-flying, football; insect and egg collecting; geology, botany, chemistry; they were at home with all, and i shared in the game or pursuit as eagerly as they. i've known the time when they'd charge into the room at canonbury, where i was busy with the private tutor--for i did not go to school--with "mr headley, mr russell would like to speak to you;" and as soon as he had left the room, seize hold of me, and drag me out of my chair with, "come along, cob: work's closed for the day. _country_!" then away we'd go for a delicious day's collecting, or something of the kind. they used to call it slackening their bands, and mine. time had glided on very happily till i was sixteen, and there was some talk of my being sent to a great engineer's establishment for five or six years to learn all i could before being taken on at our own place in bermondsey, where russell and company carried on business, and knocked copper and brass and tin about, and made bronze, and gun-metal, and did a great deal for other firms with furnaces, and forges, and steam-engines, wheels, and lathes. my father was "russell"--alexander--and uncle dick, uncle jack, and uncle bob were "company." the business, as i say, was in bermondsey, but we lived together and didn't live together at canonbury. that sounds curious, but i'll explain:--we had two houses next door to each other. captain's quarters, and the barracks. my father's house was the captain's quarters, where i lived with my mother and sister. the next door, where my uncles were, they called the barracks, where they had their bedrooms and sitting-room; but they took all their meals at our table. as i said before things had gone on very happily till i was sixteen--a big sturdy ugly boy. uncle dick said i was the ugliest boy he knew. uncle jack said i was the most stupid. uncle bob said i was the most ignorant. but we were the best of friends all the same. and now after a great deal of discussion with my father, and several visits, my three uncles were seated at the table, and i had asked them about arrowfield, and you have read their answers. i attacked them again. "oh, i say," i cried, "don't talk to a fellow as if he were a little boy! come, uncle dick, what sort of a place is arrowfield?" "land of fire." "oh!" i cried. "is it, uncle jack?" "land of smoke." "land of fire and smoke!" i cried excitedly. "uncle bob, are they making fun of me?" "land of noise, and gloom, and fog," said uncle bob. "a horrible place in a hole." "and are we going there?" "don't know," said uncle bob. "wait and see." they went on with their drawings and calculations, and i sat by the fire in the barrack room, that is, in their sitting-room, trying to read, but with my head in a whirl of excitement about arrowfield, when my father came in, laid his hand on my head, and turned to my uncles. "well, boys," he said, "how do you bring it in? what's to be done?" "sit down, and let's settle it, alick," said uncle dick, leaning back and spreading his big beard all over his chest. "ah, do!" cried uncle jack, rubbing his curly head. "once and for all," said uncle bob, drawing his chair forward, stooping down, taking up his left leg and holding it across his right knee. my father drew forward an easy-chair, looking very serious, and resting his hand on the back before sitting down, he said without looking at me: "go to your mother and sister, jacob." i rose quickly, but with my forehead wrinkling all over, and i turned a pitiful look on my three uncles. "what are you going to send him away for?" said uncle dick. "because this is not boys' business." "oh, nonsense!" said uncle jack. "he'll be as interested in it as we are." "yes, let him stop and hear," said uncle bob. "very good. i'm agreeable," said my father. "sit down, jacob." i darted a grateful look at my uncles, spreading it round so that they all had a glance, and dropped back into my seat. "well," said my father, "am i to speak?" "yes." this was in chorus; and my father sat thinking for a few minutes, during which i exchanged looks and nods with my uncles, all of which was very satisfactory. "well," said my father at last, "to put it in short, plain english, we four have each our little capital embarked in our works." here there were three nods. "we've all tried everything we knew to make the place a success, but year after year goes by and we find ourselves worse off. in three more bad years we shall be ruined." "and jacob will have to set to work and keep us all," said uncle dick. my father looked round at me and nodded, smiling sadly, and i could see that he was in great trouble. "here is our position, then, boys: grandison and company are waiting for our answer in bermondsey. they'll buy everything as it stands at a fair valuation; that's one half. the other is: the agents at arrowfield are waiting also for our answer about the works to let there." here he paused for a few moments and then went on: "we must look the matter full in the face. if we stay as we are the trade is so depreciating that we shall be ruined. if we go to arrowfield we shall have to begin entirely afresh; to fight against a great many difficulties; the workmen there are ready to strike, to turn upon you and destroy." uncle dick made believe to spit in his hands. "to commit outrages." uncle jack tucked up his sleeves. "and ratten and blow up." uncle bob half took off his coat. "in short, boys, we shall have a terribly hard fight; but there is ten times the opening there, and we may make a great success. that is our position, in short," said my father. "what do you say?" my three uncles looked hard at him and then at one another, seemed to read each other's eyes, and turned back to him. "you're oldest, alick, and head of the firm," said uncle dick; "settle it." "no," said my father, "it shall be settled by you three." "i know what i think," said uncle jack; "but i'd rather you'd say." "my mind's made up," said uncle bob, "but i don't want to be speaker. you settle it, alick." "no," said my father; "i have laid the case before you three, who have equal stakes in the risk, and you shall settle the matter." there was a dead silence in the room, which was so still that the sputtering noise made by the big lamp and the tinkle of a few cinders that fell from the fire sounded painfully loud. they looked at each other, but no one spoke, till uncle dick had fidgeted about in his chair for some time, and then, giving his big beard a twitch, he bent forward. i heard my other uncles sigh as if they were relieved, and they sat back farther in their seats listening for what uncle dick, who was the eldest, might wish to say. "look here," he cried at last. everybody did look there, but saw nothing but uncle dick, who kept tugging at one lock of his beard, as if that was the string that would let loose a whole shower-bath of words. "well!" he said, and there was another pause. "here," he cried, as if seized by a sudden fit of inspiration, "let's hear what cob has to say." "bravo! hear, hear, hear!" cried my two uncles in chorus, and uncle dick smiled and nodded and looked as if he felt highly satisfied with himself; while i, with a face that seemed to be all on fire, jumped up excitedly and cried: "let's all go and begin again." "that's it--that settles it," cried uncle bob. "yes, yes," said uncle dick and uncle jack. "he's quite right. we'll go." then all three beat upon the table with book and pencil and compasses, and cried, "hear, hear, hear!" while i shrank back into my chair, and felt half ashamed of myself as i glanced at my father and wondered whether he was angry on account of what i had proposed. "that is settled then," he said quietly. "jacob has been your spokesman; and now let me add my opinion that you have taken the right course. what i propose is this, that one of us stays and carries on the business here till the others have got the arrowfield affair in full swing. who will stay?" there was no answer. "shall i?" said my father. "yes, if you will," they chorused. "very good," said my father. "i am glad to do so, for that will give me plenty of time to make arrangements for jacob here." "but he must go with us," said uncle dick. "yes, of course," said uncle jack. "couldn't go without him." "but his education as an engineer?" "now, look here, alick," said uncle dick, "don't you think he'll learn as much with us down at the new works as in any london place?" my father sat silent and thoughtful, while i watched the play of his countenance and trembled as i saw how he was on the balance. for it would have been terrible to me to have gone away now just as a new life of excitement and adventure was opening out. "do you really feel that you would like jacob to go with you?" said my father at last. there was a unanimous "yes!" at this, and my heart gave a jump. "well, then," said my father, "he shall go." that settled the business, except a general shaking of hands, for we were all delighted, little thinking, in our innocence, of the troubles, the perils, and the dangers through which we should have to go. chapter two. a fiery place. no time was lost. the agreements were signed, and uncle dick packed up his traps, as he called them, that is to say, his books, clothes, and models and contrivances, so as to go down at once, take possession of the works, and get apartments for us. i should have liked to go with him, but i had to stay for another week, and then, after a hearty farewell, we others started, my father, mother, and sister seeing us off by rail; and until i saw the trees, hedges, and houses seeming to fly by me i could hardly believe that we were really on our way. of course i felt a little low-spirited at leaving home, and i was a little angry with myself for seeming to be so glad to get away from those who had been so patient and kind, but i soon found myself arguing that it would have been just the same if i had left home only to go to some business place in london. still i was looking very gloomy when uncle jack clapped me on the shoulder, and asked me if i didn't feel like beginning to be a man. "no," i said sadly, as i looked out of the window at the flying landscape, so that he should not see my face. "i feel more as if i was beginning to be a great girl." "nonsense!" said uncle bob; "you're going to be a man now, and help us." "am i?" said i sadly. "to be sure you are. there, put that gloomy face in your pocket and learn geography." they both chatted to me, and i felt a little better, but anything but cheerful, for it was my first time of leaving home. i looked at the landscape, and the towns and churches we passed, but nothing seemed to interest me till, well on in my journey, i saw a sort of wooden tower close to the line, with a wheel standing half out of the top. there was an engine-house close by--there was no doubt about it, for i could see the puffs of white steam at the top, and a chimney. there was a great mound of black slate and rubbish by the end; but even though the railway had a siding close up to it, and a number of trucks were standing waiting, i did not realise what the place was till uncle jack said: "first time you've seen a coal-pit, eh?" "is that a coal-pit?" i said, looking at the place more eagerly. "those are the works. of course you can't see the shaft, because that's only like a big square well." "but i thought it would be a much more interesting place," i said. "interesting enough down below; but of course there is nothing to see at the top but the engine, cage, and mouth of the shaft." that brightened me up at once. there was something to think about in connection with a coal-mine--the great deep shaft, the cage going up and down, the miners with their safety-lamps and picks. i saw it all in imagination as we dashed by another and another mine. then i began to think about the accidents of which i had read; when men unfastened their wire-gauze lamps, so that they might do that which was forbidden in a mine, smoke their pipes. the match struck or the opened lamp set fire to the gas, when there was an awful explosion, and after that the terrible dangers of the after-damp, that fearful foul air which no man could breathe for long and live. there were hundreds of thoughts like this to take my attention as we raced on by the fast train till, to my surprise, i found that it was getting dark, and the day had passed. "here we are close to it," said uncle jack; "look, my lad." i gazed out of the window on our right as the train glided on, to see the glare as of a city on fire: the glow of a dull red flickered and danced upon the dense clouds that overhung the place. tall chimneys stood up like black stakes or posts set up in the reflection of open furnace doors. here a keen bright light went straight up through the smoke with the edges exactly defined--here it was a sharp glare, there a dull red glow, and everywhere there seemed to be fire and reflection, and red or golden smoke mingled with a dull throbbing booming sound, which, faintly heard at first, grew louder and louder as the train slackened speed, and the pant and pulsation of the engine ceased. "isn't something dreadful the matter?" i said, as i gazed excitedly from the window. "matter!" said uncle jack laughing. "yes, isn't the place on fire? look! look! there there!" i pointed to a fierce glare that seemed to reach up into the sky, cutting the dense cloud like millions of golden arrows shot from some mighty engine all at once. "yes, i see, old fellow," said uncle jack. "they have just tapped a furnace, and the molten metal is running into the moulds, that's all." "but the whole town looks as if it were in a blaze," i said nervously. "so did our works sometimes, didn't they? well, here we are in a town where there are hundreds upon hundreds of works ten times as big as ours. nearly everybody is either forging, or casting, or grinding. the place is full of steam-engines, while the quantity of coal that is burnt here every day must be prodigious. aha! here's uncle dick." he had caught sight of us before we saw him, and threw open the carriage-door ready to half haul us out, as he shook hands as if we had not met for months. "that's right," he cried. "i _am_ glad you've come. i've a cab waiting. here, porter, lay hold of this baggage. well, cob, what do you think of arrowfield?" "looks horrible," i said in the disappointed tones of one who is tired and hungry. "yes, outside," said uncle dick; "but wait till you see the inside." uncle dick was soon standing in what he called the inside of arrowfield--that is to say the inside of the comfortable furnished lodgings he had taken right up a hill, where, over a cosy tea-table with hot country cakes and the juiciest of hot mutton chops, i soon forgot the wearisome nature of our journey, and the dismal look of the town. "eat away, my boys," cried uncle dick. "yeat, as they call it here. the place is all right; everything ready for work, and we'll set to with stout hearts, and make up for lost time." "when do we begin, uncle--to-morrow?" "no, no: not till next monday morning. to-morrow we'll have a look over the works, and then we'll idle a bit--have a few runs into the country round, and see what it's like." "black dismal place," i said dolefully. "says he's tired out and wants to go to bed," said uncle jack, giving his eye a peculiar cock at his brothers. "i didn't," i cried. "not in words, my fine fellow, but you looked it." "then i won't look so again," i cried. "i say, don't talk to me as if i were a little boy to be sent to bed." "well, you're not a man yet, cob. is he, boys?" uncle dick was in high spirits, and he took up a candle and held it close to my cheek. "what's the matter?" i said. "is it black? i shouldn't wonder." "not a bit, cob," he said seriously. "you can't even see a bit of the finest down growing." "oh, i say," i cried, "it's too bad! i don't pretend to be a man at sixteen; but now i've come down here to help you in the new works, you oughtn't to treat me as if i were a little boy." "avast joking!" said uncle dick quietly, for the comely landlady came in to clear away the tea-things, and she had just finished when there was a double knock at the front door. we heard it opened, and a deep voice speaking, and directly after the landlady came in with a card. "mr tomplin, gentlemen," she said. "he's at the door, and i was to say that if it was inconvenient for you to see him to-night, perhaps you would call at his office when you were down the town." "oh, ask him in, mrs stephenson," cried uncle dick; and as she left the room--"it's the solicitor to whom i brought the letter of introduction from the bank." it was a short dark man in black coat and waistcoat and pepper-and-salt trousers who was shown in. he had little sharp eyes that seemed to glitter. so did his hair, which was of light-grey, and stood up all over his head as if it was on white fire. he had not a particle of hair on his face, which looked as if he was a very good customer to the barber. he shook hands very heartily with all of us, nodding pleasantly the while; and when he sat down he took out a brown-and-yellow silk handkerchief and blew his nose like a horn. "welcome to yorkshire, gentlemen!" he said. "my old friends at the bank send me a very warm letter of recommendation about you, and i'm at your service. professional consultations at the usual fee, six and eight or thirteen and four, according to length. friendly consultations--thank you, i'm much obliged. this is a friendly consultation. now what can i do for you?" he looked round at us all, and i felt favourably impressed. so did my uncles, as uncle dick answered for all. "nothing at present, sir. by and by we shall be glad to come to you for legal and friendly advice too." "that's right," said mr tomplin. "you've taken the rivulet works, i hear." "yes, down there by the stream." "what are you going to do?--carry on the old forging and grinding?" "oh, dear, no!" said uncle dick. "we are going in for odds and ends, sir. to introduce, i hope, a good many improvements in several branches of the trades carried on here, principally in forging." mr tomplin drew in his lips and filled his face with wrinkles. "going to introduce new inventions, eh?" he said. "yes, sir, but only one at a time," said uncle jack. "and have you brought a regiment of soldiers with you, gentlemen?" "brought a what?" said uncle bob, laughing. "regiment of soldiers, sir, and a company of artillerymen with a couple of guns." "ha! ha! ha!" laughed uncle dick, showing his white teeth. "mr tomplin means to besiege arrowfield." "no, i don't, my dear sir. i mean to turn your works into a fort to defend yourselves against your enemies." "my dear sir," said uncle jack, "we haven't an enemy in the world." "not at the present moment, sir, i'll be bound," said mr tomplin, taking snuff, and then blowing his nose so violently that i wondered he did not have an accident with it and split the sides. "not at the present moment, gentlemen; but as soon as it is known that you are going to introduce new kinds of machinery, our enlightened townsmen will declare you are going to take the bread out of their mouths and destroy everything you make." "take the bread out of their mouths, my dear mr tomplin!" said uncle jack. "why, what we do will put bread in their mouths by making more work." "of course it will, my dear sirs." "then why should they interfere?" "because of their ignorance, gentlemen. they won't see it. take my advice: there's plenty to be done by clever business men. start some steady manufacture to employ hands as the work suggests. only use present-day machinery if you wish to be at peace." "we do wish to be at peace, mr tomplin," said uncle bob; "but we do not mean to let a set of ignorant workmen frighten us out of our projects." "hear, hear!" said uncle dick and uncle jack; and i put in a small "hear" at the end. "well, gentlemen, i felt it to be my duty to tell you," said mr tomplin, taking more snuff and making more noise. "you will have attacks made upon you to such an extent that you had better be in the bush in queensland among the blacks." "but not serious attacks?" said uncle jack. "attempts to frighten us?" "attempts to frighten you! well, you may call them that," said mr tomplin; "but there have been two men nearly beaten to death with sticks, one factory set on fire, and two gunpowder explosions during the past year. take my advice, gentlemen, and don't put yourself in opposition to the workmen if you are going to settle down here." he rose, shook hands, and went away, leaving us looking at each other across the table. "cheerful place arrowfield seems to be," said uncle dick. "promises to be lively," said uncle jack. "what do you say, cob?" cried uncle bob. "shall we give up, be frightened, and run away like dogs with our tails between our legs?" "no!" i cried, thumping the table with my fist. "i wouldn't be frightened out of anything i felt to be right." "bravo! bravo! bravo!" cried my uncles. "at least i don't think i would," i said. "perhaps i really am a coward after all." "well," said uncle dick, "i don't feel like giving up for such a thing as this. i'd sooner buy pistols and guns and fight. it can't be so bad as the old gentleman says. he's only scaring us. there, it's ten o'clock; you fellows are tired, and we want to breakfast early and go and see the works, so let's get to bed." we were far enough out of the smoke for our bedrooms to be beautifully white and sweet, and i was delighted with mine, as i saw what a snug little place it was. i said "good-night!" and had shut my door, when, going to my window, i drew aside the blind, and found that i was looking right down upon the town. "oh!" i ejaculated, and i ran out to the next room, which was uncle dick's. "look!" i cried. "now you'll believe me. the town is on fire." he drew up the blind, and threw up his window, when we both looked down at what seemed to be the dying out of a tremendous conflagration--dying out, save in one place, where there was a furious rush of light right up into the air, with sparks flying and flickering tongues of flame darting up and sinking down again, while the red and tawny-yellow smoke rolled away. "on fire, cob!" he said quietly. "yes, the town's on fire, but in the proper way. arrowfield is a fiery place--all furnaces. there's nothing the matter, lad." "but there! there!" i cried, "where the sparks are roaring and rushing out with all that flame." "there! oh! that's nothing, my boy. the town is always like this." "but you don't see where i mean," i cried, still doubting, and pointing down to our right. "oh, yes! i do, my dear boy. that is where they are making the bessemer steel." chapter three. a bad beginning. i thought when i lay down, after putting out my candle, that i should never get a wink of sleep. there was a dull glow upon my window-blind, and i could hear a distant clangour and a curious faint roar; but all at once, so it seemed to me, i opened my eyes, and the dull glow had given place to bright sunshine on my window-blind, and jumping out of bed i found that i had slept heartily till nearly breakfast time, for the chinking of cups in saucers fell upon my ear. i looked out of the window, and there lay the town with the smoke hanging over it in a dense cloud, but the banging of a wash-jug against a basin warned me that uncle dick was on the move, and the next moment _tap, tap, tap_, came three blows on my wall, which i knew as well as could be were given with the edge of a hair-brush, and i replied in the same way. "ha, ha!" cried uncle bob, "if they are going to give us fried ham like that for breakfast--" "and such eggs!" cried uncle jack. "and such bread!" said uncle dick, hewing off a great slice. "and such coffee and milk!" i said, taking up the idea that i was sure was coming, "we won't go back to london." "right!" said uncle dick. "bah! just as if we were going to be frightened away by a set of old women's tales. they've got police here, and laws." the matter was discussed until breakfast was over, and by that time my three giants of uncles had decided that they would not stir for an army of discontented workmen, but would do their duty to themselves and their partner in london. "but look here, boys," said uncle dick; "if we are going to war, we don't want women in the way." "no," said uncle jack. "so you had better write and tell alick to keep on the old place till the company must have it, and by that time we shall know what we are about." this was done directly after breakfast, and as soon as the letter had been despatched we went off to see the works. "i shall never like this place," i said, as we went down towards the town. "london was smoky enough, but this is terrible." "oh, wait a bit!" said uncle dick, and as we strode on with me trying to take long steps to keep up with my companions, i could not help seeing how the people kept staring at them. and though there were plenty of big fine men in the town, i soon saw that my uncles stood out amongst them as being remarkable for their size and frank handsome looks. this was the more plainly to be seen, since the majority of the work-people we passed were pale, thin, and degenerate looking little men, with big muscular arms, and a general appearance of everything else having been sacrificed to make those limbs strong. the farther we went the more unsatisfactory the town looked. we were leaving the great works to the right, and our way lay through streets and streets of dingy-looking houses all alike, and with the open channels in front foul with soapy water and the refuse which the people threw out. i looked up with disgust painted on my face so strongly that uncle bob laughed. "here, let's get this fellow a bower somewhere by a beautiful stream," he cried, laughing. then more seriously, "never mind the dirt, cob," he cried. "dirty work brings clean money." "oh, i don't mind," i said. "which way now?" "down here," said uncle dick; and he led us down a nasty dirty street, worse than any we had yet passed, and so on and on, for about half an hour, till we were once more where wheels whirred, and we could hear the harsh churring noise of blades being held upon rapidly revolving stones. now and then, too, i caught sight of water on our right, down through lanes where houses and works were crowded together. "do you notice one thing, cob?" said uncle dick. "one thing!" i said; "there's so much to notice that i don't know what to look at first." "i'll tell you what i mean," he said. "you can hear the rush and rumble of machinery, can't you?" "yes," i said, "like wheels whizzing and stones rolling, as if giant tinkers were grinding enormous scissors." "exactly," he said; "but you very seldom hear the hiss of steam out here." "no. have they a different kind of engines?" "yes, a very different kind. your steam-engine goes because the water is made hot: these machines go with the water kept cold." "oh, i see! by hydraulic presses." "no, not by hydraulic presses, cob; by hydraulic power. look here." we were getting quite in the outskirts now, and on rising ground, and, drawing me on one side, he showed me that the works we were by were dependent on water-power alone. "why, it's like one of those old flour-mills up the country rivers," i exclaimed, "with their mill-dam, and water-wheel." "and without the willows and lilies and silver buttercups, cob," said uncle jack. "and the great jack and chub and tench we used to fish out," said uncle bob. "yes," i said; "i suppose one would catch old saucepans, dead cats, and old shoes in a dirty pool like this." "yes," said uncle dick, "and our wheel-bands when the trades'-union people attack us." "why should they throw them in here?" i said, as i looked at the great deep-looking piece of water held up by a strong stone-built dam, and fed by a stream at the farther end. "because it would be the handiest place. these are our works." i looked at the stone-built prison-like place in disgust. it was wonderfully strongly-built, and with small windows protected by iron bars, but such a desolate unornamental spot. it stood low down by the broad shallow stream that ran on toward the town in what must once have been the bed of the river; but the steep banks had been utilised by the builders on each side, and everywhere one saw similar-looking places so arranged that their foundation walls caught and held up the water that came down, and was directed into the dam, and trickled out at the lower end after it had turned a great slimy water-wheel. "this is our place, boys; come and have a look at it." he led us down a narrow passage half-way to the stream, and then rang at a gate in a stone wall; and while we waited low down there i looked at the high rough stone wall and the two-storied factory with its rows of strong iron-barred windows, and thought of what mr tomplin had said the night before, coming to the conclusion that it was a pretty strong fortress in its way. for here was a stout high wall; down along by the stream there was a high blank wall right from the stones over which the water trickled to the double row of little windows; while from the top corner by the water-wheel, which was fixed at the far end of the works, there was the dam of deep water, which acted the part of a moat, running off almost to a point where the stream came in, so that the place was about the shape of the annexed triangle: the works occupying the whole of the base, the rest being the deep stone-walled dam. "i think we could keep out the enemy if he came," i said to uncle bob; and just then a short-haired, palefaced man, with bent shoulders, bare arms, and an ugly squint, opened the gate and scowled at us. "is your master in?" said uncle dick. "no-ah," said the man sourly; "and he wean't be here to-day." "that's a bad job," said uncle dick. "well, never mind; we want to go round the works." "nay, yow wean't come in here." he was in the act of banging the gate, but uncle dick placed one of his great brown hands against it and thrust it open, driving the man back, but only for a moment, for he flew at my uncle, caught him by the arm and waist, thrust forward a leg, and tried to throw him out by a clever wrestling trick. but uncle dick was too quick for him. wrenching himself on one side he threw his left arm over the fellow's neck, as he bent down, the right arm under his leg, and whirled him up perfectly helpless, but kicking with all his might. "come inside and shut that gate," said uncle dick, panting with his exertion. "now look here, my fine fellow, it would serve you right if i dropped you into that dam to cool you down. but there, get on your legs," he cried contemptuously, "and learn to be civil to strangers when they come." the scuffle and noise brought about a dozen workmen out of the place, each in wooden clogs, with a rough wet apron about him, and his sleeves rolled up nearly to the shoulder. they came forward, looking very fierce and as if they were going to attack us, headed by the fellow with the squint, who was no sooner at liberty than he snatched up a rough piece of iron bar and rolled up his right sleeve ready for a fresh attack. "give me that stick, cob," said uncle dick quickly; and i handed him the light malacca cane i carried. he had just seized it when the man raised the iron bar, and i felt sick as i saw the blow that was aimed at my uncle's head. i need not have felt troubled though, for, big as he was, he jumped aside, avoided the bar with the greatest ease, and almost at the same moment there was a whizz and a cut like lightning delivered by uncle dick with my light cane. it struck the assailant on the tendons of the leg beneath the knee, and he uttered a yell and went down as if killed. "coom on, lads!" cried one of the others; and they rushed towards us, headed by a heavy thick-set fellow; but no one flinched, and they hesitated as they came close up. "take that fellow away," said uncle jack sternly; "and look here, while you stay, if any gentleman comes to the gate don't send a surly dog like that." "who are yow? what d'ye want? happen yow'll get some'at if yo' stay." "i want to go round the place. i am one of the proprietors who have taken it." "eh, you be--be you? here, lads, this is one o' chaps as is turning us out. we've got the wheels ti' saturday, and we wean't hev no one here." "no, no," rose in chorus. "open gate, lads, and hev 'em out." "keep back!" said uncle dick, stepping forward; "keep back, unless you want to be hurt. no one is going to interfere with your rights, which end on saturday night." "eh! but if it hedn't been for yow we could ha kep' on." "well, you'll have to get some other place," said uncle dick; "we want this." he turned his back on them and spoke to his brothers, who both, knowing their great strength, which they cultivated by muscular exercise, had stood quite calm and patient, but watchful, and ready to go to their brother's aid in an instant should he need assistance. "come on and look round," said uncle dick coolly; and he did not even glance at the squinting man, who had tried to get up, but sank down again and sat grinning with pain and holding his injured leg. the calm indifference with which my three uncles towered above the undersized, pallid-looking fellows, and walked by them to the entrance to the stone building had more effect than a score of blows, and the men stopped clustered round their companion, and talked to him in a low voice. but i was not six feet two like uncle bob, nor six feet one like uncle jack, nor six feet three like uncle dick. i was only an ordinary lad of sixteen, and much easier prey for their hate, and this they saw and showed. for as i followed last, and was about to enter the door, a shower of stones and pieces of iron came whizzing about me, and falling with a rattle and clangour upon the cobble stones with which the place was paved. unfortunately, one piece, stone or iron, struck me on the shoulder, a heavy blow that made me feel sick, and i needed all the fortitude i could call up to hide my pain, for i was afraid to say or do anything that would cause fresh trouble. so i followed my uncles into the spacious ground-floor of the works, all wet and dripping with the water from the grindstones which had just been left by the men, and were still whizzing round waiting to be used. "plenty of room here," said uncle dick, "and plenty of power, you see," he continued, pointing to the shaft and wheels above our heads. "ugly-looking place this," he went on, pointing to a trap-door at the end, which he lifted; and i looked down with a shudder to see a great shaft turning slowly round; and there was a slimy set of rotten wooden steps going right down into the blackness, where the water was falling with a curiously hollow echoing sound. as i turned from looking down i saw that the men had followed us, and the fellow with the squint seemed to have one of his unpleasant eyes fixed upon me, and he gave me a peculiar look and grin that i had good reason to remember. "this is the way to the big wheel," said uncle dick, throwing open a door at the end. "they go out here to oil and repair it when it's out of gear. nasty spot too, but there's a wonderful supply of cheap power." with the men growling and muttering behind us we looked through into a great half-lit stone chamber that inclosed the great wheel on one side, leaving a portion visible as we had seen it from the outside; and here again i shuddered and felt uncomfortable, it seemed such a horrible place to fall into and from which there would be no escape, unless one could swim in the surging water below, and then clamber into the wheel, and climb through it like a squirrel. the walls were dripping and green, and they echoed and seemed to whisper back to the great wheel as it turned and splashed and swung down its long arms, each doubling itself on the wall by making a moving shadow. the place had such a fascination for me that i stood with one hand upon the door and a foot inside looking down at the faintly seen black water, listening to the echoes, and then watching the wheel as it turned, one pale spot on the rim catching my eye especially. as i watched it i saw it go down into the darkness with a tremendous sweep, with a great deal of splashing and falling of water; then after being out of sight for a few moments it came into view again, was whirled round, and dashed down. i don't know how it was, but i felt myself thinking that suppose anyone fell into the horrible pit below me, he would swim round by the slimy walls trying to find a place to cling to, and finding none he would be swept round to the wheel, to which in his despair he would cling. then he would be dragged out of the water, swung round, and-- "do you hear, cob?" cried uncle jack. "what is there to attract you, my lad? come along." i seemed to be roused out of a dream, and starting back, the door was closed, and i followed the others as they went to the far end of the great ground-floor to a door opening upon a stone staircase. we had to pass the men, who were standing about close to their grindstones, beside which were little piles of the articles they were grinding--common knives, sickles, and scythe blades, ugly weapons if the men rose against us as they seemed disposed to do. they muttered and talked to themselves, but they did not seem inclined to make any farther attack; while as we reached the stairs i heard the harsh shrieking of blades that were being held upon the stones, and i knew that some men must have begun work. the upper floor was of the same size as the lower, but divided into four rooms by partitions, and here too were shafts and wheels turning from their connection with the great water-wheel. over that a small room had been built supported by an arch stretching from the works to a stone wall, and as we looked out of the narrow iron-barred window down upon the deep dam, uncle bob said laughingly: "what a place for you, cob! you could drop a line out of the window, and catch fish like fun." i laughed, and we all had a good look round before examining the side buildings, where there were forges and furnaces, and a tall chimney-shaft ran up quite a hundred feet. "plenty of room to do any amount of work," cried uncle jack. "i think the place a bargain." "yes," said uncle bob, "where we can carry out our inventions; and if anybody is disagreeable, we can shut ourselves up like knights in a castle and laugh at all attacks." "yes," said uncle dick thoughtfully; "but i wish we had not begun by quarrelling with those men." "let's try and make friends as we go out," said uncle jack. it was a good proposal; and, under the impression that a gallon or two of beer would heal the sore place, we went into the big workshop or mill, where all the men had now resumed their tasks, and were grinding away as if to make up for lost time. one man was seated alone on a stone bench, and as we entered he half turned, and i saw that it was uncle dick's opponent. he looked at us for a moment and then turned scowling away. my uncles whispered together, and then uncle dick stepped forward and said: "i'm sorry we had this little upset, my lads. it all arose out of a mistake. we have taken these works, and of course wanted to look round them, but we do not wish to put you to any inconvenience. will you--" he stopped short, for as soon as he began to speak the men seemed to press down their blades that they were grinding harder and harder, making them send forth such a deafening churring screech that he paused quite in despair of making himself heard. "my lads!" he said, trying again. not a man turned his head, and it was plain enough that they would not hear. "let me speak to him," said uncle bob, catching his brother by the arm, for uncle dick was going to address the man on the stone. uncle dick nodded, for he felt that it would be better for someone else to speak; but the man got up, scowled at uncle bob, and when he held out a couple of half-crowns to him to buy beer to drink our healths the fellow made a derisive gesture, walked to his stone, and sat down. "just as they like," said uncle dick. "we apologised and behaved like gentlemen. if they choose to behave like blackguards, let them. come along." we turned to the door, my fate, as usual, being to come last; and as we passed through not a head was turned, every man pressing down some steel implement upon his whirling stone, and making it shriek, and, in spite of the water in which the wheel revolved, send forth a shower of sparks. the noise was deafening, but as we passed into the yard on the way to the lane the grinding suddenly ceased, and when we had the gate well open the men had gathered at the door of the works, and gave vent to a savage hooting and yelling which continued after we had passed through, and as we went along by the side of the dam we were saluted by a shower of stones and pieces of iron thrown from the yard. "well," said uncle bob, "this is learning something with a vengeance. i didn't think we had such savages in christian england." by this time we were out of the reach of the men, and going on towards the top of the dam, when uncle dick, who had been looking very serious and thoughtful, said: "i'm sorry, very sorry this has happened. it has set these men against us." "no," said uncle jack quietly; "the mischief was done before we came. this place has been to let for a long time." "yes," said uncle bob, "that's why we got it so cheaply." "and," continued uncle jack, "these fellows have had the run of the works to do their grinding for almost nothing. they were wild with us for taking the place and turning them out." "yes," said uncle dick, "that's the case, no doubt; but i'm very sorry i began by hurting that fellow all the same." "i'm not, uncle dick," i said, as i compressed my lips with pain. "they are great cowards or they would not have thrown a piece of iron at me;" and i laid my hand upon my shoulder, to draw it back wet with blood. chapter four. our engine. "bravo, spartan!" cried uncle bob, as he stood looking on, when, after walking some distance, uncle dick insisted upon my taking off my jacket in a lane and having the place bathed. "oh, it's nothing," i said, "only it was tiresome for it to bleed." "nothing like being prepared for emergencies," said uncle jack, taking out his pocket-book, and from one of the pockets a piece of sticking-plaster and a pair of scissors. "i'm always cutting or pinching my fingers. wonder whether we could have stuck cob's head on again if it had been cut off?" i opined not as i submitted to the rough surgery that went on, and then refusing absolutely to be treated as a sick person, and go back, i tramped on by them, mile after mile, to see something of the fine open country out to the west of the town before we settled down to work. we were astonished, for as we got away from the smoky pit in which arrowfield lay, we found, in following the bank of the rivulet that supplied our works, that the country was lovely and romantic too. hill, dale, and ravine were all about us, rippling stream, hanging wood, grove and garden, with a thousand pretty views in every direction, as we climbed on to the higher ground, till at last cultivation seemed to have been left behind, and we were where the hills towered up with ragged stony tops, and their slopes all purple heather, heath, and moss. "look, look!" i cried, as i saw a covey of birds skim by; "partridges!" "no," said uncle bob, watching where they dropped; "not partridges, my lad--grouse." "what, here!" i said; "and so near the town." "near! why we are seven or eight miles away." "but i thought grouse were scotch birds." "they are birds of the moors," said uncle bob; "and here you have them stretching for miles all over the hills. this is about as wild a bit of country as you could see. why, the country people here call those hills mountains." "but are they mountains?" i said; "they don't look very high." "higher than you think, my lad, with precipice and ravine. why, look-- you can see the top of that one is among the clouds." "i should have thought it was a mist resting upon it." "well, what is the difference?" said uncle bob, smiling. just then we reached a spot where a stream crossed the road, and the sight of the rippling water, clear as crystal, took our attention from the hills and vales that spread around. my first idea was to run down to the edge of the stream, which was so dotted with great stones that i was soon quite in the middle, looking after the shadowy shapes that i had seen dart away. my uncles followed me, and we forgot all about the work and troubles with the rough grinders, as we searched for the trout and crept up to where we could see some good-sized, broad-tailed fellow sunning himself till he caught sight of the intruders, and darted away like a flash of light. but uncle dick put a stop to our idling there, leading us back to the road and insisting upon our continuing along it for another mile. "i want to show you our engine," he said. "our engine out here!" i cried. "it's some trick." "you wait and see," he replied. we went on through the beautiful breezy country for some distance farther, till on one side we were looking down into a valley and on the other side into a lake, and i soon found that the lake had been formed just as we schoolboys used to make a dam across a ditch or stream when we were going to bale it out and get the fish. "why," i cried, as we walked out on to the great embankment, "this has all been made." "to be sure," said uncle dick. "just the same as our little dam is at the works. that was formed by building a strong stone wall across a hollow streamlet; this was made by raising this great embankment right across the valley here and stopping the stream that ran through it. that's the way some of the lakes have been made in switzerland." "what, by men?" "no, by nature. a great landslip takes place from the mountains, rushes down, and fills up a valley, and the water is stopped from running away." we walked right out along what seemed like a vast railway embankment, on one side sloping right away down into the valley, where the remains of the stream that had been cut off trickled on towards arrowfield. on the other side the slope went down into the lake of water, which stretched away toward the moorlands for quite a mile. "this needs to be tremendously strong," said uncle jack thoughtfully, as we walked on till we were right in the middle and first stood looking down the valley, winding in and out, with its scattered houses, farms, and mills, and then turned to look upward towards the moorland and along the dammed-up lake. "why, this embankment must be a quarter of a mile long," said uncle jack thoughtfully. "what a pond for fishing!" i cried, as i imagined it to be peopled by large jack and shoals of smaller fish. "how deep is it, i wonder?" did you ever know a boy yet who did not want to know how deep a piece of water was, when he saw it? "deep!" said uncle dick; "that's easily seen. deep as it is from here to the bottom of the valley on the other side: eighty or ninety feet. i should say this embankment is over a hundred in perpendicular height." "look here," said uncle jack suddenly; "if i know anything about engineering, this great dam is not safe." "not safe!" i said nervously. "let's get off it at once." "i daresay it will hold to-day," said uncle dick dryly, "but you can run off if you like, cob." "are you coming?" "not just at present," he said, smiling grimly. i put my hands in my pockets and stood looking at the great embankment, which formed a level road or path of about twelve feet wide where we stood, and then sloped down, as i have said, like a railway embankment far down into the valley on our left, and to the water on our right. "i don't care," said uncle jack, knitting his brows as he scanned the place well, "i say it is not safe. here is about a quarter of a mile of earthen wall that has no natural strength for holding together like a wall of bonded stone or brick." "but look at its weight," said uncle bob. "yes, that is its only strength--its weight; but look at the weight of the water, about a mile of water seventy or eighty feet deep just here. perhaps only sixty. the pressure of this water against it must be tremendous." "of course," said uncle dick thoughtfully; "but you forget the shape of the wall, jack. it is like an elongated pyramid: broad at the base and coming up nearly to a point." "no," said uncle jack, "i've not forgotten all that. of course it is all the stronger for it, the wider the base is made. but i'm not satisfied, and if i had made this dam i should have made this wall twice as thick or three times as thick; and i don't know that i should have felt satisfied with its stability then." "well done, old conscientious!" cried uncle bob, laughing. "let's get on." "stop a moment," i cried. "uncle dick said he would show us our engine." "well, there it is," said uncle dick, pointing to the dammed-up lake. "isn't it powerful enough for you. this reservoir was made by a water company to supply all our little dams, and keep all our mills going. it gathers the water off the moorlands, saves it up, and lets us have it in a regular supply. what would be the consequences of a burst, jack?" he said, turning to his brother. "don't talk about it man," said uncle jack frowning. "why, this body of water broken loose would sweep down that valley and scour everything away with it--houses, mills, rocks, all would go like corks." "why, it would carry away our works, then," i cried. "the place is right down by the water side." "i hope not," said uncle jack. "no i should say the force would be exhausted before it got so far as that, eight or nine miles away." "well, it does look dangerous," said uncle bob. "the weight must be tremendous. how would it go if it did burst?" "i say, uncle, i'm only a coward, please. hadn't we better go off here?" they all laughed, and we went on across the dam. "how would it go!" said uncle jack thoughtfully. "it is impossible to say. probably the water would eat a little hole through the top somewhere and that would rapidly grow bigger, the water pouring through in a stream, and cutting its way down till the solidity of the wall being destroyed by the continuity being broken great masses would crumble away all at once, and the pent-up waters would rush through." "and if they came down and washed away our works just as we were making our fortunes, you would say i was to blame for taking such a dangerous place." "there, come along," cried uncle bob, "don't let's meet troubles half-way. i want a ramble over those hills. there, cob, now we're safe," he said, as we left the great dam behind. "now, then, who's for some lunch, eh?" this last question was suggested by the sight of a snug little village inn, where we had a hearty meal and a rest, and then tramped off to meet with an unexpected adventure among the hills. as soon as one gets into a hilly country the feeling that comes over one is that he ought to get up higher, and i had that sensation strongly. but what a glorious walk it was! we left the road as soon as we could and struck right away as the crow flies for one of several tremendous hills that we saw in the distance. under our feet was the purple heath with great patches of whortleberry, that tiny shrub that bears the little purply grey fruit. then there was short elastic wiry grass and orange-yellow bird's-foot trefoil. anon we came to great patches of furze of a dwarf kind with small prickles, and of an elegant growth, the purple and yellow making the place look like some vast wild garden. "we always seem to be climbing up," said uncle dick. "when we are not sliding down," said uncle jack, laughing. "i've been looking for a bit of level ground for a race," said uncle bob. "my word! what a wild place it is!" "but how beautiful!" i cried, as we sat down on some rough blocks of stone, with the pure thyme-scented air blowing on our cheeks, larks singing above our heads, and all around the hum of insects or bees hurrying from blossom to blossom; while we saw the grasshoppers slowly climbing up to the top of some strand of grass, take a look round, and then set their spring legs in motion and take a good leap. "what a difference in the hills!" said uncle jack, looking thoughtfully from some that were smooth of outline to others that were all rugged and looked as if great jagged masses of stone had been piled upon their tops. "yes," said uncle dick. "two formations. mountain limestone yonder; this we are on, with all these rough pieces on the surface and sticking out everywhere, is millstone-grit." "which is millstone-grit?" i cried. "this," he said, taking out a little hammer and chipping one of the stones by us to show me that it was a sandstone full of hard fragments of silica. "you might open a quarry anywhere here and cut millstones, but of course some of the stone is better for the purpose than others." "yes," said uncle jack thoughtfully. "arrowfield is famously situated for its purpose--plenty of coal for forging, plenty of water to work mills, plenty of quarries to get millstones for grinding." "come along," cried uncle bob, starting up; and before we had gone far the grouse flew, skimming away before us, and soon after we came to a lovely mountain stream that sparkled and danced as it dashed down in hundreds of little cataracts and falls. leaving this, though the sight of the little trout darting about was temptation enough to make me stay, we tramped on over the rugged ground, in and out among stones or piled-up rocks, now skirting or leaping boggy places dotted with cotton-rush, where the bog-roots were here green and soft, there of a delicate pinky white, where the water had been dried away. to a london boy, accustomed to country runs among inclosed fields and hedges, or at times into a park or upon a common, this vast stretch of hilly, wild uncultivated land was glorious, and i was ready to see any wonder without surprise. it seemed to me, as we tramped on examining the bits of stone, the herbs and flowers, that at any moment we might come upon the lair of some wild beast; and so we did over and over again, but it was not the den of wolf or bear, but of a rabbit burrowed into the sandy side of some great bank. farther on we started a hare, which went off in its curious hopping fashion to be out of sight in a few moments. almost directly after, as we were clambering over a steep slope, uncle bob stopped short, and stood there sniffing. "what is it?" i cried. "fox," he said, looking round. "nonsense!" cried uncle dick. "you wouldn't find, eh? what a nasty, dank, sour odour!" cried uncle jack, in his quiet, thoughtful way. "a fox has gone by here during the last few minutes, i'm sure," cried uncle bob, looking round searchingly. "i'll be bound to say he is up among those tufts of ling and has just taken refuge there. spread out and hunt." the tufts he pointed to were right on a ridge of the hill we were climbing, and separating we hurried up there just in time to see a little reddish animal, with long, drooping, bushy tail, run in amongst the heath fifty yards down the slope away to our left. "that's the consequence of having a good nose," said uncle bob triumphantly; and now, as we were on a high eminence, we took a good look round so as to make our plans. "hadn't we better turn back now?" said uncle jack. "we shall have several hours' walk before we get to arrowfield, and shall have done as much as cob can manage." "oh, i'm not a bit tired!" i cried. "well," said uncle dick, "i think we had better go forward. i'm not very learned over the topography of the district, but if i'm not much mistaken that round hill or mountain before us is dome tor." "well?" said uncle jack. "well, i propose that we make straight for it, go over it, and then ask our way to the nearest town or village where there is a railway-station, and ride back." "capital!" i cried. "whom will you ask to direct us?" said uncle jack dryly. "ah! to be sure," said uncle bob. "i've seen nothing but a sheep or two for hours, and they look so horribly stupid i don't think it is of any use to ask them." "oh! we must meet some one if we keep on," said uncle dick. "what do you say? seems a pity not to climb that hill now we are so near." "yes, as we are out for a holiday," said uncle bob. "after to-day we must put our necks in the collar and work. i vote for dick." "so do i," said uncle jack. "come along then, boys," cried uncle dick; and now we set ourselves steadily to get over the ground, taking as straight a line as we could, but having to deviate a good deal on account of streams and bogs and rough patches of stone. but it was a glorious walk, during which there was always something to examine; and at last we felt that we were steadily going up the great rounded mass known as dome tor. we had not been plodding far before i found that it was entirely different to the hills we had climbed that day, for, in place of great masses of rugged, weatherworn rock, the stone we found here and there was slaty and splintery, the narrow tracks up which we walked being full of slippery fragments, making it tiresome travelling. these tracks were evidently made by the sheep, of which we saw a few here and there, but no shepherd, no houses, nothing to break the utter solitude of the scene, and as we paused for a rest about half-way up uncle dick looked round at the glorious prospect, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. "ah!" he said, "this is beautiful nature. over yonder, at arrowfield, we shall have nature to deal with that is not beautiful. but come, boys, i want a big meat tea, and we've miles to go yet before we can get it." we all jumped up and tramped on, with a curious sensation coming into my legs, as if the joints wanted oiling. but i said nothing, only trudged away, on and on, till at last we reached the rounded top, hot, out of breath, and glad to inhale the fresh breeze that was blowing. the view was splendid, but the sun had set, and there were clouds beginning to gather, while, on looking round, though we could see a house here and a house there in the distance, it did not seem very clear to either of us which way we were to go. "we are clever ones," said uncle dick, "starting out on a trip like this without a pocket guide and a map: never mind, our way must be west, and sooner or later we shall come to a road, and then to a village." "but we shall never be able to reach a railway-station to-night," said uncle bob. "not unless we try," said uncle jack in his dry way. "then let's try," said uncle dick, "and--well, that is strange." as we reached the top the wind had been blowing sharply in our faces, but this had ceased while we had been lying about admiring the prospect, and in place a few soft moist puffs had come from quite another quarter; and as we looked there seemed to be a cloud of white smoke starting up out of a valley below us. as we watched it we suddenly became aware of another rolling along the short rough turf and over the shaley paths. then a patch seemed to form here, another there, and these patches appeared to be stretching out their hands to each other all round the mountain till they formed a grey bank of mist, over the top of which we could see the distant country. "we must be moving," said uncle dick, "or we shall be lost in the fog. north-west must be our way, but let's push down here where the slope's easy, and get beyond the mist, and then we can see what we had better do." he led the way, and before we could realise it the dense white steamy fog was all around us, and we could hardly see each other. "all right!" said uncle dick; "keep together." "can you see where you are going, dick?" said uncle jack. "no, i'm as if i was blindfolded with a white crape handkerchief." "no precipices here, are there?" i cried nervously, for it seemed so strange to be walking through this dense mist. "no, i hope not," cried uncle dick out of the mist ahead. "you keep talking, and follow me, i'll answer you, or else we shall be separated, and that won't do now. all right!" "all right!" we chorused back. "all right!" cried uncle dick; "nice easy slope here, but slippery." "all right!" we chorused. "all ri--take--" we stopped short in horror wondering what had happened, for uncle dick's words seemed cut in two, there was a rustling scrambling sound, and then all was white fog and silence, broken only by our panting breath. "dick! where are you?" cried uncle jack taking a step forward. "mind!" cried uncle bob, catching him by the arm. it was well he did, for that was the rustling scrambling noise again falling on my ears, with a panting struggle, and two voices in the dense fog seeming to utter ejaculations of horror and dread. chapter five. a night of anxiety. i looked in the direction from which the sounds came, but there was nothing visible, save the thick white fog, and in my excitement and horror, thinking i was looking in the wrong direction, i turned sharply round. white fog. i looked in another direction. white fog. then i seemed to lose my head altogether, and hurried here and there with my hands extended, completely astray. it only took moments, swift moments, for all this to take place, and then i heard voices that i knew, but sounding muffled and as if a long way off. "cob! where are you, cob?" "here," i shouted. "i'll try and come." "no, no!"--it was uncle jack who spoke--"don't stir for your life." "but," i shouted, with my voice sounding as if i was covered with a blanket, "i want to come to you." "stop where you are," he cried. "i command you." i stayed where i was, and the next moment a fresh voice cried to me, as if pitying my condition: "cob, lad." "yes," i cried. "there is a horrible precipice. don't stir." it was uncle bob who said this to comfort me, and make me safe from running risks, but he made me turn all of a cold perspiration, and i stood there shivering, listening to the murmur of voices that came to me in a stifled way. at last i could bear it no longer. it seemed so strange. only a minute or two ago we were all together on the top of a great hill admiring the prospect. now we were separated. then all seemed open and clear, and we were looking away for miles: now i seemed shut-in by this pale white gloom that stopped my sight, and almost my hearing, while it numbed and confused my faculties in a way that i could not have felt possible. "uncle jack!" i cried, as a sudden recollection came back of a cry i had heard. "he is not here," cried uncle bob. "he is trying to find a way down." "where is uncle dick?" "hush, boy! don't ask." "but, uncle, i may come to you, may i not?" i cried, trembling with the dread of what had happened, for in spite of my confused state i realised now that uncle dick must have fallen. "my boy," he shouted back, "i daren't say yes. the place ends here in a terrible way. we two nearly went over, and i dare not stir, for i cannot see a yard from my feet. i am on a very steep slope too." "but where has uncle jack gone then?" "ahoy!" came from somewhere behind me, and apparently below. "ahoy! uncle jack," i yelled. "ahoy, boy! i want to come to you. keep shouting _here_--_here_--_here_." i did as he bade me, and he kept answering me, and for a minute or two he seemed to be coming nearer. then his voice sounded more distant, and more distant still; then ceased. "cob, i can't hear him," came from near me out of the dense gloom. "can you?" "no!" i said with a shiver. "ahoy, jack!" roared uncle bob. "ahoy-oy!" came from a distance in a curiously stifled way. "give it up till the fog clears off. stand still." there was no reply, and once more the terrible silence seemed to cling round me. the gloom increased, and i sank on my knees, not daring to stand now, but listening, if i may say so, with all my might. what had happened? what was going to happen? were we to stay there all night in the darkness, shivering with cold and damp? only a little while ago i had been tired and hot; now i did not feel the fatigue, but was shivering with cold, and my hands and face were wet. i wanted to call out to uncle bob again, but the sensation came over me--the strange, wild fancy that something had happened to him, and i dared not speak for fear of finding that it was true. all at once as i knelt there, listening intently for the slightest sound, i fancied i heard some one breathing. then the sound stopped. then it came nearer, and the dense mist parted, and a figure was upon me, crawling close by me without seeing me; and crying "uncle bob!" i started forward and caught at him as i thought. my hands seized moist wool for a moment, and then it was jerked out of my hands, as, with a frightened _baa_! its wearer bounded away. "what's that?" came from my left and below me, in the same old suffocated tone. "a sheep," i cried, trembling with the start the creature had given me. "did you see which way it went?" "yes--beyond me." "then it must be safe your way, cob. i'll try and crawl to you, lad, but i'm so unnerved i can hardly make up my mind to stir." "let me come to you," i cried. "no, no! i'll try and get to you. where are you?" "here," i cried. "all right!" came back in answer; but matters did not seem all right, for uncle bob's voice suddenly seemed to grow more distant, and when i shouted to him my cry came back as if i had put my face against a wall and spoken within an inch or two thereof. "i think we'd better give it up, cob," he shouted now from somewhere quite different. "it is not safe to stir." i did not think so, and determined to make an attempt to get to him. for, now that i had grown a little used to the fog, it did not seem so appalling, though it had grown thicker and darker till i seemed quite shut-in. "i'll stop where i am, cob," came now as if from above me; "and i daresay in a short time the wind will rise." i answered, but i felt as if i could not keep still. i had been scared by the sudden separation from my companions, but the startled feeling having passed away i did not realise the extent of our danger. in fact it seemed absurd for three strong men and a lad like me to be upset in this way by a mist. uncle dick had had a fall, but i would not believe it had been serious. perhaps he had only slipped down some long slope. i crouched there in the darkness, straining my eyes to try and pierce the mist, and at last, unable to restrain my impatience, i began to crawl slowly on hands and knees in the direction whence my uncle's voice seemed to come. i crept a yard at a time very carefully, feeling round with my hands before i ventured to move, and satisfying myself that the ground was solid all around. it seemed so easy, and it was so impossible that i could come to any harm this way, that i grew more confident, and passing my hand over the rough shale chips that were spread around amongst the short grass, i began to wonder how my uncles could have been so timid, and not have made a brave effort to escape from our difficulty. i kept on, growing more and more confident each moment in spite of the thick darkness that surrounded me, for it seemed so much easier than crouching there doing nothing for myself. but i went very cautiously, for i found i was on a steep slope, and that very little would have been required to send me sliding down. creep, creep, creep, a yard in two or three minutes, but still i was progressing somewhere, and even at this rate i thought that i could join either of my companions when i chose. i had made up my mind to go a few yards further and then speak, feeling sure that i should be close to uncle bob, and that then we could go on together and find uncle jack. i had just come to this conclusion, and was thrusting out my right hand again, when, as i tried to set it down, there was nothing there. i drew it in sharply and set it down close to the other as i knelt, and then passed it slowly from me over the loose scraps of slaty stone to find it touch the edge of a bank that seemed to have been cut off perpendicularly, and on passing my hand over, it touched first soft turf and earth and then scrappy loose fragments of shale. this did not startle me, for it appeared to be only a little depression in the ground, but thrusting out one foot i found that go over too, so that i knew i must be parallel with the edge of the trench or crack in the earth. i picked up a piece of shale and threw it from me, listening for its fall, but no sound came, so i sat down with one leg over the depression and kicked with my heel to loosen a bit of the soil. i was a couple of feet back, and as i kicked i felt the ground i sat upon quiver; then there was a loud rushing sound, and i threw myself down clinging with my hands, for a great piece of the edge right up to where i sat had given way and gone down, leaving me with my legs hanging over the edge, and but for my sudden effort i should have fallen. "what was that?" cried a voice some distance above me. "it is i, uncle bob," i panted. "come and help me." i heard a fierce drawing in of the breath, and then a low crawling sound, and little bits of stone seemed to be moved close by me. "where are you, boy?" came again. "here." "can you crawl to me? i'm close by your head." "no," i gasped. "if i move i'm afraid i shall fall." there was the same fierce drawing in of the breath, the crawling sound again, and a hand touched my face, passed round it, and took a tight hold of my collar. "lie quite still, cob," was whispered; "i'm going to draw you up. now!" i felt myself dragged up suddenly, and at the same moment the earth and stones upon which i had been lying dropped from under me with a loud hissing rushing sound, and then i was lying quite still, clinging to uncle bob's hand, which was very wet and cold. "how did you come there?" he said at length. "crawled there, trying to get to you," i said. "and nearly went down that fearful precipice, you foolish fellow. but there: you are safe." "i did not know it was so dangerous," i faltered. "dangerous!" he cried. "it is awful in this horrible darkness. the mountain seems to have been cut in half somewhere about here, and this fog confuses so that it is impossible to stir. we must wait till it blows off i think we are safe now, but i dare not try to find a better place. dare you?" "not after what i have just escaped from," i said dolefully. "are you cold?" "ye-es," i said with a shiver. "it is so damp." "creep close to me, then," he said. "we shall keep each other warm." we sat like that for hours, and still the fog kept as dense as ever, only that overhead there was a faint light, which grew stronger and then died out over and over again. the stillness was awful, but i had a companion, and that made my position less painful. he would not talk, though as a rule he was very bright and chatty; now he would only say, "wait and see;" and we waited. the change came, after those long terrible hours of anxiety, like magic. one moment it was thick darkness; the next i felt, as it were, a feather brush across my cheek. "did you feel that?" i said quickly. "feel what, cob?" "something breathing against us?" "no--yes!" he cried joyfully. "it was the wind." the same touch came again, but stronger. there was light above our heads. i could dimly see my companion, and then a cloud that looked white and strange in the moonlight was gliding slowly away from us over what seemed to be a vast black chasm whose edge was only a few yards away. it was wonderful how quickly that mist departed and went skimming away into the distance, as if a great curtain were being drawn, leaving the sky sparkling with stars and the moon shining bright and clear. "you see now the danger from which you escaped?" said uncle bob with a shudder. "yes," i said; "but did--do you think--" he looked at me without answering, and just then there came from behind us a loud "ahoy!" "ahoy!" shouted back uncle bob; and as we turned in the direction of the cry we could see uncle jack waving his white handkerchief to us, and we were soon after by his side. they gripped hands without a word as they met, and then after a short silence uncle jack said: "we had better get on and descend on the other, side." "but uncle dick!" i cried impetuously; "are you not going to search for uncle dick?" the brothers turned upon me quite fiercely, but neither of them spoke; and for the next hour we went stumbling on down the steep slope of the great hill, trying to keep to the sheep-tracks, which showed pretty plainly in the moonlight, but every now and then we went astray. my uncles were wonderfully quiet, but they kept steadily on; and i did not like to break their communings, and so trudged behind them, noting that they kept as near as seemed practicable to the place where the mountain ended in a precipice; and now after some walking i could look back and see that the moon was shining full upon the face of the hill, which looked grey and as if one end had been dug right away. on we went silently and with a settled determined aim, about which no one spoke, but perhaps thought all the more. i know that i thought so much about the end of our quest that i kept shuddering as i trudged on, with sore feet, feeling that in a short time we should be turning sharp round to our left so as to get to the foot of the great precipice, where the hill had been gnawed away by time, and where the loose earth still kept shivering down. it was as i expected; we turned sharp off to the left and were soon walking with our faces towards the grey-looking face, that at first looked high, but, as we went on, towered up more and more till the height seemed terrific. it was a weary heart-rending walk before we reached the hill-like slope where the loose shaley rock and earth was ever falling to add to the _debris_ up which we climbed. "there's no telling exactly where he must have come over," said uncle jack, after we had searched about some time, expecting moment by moment to come upon the insensible form of our companion. "we must spread out more." for we neither of us would own to the possibility of uncle dick being killed. for my part i imagined that he would have a broken leg, perhaps, or a sprained ankle. if he had fallen head-first he might have put out his shoulder or broken his collar-bone. i would not imagine anything worse. the moon was not so clear now, for fleecy clouds began to sail across it and made the search more difficult, as we clambered on over the shale, which in the steepest parts gave way under our feet. but i determinedly climbed on, sure that if i got very high up i should be able to look down and see where uncle dick was lying. to this end i toiled higher and higher, till i could fairly consider that i was touching the face of the mountain where the slope of _debris_ began; and i now found that the precipice sloped too, being anything but perpendicular. "can you see him, cob?" cried uncle jack from below. "no," i said despondently. "stay where you are," he cried again, "quite still." that was impossible, for where i stood the shale was so small and loose that i was sliding down slowly; but i made very little noise, and just then uncle jack uttered a tremendous-- "dick, ahoy!" there was a pause and he shouted again: "dick, ahoy!" "ahoy!" came back faintly from somewhere a long way off. "there he is!" i cried. "no--an echo," said uncle jack. "ahoy!" "ahoy!" came back. "there, you see--an echo." "ahoy!" came again. "that's no echo," cried uncle bob joyfully. "dick!" he shouted as loudly as he could. "ahoy!" "there! it was no echo. he's all right; and after falling down here he has worked his way out and round the other side, where we went up first, while we came down the other way and missed him." "dick, ahoy!" he shouted again; "where away?" "ahoy!" came back, and we had to consult. "if we go up one way to meet him he will come down the other," said uncle bob. "there's nothing for it but to wait till morning or divide, and one of us go up one side while the other two go up the other." uncle jack snapped his watch-case down after examining the face by the pale light of the moon. "two o'clock," he said, throwing himself on the loose shale. "ten minutes ago, when we were in doubt, i felt as if i could go on for hours with the search. now i know that poor old dick is alive i can't walk another yard." i had slipped and scrambled down to him now, and uncle bob turned to me. "how are you, cob?" he said. "the skin is off one of my heels, and i have a blister on my big toe." "and i'm dead beat," said uncle bob, sinking down. "you're right, jack, we must have a rest. let's wait till it's light. it will be broad day by four o'clock, and we can signal to him which way to come." i nestled down close to him, relieved in mind and body, and i was just thinking that though scraps of slaty stone and brashy earth were not good things for stuffing a feather-bed, they were, all the same, very comfortable for a weary person to lie upon, when i felt a hand laid upon my shoulder, and opening my eyes found the sun shining brightly and uncle dick looking down in my face. "have i been asleep?" i said confusedly. "four hours, cob," said uncle jack. "you lay down at two. it is now six." "but i dreamed something about you, uncle dick," i said confusedly. "i thought you were lost." "well, not exactly lost, cob," he said; "but i slipped over that tremendous slope up yonder, and came down with a rush, stunning myself and making a lot of bruises that are very sore. i must have come down a terrible distance, and i lay, i suppose, for a couple of hours before i could get up and try to make my way back." "but you are not--not broken," i cried, now thoroughly awake and holding his hand. "no, cob," he said smiling; "not broken, but starving and very faint." a three miles' walk took us to where we obtained a very hearty breakfast, and here the farmer willingly drove us to the nearest station, from whence by a roundabout way we journeyed back to arrowfield, and found the landlady in conference with mr tomplin, who had come to our place on receiving a message from mrs stephenson that we had gone down to the works and not returned, her impression being that the men had drowned us all in the dam. chapter six. "do let me come." the rest of the week soon slipped by, and my uncles took possession of the works, but not peaceably. the agent who had had the letting went down to meet my uncles and give them formal possession. when he got there he was attacked by the work-people, with words first, and then with stones and pails of water. the consequence was that he went home with a cut head and his clothes soaked. "but what's to be done?" said uncle dick to him. "we want the place according to the agreement." the agent looked up, holding one hand to his head, and looking white and scared. "call themselves men!" he said, "i call them wild beasts." "call them what you like," said uncle dick; "wild beasts if you will, but get them out." "but i can't," groaned the man dismally. "see what a state i'm in! they've spoiled my second best suit." "very tiresome," said uncle dick, who was growing impatient; "but are you going to get these people out? we've two truck-loads of machinery waiting to be delivered." "don't i tell you i can't," said the agent angrily. "take possession yourself. there, i give you leave." "very well," said uncle dick. "you assure me that these men have no legal right to be there." "not the slightest. they were only allowed to be there till the place was let." "that's right; then we take possession at once, sir." "and good luck to you!" said the agent as we went out. "what are you going to do?" asked uncle bob. "take possession." "when?" "to-night. will you come?" "will i come?" said uncle bob with a half laugh. "you might as well ask jack." "it may mean trouble to-morrow." "there's nothing done without trouble," said uncle bob coolly. "i like ease better, but i'll take my share." i was wildly excited, and began thinking that we should all be armed with swords and guns, so that i was terribly disappointed when that evening i found uncle dick enter the room with a brown-paper parcel in his hand that looked like a book, and followed by uncle jack looking as peaceable as could be. "where's uncle bob?" i said. "waiting for us outside." "why doesn't he come in?" "he's busy." i wondered what uncle bob was busy about; but i noticed that my uncles were preparing for the expedition, putting some tools and a small lantern in a travelling-bag. after this uncle jack took it open downstairs ready for starting. "look here, cob," said uncle dick; "we are going down to the works." "what! to-night?" "yes, my lad, to-night." "but you can't get in. the men have the key." "i have the agent's keys. there are two sets, and i am going down now. look here; take a book and amuse yourself, and go to bed in good time. perhaps we shall be late." "why, you are going to stop all night," i cried, "so as to be there before the men?" "i confess," he said, laughing in my excited face. "and i sha'n't see any of the fun," i cried. "there will not be any fun, cob." "oh, yes, there will, uncle," i said. "i say, do let me come." he shook his head, and as i could make no impression on him i gave up, and slipped down to uncle jack, who was watching mrs stephenson cut some huge sandwiches for provender during the night. "i say, uncle," i whispered, "i know what you are going to do. take me." "no, no," he said. "it will be no work for boys." he was so quiet and stern that i felt it was of no use to press him, so i left the kitchen and went to the front door to try uncle bob for my last resource. i opened the door gently, and started back, for there was a savage growl, and i just made out the dark form of a big-headed dog tugging at a string. "down, piter!" said uncle bob. "who is it? you, cob? here, piter, make friends with him. come out." i went out rather slowly, for the dog was growling ominously; but at a word from uncle bob he ceased, and began to smell me all round the legs, stopping longest about my calves, as if he thought that would be the best place for a bite. "pat him, cob, and pull his ears." i stooped down rather unwillingly, and began patting the ugliest head i ever saw in my life. for piter--otherwise jupiter--was a brindled bull-dog with an enormous head, protruding lower jaw, pinched-in nose, and grinning teeth. the sides of his head seemed swollen, and his chest broad, his body lank and lean, ending in a shabby little thin tail. "why, he has no ears," i said. "they are cut pretty short, poor fellow. but isn't he a beauty, cob?" "beauty!" i said, laughing. "but where did you get him?" "mr tomplin has lent him to us." "but what for?" "garrison for the fort," my boy. "i think we can trust him." i commenced my attack then. "i should so like to go!" i said. "it isn't as if i was a nuisance. i wasn't so bad when we were out all night by dome tor." "well, there, i'll talk them over," he said. "here, you stop and hold the dog, while i go in." "what, hold him?" "yes, to be sure. i won't be long." "but, uncle," i said, "he looks such a brute, as if he'd eat a fellow." "my dear cob, i sha'n't be above a quarter of an hour. he couldn't get through more than one leg by that time." "now you're laughing at me," i said. "hold the dog, then, you young coward!" "i'm not," i said in an injured tone; and i caught at the leather thong, for if it had been a lion i should have held on then. i wanted to say, "don't be long," but i was ashamed, and i looked rather wistfully over my shoulder as he went in, leaving me with the dog. piter uttered a low whine as the door closed, and then growled angrily and gave a short deep-toned bark. this done, he growled at me, smelled me all round, making my legs seem to curdle as his blunt nose touched them, and then after winding the thong round me twice he stood up on his hind-legs, placing his paws against my chest and his ugly muzzle between them. my heart was beating fast, but the act was so friendly that i patted the great head; and the end of it was, that i sat down on the door-step, and when uncle bob came out again piter and i had fraternised, and he had been showing me as hard as he could that he was my born slave, that he was ready for a bit of fun at any time, and also to defend me against any enemy who should attack. piter's ways were simple. to show the first he licked my hand. for the second, he turned over on his back, patted at me with his paws, and mumbled my legs, took a hold of my trousers and dragged at them, and butted at me with his bullet head. for the last, he suddenly sprang to his feet as a step was heard, crouched by me ready for a spring, and made some thunder inside him somewhere. this done, he tried to show me what fun it was to tie himself up in a knot with the leathern thong, and strangle himself till his eyes stood out of his head. "why, you have made friends," said uncle bob, coming out. "good dog, then." "may i go?" i said eagerly. "yes. they've given in. i had a hard fight, sir, so you must do me credit." half an hour after, we four were on our way to our own works, just as if we were stealing through the dark to commit a burglary, and i noticed that though there were no swords and guns, each of my uncles carried a very stout heavy stick, that seemed to me like a yard of bad headache, cut very thick. the streets looked very miserable as we advanced, leaving behind us the noise and roar and glow of the panting machinery which every now and then whistled and screamed as if rejoicing over the metal it was cutting and forming and working into endless shapes. there behind us was the red cloud against which the light from a thousand furnaces was glowing, while every now and then came a deafening roar as if some explosion had taken place. i glanced down at piter expecting to see him startled, but he was arrowfield born, and paid not the slightest heed to noise, passing through a bright flash of light that shot from an open door as if it were the usual thing, and he did not even twitch his tail as we walked on by a wall that seemed to quiver and shake as some great piece of machinery worked away, throbbing and thudding inside. "here we are at last," said uncle dick, as we reached the corner of our place, where a lamp shed a ghastly kind of glow upon the dark triangular shaped dam. the big stone building looked silent and ghostly in the gloom, while the great chimney stood up like a giant sentry watching over it, and placed there by the men whom it was our misfortune to have to dislodge. we had a perfect right to be there, but one and all spoke in whispers as we looked round at the buildings about, to see in one of a row of houses that there were lights, and in a big stone building similar to ours the faint glow of a fire left to smoulder till the morning. but look which way we would, there was not a soul about, and all was still. as we drew closer i could hear the dripping of the water as it ran in by the wheel where it was not securely stopped; and every now and then there was an echoing plash from the great shut-in cave, but no light in any of the windows. "come and hold the bag, jack," whispered uncle dick; and then laughingly as we grouped about the gate with the dog sniffing at the bottom: "if you see a policeman coming, give me fair warning. i hope that dog will not bark. i feel just like a burglar." piter uttered a low growl, but remained silent, while uncle dick opened the gate and we entered. as soon as we were inside the yard the bag was put under requisition again, a great screw-driver taken out, the lantern lit, and with all the skill and expedition of one accustomed to the use of tools, uncle dick unscrewed and took off the lock, laid it aside, and fitted on, very ingeniously, so that the old key-hole should do again, one of the new patent locks he had brought with him in the brown-paper parcel i had seen. this took some little time, but it was effected at last, and uncle dick said: "that is something towards making the place our own. their key will not be worth much now." securing the gate by turning the key of the new lock, we went next to the door leading into the works, which was also locked, but the key the agent had supplied opened it directly, and this time uncle dick held box and lantern while uncle jack took off the old and fitted on the second new lock that we had brought. it was a curious scene in the darkness of that great stone-floored echoing place, where an observer who watched would have seen a round glass eye shedding a bright light on a particular part of the big dirty door, and in the golden ring the bull's-eye made, a pair of large white hands busy at work fixing, turning a gimlet, putting in and fastening screws, while only now and then could a face be seen in the ring of light. "there," said uncle jack at last, as he turned the well-oiled key and made the bolt of the lock play in and out of its socket, "now i think we can call the place our own." "i say, uncle bob," i whispered--i don't know why, unless it was the darkness that made me speak low--"i should like to see those fellows' faces when they come to the gate to-morrow morning." "especially old squintum's," said uncle bob laughing. "pleasant countenance that man has, cob. if ever he is modelled i should like to have a copy. now, boys, what next?" "next!" said uncle dick; "we'll just have a look round this place and see what there is belonging to the men, and we'll put all together so as to be able to give it up when they come." "the small grindstones are theirs, are they not?" said uncle bob. "no; the agent says that everything belongs to the works and will be found in the inventory. all we have to turn out will be the blades they are grinding." uncle dick went forward from grindstone to grindstone, but only in one place was anything waiting to be ground, and that was a bundle of black-looking, newly-forged scythe blades, neatly tied up with bands of wire. he went on from end to end, making the light play on grindstone, trough, and the rusty sand that lay about; but nothing else was to be seen, and after reaching the door leading into the great chamber where the water-wheel revolved, he turned back the light, looking like some dancing will-o'-the-wisp as he directed it here and there, greatly to the puzzlement of piter, to whom it was something new. he tugged at the stout leathern thong once or twice, but i held on and he ceased, contenting himself with a low uneasy whine now and then, and looking up to me with his great protruding eyes, as if for an explanation. "now let's have a look round upwards," said uncle dick. "i'm glad the men have left so few of their traps here. cob, my lad, you need not hold that dog. take the swivel off his collar and let him go. he can't get away." "besides," said uncle bob, "this is to be his home." i stooped down and unhooked the spring swivel, to piter's great delight, which he displayed by scuffling about our feet, trying to get himself trodden upon by all in turn, and ending by making a rush at the bull's-eye lantern, and knocking his head against the round glass. "pretty little creature!" said uncle bob. "well, i should have given him credit for more sense than a moth." piter growled as if he were dissatisfied with the result, and then his hideous little crinkled black nose was seen as he smelt the lantern all round, and, apparently gratified by the odour of the oil, he licked his black lips. "now then, upstairs," said uncle dick, leading the way with the lantern. but as soon as the light fell upon the flight of stone stairs piter went to the front with a rush, his claws pattered on the stones, and he was up at the top waiting for us, after giving a scratch at a rough door, his ugly countenance looking down curiously out of the darkness. "good dog!" said uncle dick as he reached the landing and unlatched the door. piter squeezed himself through almost before the door was six inches open, and the next moment he burst into a furious deep-mouthed bay. "someone there!" cried uncle dick, and he rushed in, lantern in hand, to make the light play round, while my uncles changed the hold of their stout sticks, holding them cudgel fashion ready for action. the light rested directly on the face and chest of a man sitting up between a couple of rusty lathes, where a quantity of straw had been thrown down, and at the first glimpse it was evident that the dog had just aroused him from a heavy sleep. his eyes were half-closed, bits of oat straw were sticking in his short dark hair, and glistened like fragments of pale gold in the light cast by the bull's-eye, while two blackened and roughened hands were applied to his eyes as if he were trying to rub them bright. piter's was an ugly face; but the countenance of an ugly animal is pleasanter to look upon than that of an ugly degraded human being, and as i saw the rough stubbly jaws open, displaying some yellow and blackened teeth that glistened in the light as their owner yawned widely, i began to think our dog handsome by comparison. the man growled as if not yet awake, and rubbed away at his eyes with his big fists, as if they, too, required a great deal of polishing to make them bright enough to see. at last he dropped his fists and stared straight before him--no, that's a mistake, he stared with the range of his eyes crossing, and then seemed to have some confused idea that there was a light before him, and a dog making a noise, for he growled out: "lie down!" then, bending forward, he swept an arm round, as if in search of something, which he caught hold of at last, and we understood why he was so confused. for it was a large stone bottle he had taken up. from this he removed the cork with a dull _fop_! raised the bottle with both hands, took a long draught, and corked the bottle again with a sigh, set it down beside him, and after yawning loudly shouted once more at the dog, "get out! lie down!" then he settled himself as if about to do what he had bidden the dog, but a gleam of intelligence appeared to have come now into his brain. there was no mistaking the man: it was the squinting ruffian who had attacked us when we came first, and there was no doubt that he had been staying there to keep watch and hold the place against us, for a candle was stuck in a ginger-beer bottle on the frame of the lathe beyond him, and this candle had guttered down and gone out. we none of us spoke, but stood in the black shadow invisible to the man, who could only see the bright light of the bull's-eye staring him full in the face. "lie down, will yer!" he growled savagely. "makin' shut a row! lie down or--" he shouted this last in such a fierce tone of menace that it would have scared some dogs. it had a different effect on piter, who growled angrily. "don't, then," shouted the man; "howl and bark--make a row, but if yer touch me i'll take yer down and drownd yer in the wheel-pit. d'yer hear? in the wheel-pit!" this was said in a low drowsy tone and as if the fellow were nearly asleep, and as the light played upon his half-closed dreamy eyes he muttered and stared at it as if completely overcome by sleep. it was perfectly ridiculous, and yet horrible, to see that rough head and hideous face nodding and blinking at the light as the fellow supported himself on both his hands in an ape-like attitude that was more animal than human. all this was a matter of a minute or so, and then the ugly cross eyes closed, opened sharply, and were brought to bear upon the light one after the other by movements of the head, just as a magpie looks at a young bird before he kills it with a stroke of his bill. then a glimpse of intelligence seemed to shoot from them, and the man sat up sharply. "what's that light?" he said roughly. "police! what do you want?" "what are you doing here?" said uncle jack in his deep voice. "doing, p'liceman! keeping wetch. set o' lonnoners trying to get howd o' wucks, and me and my mates wean't hev 'em. just keeping wetch. good-night!" he sat up, staring harder at the light, and then tried to see behind it. "well," he cried, "why don't you go, mate? shut door efter you." "hold the dog, cob," said uncle jack. "bob, you take the lantern and open the door and the gate. lay hold of one side, dick, i'll take the other, and we'll put him out." but the man was wide-awake now; and as i darted at piter and got my hands in his collar and held him back, the fellow made a dash at something lying on the lathe, and as the lantern was changed from hand to hand i caught sight of the barrel of an old horse-pistol. "take care!" i shouted, as i dragged piter back. "pistol." "yes, pistol, do yer hear?" roared the fellow starting up. "pistol! and i'll shute the first as comes anigh me." there was a click here, and all was in darkness, for uncle bob turned the shade of the lantern and hid it within his coat. "put that pistol down, my man, and no harm shall come to you; but you must get out of this place directly." "what! get out! yes, out you go, whoever you are," roared the fellow. "i can see you, and i'll bring down the first as stirs. this here's a good owd pistol, and she hits hard. now then open that light and let's see you go down. this here's my place and my mates', and we don't want none else here. now then." i was struggling in the dark with piter, and only held him back, there was such strength in his small body, by lifting him by his collar and holding him against me standing on his hind-legs. but, engaged as i was, i had an excited ear for what was going on, and i trembled, as i expected to see the flash of the pistol and feel its bullet strike me or the dog. as the man uttered his threats i heard a sharp whispering and a quick movement or two in the dark, and then all at once i saw the light open, and after a flash here and there shine full upon the fellow, who immediately turned the pistol on the holder of the lantern. "now then," he cried, "yer give in, don't yer? yes or no 'fore i fires. yah!" he turned sharply round in my direction as i struggled with piter, whom the sight of the black-looking ruffian had made furious. but the man had not turned upon me. he had caught sight of uncle jack springing at him, the light showing him as he advanced. there was a flash, a loud report, and almost preceding it, if not quite, the sound of a sharp rap given with a stick upon flesh and bone. the next instant there was a hoarse yell and the noise made by the pistol falling upon the floor. "hurt, jack?" cried uncle dick, as my heart seemed to stand still. "scratched, that's all," was the reply. "here, come and tie this wild beast's hands. i think i can hold him now." it almost sounded like a rash assertion, as the light played upon the desperate struggle that was going on. i could see uncle jack and the man, now down, now up, and at last, after wrestling here and there, the man, in spite of uncle jack's great strength, seeming to have the mastery. there was a loud panting and a crushing fall, both going down, and uncle jack rising up to kneel upon his adversary's chest. "like fighting a bull," panted uncle jack. "what arms the fellow has! got the rope?" "yes," said uncle dick, rattling the things in the bag. "can you turn him over?" no sooner said than done. the man heard the order, and prepared to resist being turned on one side. uncle jack noted this and attacked the other side so quickly that the man was over upon his face before he could change his tactics. "keep that dog back, cob, or he'll eat him," said uncle bob, making the lantern play on the prostrate man, whose arms were dexterously dragged behind him and tightly tied. "there," said uncle jack. "now you can get up and go. ah, would you, coward!" this was in answer to a furious kick the fellow tried to deliver as soon as he had regained his feet. "if he attempts to kick again, loose the dog at him, cob," cried uncle dick sharply. then in an undertone to me: "no: don't! but let him think you will." "you'll hev it for this," cried the man furiously. "right," said uncle jack. "now, then, have you anything here belonging to you? no! down you come then." he collared his prisoner, who turned to kick at him; but a savage snarl from piter, as i half let him go, checked the fellow, and he suffered himself to be marched to the door, where he stopped. "ma beer," he growled, looking back at the stone bottle. "beer! no, you've had enough of that," said uncle dick. "go on down." the man walked quietly down the stairs; but when he found that he was to be thrust out into the lane he began to struggle again, and shout, but a fierce hand at his throat stopped that and he was led down to the gate in the wall, where it became my task now to hold the lantern while uncles dick and bob grasped our prisoner's arms and left uncle jack free to untie the cord. "be ready to unlock the gate, cob," whispered uncle jack, as he held his prisoner by one twist of the rope round his arms like a leash. "now, then, ready! back, dog, back!" piter shrank away, and then at a concerted moment the gate was thrown open, the three brothers loosed their hold of the prisoner at the same moment, and just as he was turning to try and re-enter, a sharp thrust of the foot sent him flying forward, the gate was banged to, and locked, and we were congratulating ourselves upon having ridded ourselves of an ugly customer, when the gate shook from the effect of a tremendous blow that sounded as if it had been dealt with a paving-stone. chapter seven. a useful ally. "take no notice," said uncle dick. we listened, and i laughed as i heard the rattling noise made by a key as if our friend was trying to get in, after which he seemed to realise what had been done, and went away grumbling fiercely. "now for a quiet look round upstairs," said uncle dick; and all being quiet and we in possession we turned in at the dark door to inspect our fort. there was something creepy and yet thoroughly attractive in the business. the place looked dark and romantic in the gloom; there was a spice of danger in the work, and the excitement made my blood seem to dance in my veins. "hallo!" i cried, as we were entering the door; "there's something wrong," for i heard a rustling noise and a dull thud as if someone had jumped down from a little height. at the same moment we found out how useful piter was going to be, for he started off with a furious rush, barking tremendously, and as we followed him to the end of the yard we were in time for a scuffle, a savage burst of expressions, and then my heart, which had been throbbing furiously, seemed to stand still, for there was a howl, a tremendous splash, then silence. "quick, boys!" cried uncle jack. "here, join hands. i'll go in and fetch him out. take the light, cob." i gladly seized the lantern and made the light play on the surface of the water where it was disturbed, and as i did so piter came up from the edge whining softly and twitching his little stump of a tail. then a head and shoulders appeared, and the surface of the dam was beaten tremendously, but so close to the edge that by standing on the stonework and holding by uncle bob's hand uncle jack was able to stretch out his stick to the struggling man, to have it clutched directly, and the fellow was drawn ashore. he gave himself a shake like a dog as soon as he was on dry land, and stood for a moment or two growling and using ugly language that seemed to agree with his mouth. then he turned upon us. "aw right!" he said, "i'll pay thee for this. set the dawg on me, you did, and then pitched me into the watter. aw reight! i'll pay thee for this." "open the gate, bob," said uncle jack, who now took the fellow by the collar and thrust him forward while i held the light as the man went on threatening and telling us what he meant to do. but the cold water had pretty well quenched his fierce anger, and though he threatened a great deal he did not attempt to do anything till he was by the gate, where a buzz of voices outside seemed to inspirit him. "hey, lads!" he cried, "in wi' you when gate's opened." "take care," whispered uncle dick. "be ready to bang the gate. we must have him out. here, piter." the dog answered with a bark, and then our invader being held ready the gate was opened by me, and the three brothers thrust the prisoner they were going to set at liberty half-way out. only half-way, for he was driven back by a rush of his companions, who had been aroused by his shouting. the stronger outside party would have prevailed no doubt had not our four-footed companion made a savage charge among the rough legs, with such effect that there was a series of yells from the front men, who became at once on our side to the extent of driving their friends back; and before they could recover from the surprise consequent upon the dog's assault, the gate was banged to and locked. "show the light, and see where that fellow came over the wall, cob," whispered uncle dick; and i made the light play along the top, expecting to see a head every moment. but instead of a head a pair of hands appeared over the coping-stones--a pair of great black hands, whose nails showed thick and stubby in the lantern light. "there, take that," said uncle dick, giving the hands a quick tap with his stick. "i don't want to hurt you, though i could." by that he meant do serious injury, for he certainly hurt the owner of the hands to the extent of giving pain, for there was a savage yell and the hands disappeared. then there was a loud scuffling noise and a fresh pair of hands appeared, but they shared the fate of the others and went out of sight. "nice place this," said uncle bob suddenly. "didn't take return tickets, did you?" "return tickets! no," said uncle jack in a low angry voice. "what! are you tired of it already?" "tired! well, i don't know, but certainly this is more lively than canonbury. there's something cheerful about the place. put up your umbrellas, it hails." i was nervous and excited, but i could not help laughing at this, for uncle bob's ideas of hailstones were peculiar. the first that fell was a paving-stone as big as a half-quartern loaf, and it was followed by quite a shower of the round cobbles or pebbles nearly the size of a fist that are used so much in some country places for paths. fortunately no one was hit, while this bombardment was succeeded by another assault or attempt to carry the place by what soldiers call a _coup de main_. but this failed, for the hands that were to deal the _coup_ received such ugly taps from sticks as they appeared on the top of the wall that their owners dropped back and began throwing over stones and angry words again. only one of our assailants seemed to have the courage to persevere, and this proved to be our old friend. for as i directed the light along the top of the wall a pair of hands appeared accompanied by the usual scuffing. uncle dick only tapped them, but possibly not hard enough, for the arms followed the hands, then appeared the head and fierce eyes of the man we had found asleep. "coom on, lads; we've got un now," he shouted, and in another minute he would have been over; but uncle dick felt it was time for stronger measures than tapping hands, and he let his stick come down with such a sharp rap on the great coarse head that it disappeared directly, and a yelling chorus was succeeded by another shower of stones. we went into shelter in the doorway, with piter playing the part of sentry in front, the dog walking up and down looking at the top of the wall growling as he went, and now and then opening and shutting his teeth with a loud snap like a trap. on the other side of the wall we could hear the talking of the men, quite a little crowd having apparently assembled, and being harangued by one of their party. "so it makes you think of canonbury, does it, bob?" said uncle jack. "well, yes," said my uncle. "it makes me feel angry," said uncle jack, "and as if the more these scoundrels are obstinate and interfere with me, the more determined i shall grow." "we must call in the help of the police," said uncle dick. "and they will be watched away," said uncle jack. "no, we must depend upon ourselves, and i dare say we can win. what's that?" i listened, and said that i did not hear anything. "i did," said uncle jack. "it was the tap made by a ladder that has been reared against a house." i made the light play against the top of the wall and along it from end to end. then uncle jack took it and examined the top, but nothing was visible and saying it was fancy he handed the lantern to me, when all at once there was a double thud as of two people leaping down from the wall; and as i turned the light in the direction from which the sounds came there was our squinting enemy, and directly behind him a great rough fellow, both armed with sticks and charging down upon us where we stood. i heard my uncles draw a long breath as if preparing for the fight. then they let their sticks fall to their sides, and a simultaneous roar of laughter burst forth. it did not take a minute, and the various little changes followed each other so quickly that i was confused and puzzled. one moment i felt a curious shrinking as i saw the faces of two savage men rushing at us to drive us out of the place; the next i was looking at their backs as they ran along the yard. for no sooner did piter see them than he made a dash at their legs, growling like some fierce wild beast, and showing his teeth to such good effect that the men ran from him blindly yelling one to the other; and the next thing i heard was a couple of splashes in the dam. "why, they're trying to swim across," cried uncle dick; and we at once ran to the end of the yard to where it was bounded by the stone-bordered dam. "show the light, cob," cried uncle jack; and as i made it play upon the water there was one man swimming steadily for the other side, with piter standing at the edge baying him furiously, but the other man was not visible. then the surface of the water was disturbed and a hand appeared, then another, to begin beating and splashing. "why, the fellow can't swim," cried uncle jack; and catching his brother's hand he reached out, holding his stick ready for the man to grasp. it was an exciting scene in the darkness, with the ring of light cast by the lantern playing upon the dark surface of the water, which seemed to be black rippled with gold; and there in the midst was the distorted face of the workman, as he yelled for help and seemed in imminent danger of drowning. he made two or three snatches at the stick, but missed it, and his struggles took him farther from the edge into the deep water close by, where the wall that supported the great wheel was at right angles to where we stood. it was a terribly dangerous and slippery place, but uncle jack did not hesitate. walking along a slippery ledge that was lapped by the water, he managed to reach the drowning man, holding to him his stick; and then as the fellow clutched it tightly he managed to guide him towards the edge, where uncle dick knelt down, and at last caught him by the collar and drew him out, dripping and half insensible. "down, dog!" cried uncle dick as piter made a dash at his enemy, who now lay perfectly motionless. piter growled a remonstrance and drew back slowly, but as he reached the man's feet he made a sudden dart down and gave one of his ankles a pinch with his trap-like jaws. the effect was instantaneous. the man jumped up and shook his fist in our faces. "yow'll get it for this here," he roared. "yow threw me in dam and then set your dawg at me. yow'll hev it for this. yow'll see. yow'll--" "look here," said uncle bob, mimicking the fellow's broad rough speech, "hadn't yow better go home and take off your wet things?" "yow pitched me in dam and set dawg at me," cried the fellow again. "go home and get off your wet things and go to bed," said uncle jack, "and don't come worrying us again--do you hear?" "yow pitched me in dam and set dawg at me," cried the man again; and from the other side of the pool the man who had swum across and been joined by some companions yelled out: "gi'e it to un, chawny--gi'e it to un." "yow pitched me in dam and set dawg--" "look here," roared uncle bob, "if you're not out of this place in half a minute i will pitch you in the dam, and set the dog at you as well. here, piter." "give's leg over the wall," growled the man. "no. go out of the gate," said uncle jack; and standing ready to avoid a rush we opened the gate in the wall and let the fellow go free. we got him out and escaped a rush, for the little crowd were all up by the side of the dam, whence they could see into the yard; but as we sent chawny, as he was called, out through the gate, and he turned to stand there, dripping, and ready to shake his fist in our faces, they came charging down. uncle bob banged the door to, though, as our enemy repeated his angry charge: "yow pitched me in dam and set dawg at me." then the door was closed and we prepared for the next attack from the murmuring crowd outside. but none came, and the voices gradually grew fainter and died away, while, taking it in turns, we watched till morning began to break without any farther demonstration on the part of the enemy. "we're safe for this time, boys," said uncle dick. "now go and have a few hours' rest. i'll call you when the men come." we were only too glad, and ten minutes later we were all asleep on some shavings and straw in the upper workshop, while uncle dick and piter kept guard. chapter eight. on guard. it seemed as if it had all been a dream when i awoke and found uncle bob was shaking me. "come, young fellow," he cried; "breakfast's ready." i did not feel ready for my breakfast if it was, especially a breakfast of bread and meat with no chair, no table, no cloth, no tea, coffee, or bread and butter. such a good example was shown me, though, that i took the thick sandwich offered to me, and i was soon forgetting my drowsiness and eating heartily. we were not interrupted, and when we had ended our meal, went round the place to see what was to be done. the first thing was placing the property that could be claimed by the men close by the gate ready for them, and when this was done piter and i walked up and down the yard listening to the steps outside, and waiting to give a signal if any of the men should come. no men came, however, and there was not a single call till afternoon, when a sharp rapping at the gate was answered by two of my uncles, and the dog, who seemed puzzled as to the best pair of legs to peer between, deciding at last in favour of uncle bob's. to our surprise, when the gate was opened, there were no men waiting, but half a dozen women, one of whom announced that they had came for their masters' "traps," and the said "traps" being handed to them, they went off without a word, not even condescending to say "thank you." "come," said uncle bob, after the various things had been carried off, and piter had stood looking on twitching his ears and blinking at them, as if he did not war with women, "come, we've won the game." "don't be too sure, my boy," said uncle dick. "but they have, given up." "given up expecting to use the works. but what are they going to do in revenge?" "revenge!" "yes. you may depend upon it we are marked men, and that we shall have to fight hard to hold our own." as the day went on--a day busily spent in making plans for the future of our factory, we had one or two applications from men who were seeking work, and if we had any doubt before of how our coming was to be received, we realised it in the yells and hootings that greeted the men who came in a friendly spirit. uncle dick went off directly after breakfast to see about the machinery waiting at the railway being delivered, and it was late in the afternoon before he returned. "one of us will have to stay always on the premises for the present," he said, "so i have ordered some furniture and a carpenter to come and board up and make that corner office comfortable. we must make shift." the matter was discussed, and finally it was settled that two of our party were to be always on the premises, and until we were satisfied that there was no more fear of interference, one was to keep watch half the night with the dog, and then be relieved by the other. "we shall have to make a man of you, cob," said uncle jack. "you must take your turn with us." "i'm ready," i replied; and very proud i felt of being trusted. of course i felt nervous, but at the same time rather disappointed, for everything went on in the most business like way. carpenters and fitters were set to work, and, helped by the indomitable perseverance and energy of my uncles, a great deal of fresh machinery was soon in position. new shafts and bands, a new furnace for preparing our own steel after a fashion invented by uncle dick. new grindstones and polishing-wheels, new forges with tilt-hammers, and anvils. by degrees i found what was going to be our chief business, and that was the production of cutlery of a peculiar temper especially for surgical instruments and swords, uncle dick having an idea that he could produce blades equal to damascus or the finest spanish steel. the days glided by with the works growing more complete, and each night half our party on guard at fort industry, as uncle bob christened the place. and though the couple who had slept at the lodgings went down to the place every morning feeling nervous, and wondering whether anything had happened in the night, it was always to find that all was going on perfectly smoothly, and that there was nothing to mind. piter had a kennel just inside the entry, and as each new hand was engaged he was introduced to the dog, who inspected him, and never afterwards so much as growled. uncle dick took the lead, and under his orders the change rapidly took place. there was one hindrance, though, and that occurred in connection with the furnaces, for the chimney-shaft needed some repair at the top. this, however, proved to be an easy task, scaffolding not being necessary, projecting bars answering the purpose of the rounds of a ladder having been built in when the shaft was erected, with this end in view. at last everything was, as uncle dick called it, complete for the present. there was a good supply of water, and one morning the furnace was lit, so were the forges, and step by step we progressed till there was quite a busy scene, the floors and rafters in the forge and furnace building glowing and seeming turned to gold; while from out of the chimney there rose every morning a great volume of smoke that rolled out and bent over, and formed itself into vast feathery plumes. i could hardly believe it true when it was announced that we had been down in arrowfield a month: but so it was. but little had been done beyond getting the machinery at the works ready for work to come; now, however, some of the projects were to be put in action. "for," said uncle dick, "if we should go on forging and grinding as other manufacturers do, we only enter into competition with them, and i dare say we should be beaten. we must do something different and better, and that's why we have come. to-morrow i begin to make my new tempered steel." uncle dick kept his word, and the next morning men were at work arranging fire-bricks for a little furnace which was duly made, and then so much blistered steel was laid in a peculiar way with so much iron, and a certain heat was got up and increased and lowered several times till uncle dick was satisfied. he told me that the colour assumed by the metal was the test by which he judged whether it was progressing satisfactorily, and this knowledge could only come by experience. everything was progressing most favourably. the men who had been engaged worked well; we had seen no more of those who had had to vacate the works, and all was as it should be. in fact our affairs were so prosperous that to me it seemed great folly for watch to be kept in the works night after night. i thought it the greatest nonsense possible one night when i had been very busy all day, and it had come to my turn, and i told uncle jack so. "those fellows were a bit cross at having to turn out," i said. "of course they were, and they made a fuss. you don't suppose they will come again?" "i don't know, cob," said uncle jack quietly. "but is it likely?" i said pettishly. "i can't say, my boy--who can? strange things have been done down in arrowfield by foolish workmen before now." "oh, yes!" i said; "but that's in the past. it isn't likely that they will come and annoy us. besides, there's piter. he'd soon startle any one away." "you think then that there is no occasion for us to watch, cob?" "yes," i cried eagerly, "that's just what i think. we can go to bed and leave piter to keep guard. he would soon give the alarm." "then you had better go to bed, cob," said uncle jack quietly. "and of course you won't get up when it comes to your turn." "no," he said; "certainly not." "that's right," i cried triumphantly. "i am glad we have got over this scare." "are you?" he said dryly. "am i, uncle jack! why, of course i am. all is locked up. i'll go and unchain piter, and then we'll go and get a good night's rest." "yes," he said; "you may as well unchain piter." i ran and set the dog at liberty, and he started off to make the circuit of the place, while i went back to uncle jack, who was lighting the bull's-eye lantern that we always used when on guard. "why, uncle," i said wonderingly; "we sha'n't want that to-night." "i shall," he said. "good-night!" "no, no," i cried. "we arranged to go to bed." "you arranged to go to bed, cob, but i did not. you don't suppose i could behave so unfairly to my brothers as to neglect the task they placed in my hands." he did not say any more. it was quite sufficient. i felt the rebuff, and was thoroughly awake now and ashamed of what i had proposed. without a word i took the lantern and held out my hand. "good-night, uncle jack!" i said. he had seemed cold and stern just before. now he was his quiet old self again, and he took my hand, nodded, and said: "two o'clock, cob. good-night!" i saw him go along the great workshop, enter the office and close the door, and then i started on my rounds. it was anything but a cheerful task, that keeping watch over the works during the night, and i liked the first watch from ten to two less than the second watch from two to six, for in the latter you had the day breaking about four o'clock, and then it was light until six. for, however much one might tell oneself that there was no danger--no likelihood of anything happening, the darkness in places, the faint glow from partly extinct fires, and the curious shadows cast on the whitewashed walls were all disposed to be startling; and, well as i knew the place, i often found myself shrinking as i came suddenly upon some piece of machinery that assumed in the darkness the aspect of some horrible monster about to seize me as i went my rounds. upon the other hand, there was a pleasant feeling of importance in going about that great dark place of a night, with a lantern at my belt, a stout stick in my hand, and a bull-dog at my heels, and this sensation helped to make the work more bearable. on this particular night i had paced silently all about the place several times, thinking a good deal about my little encounter with uncle jack, and about the last letters i had had from my father. then, as all seemed perfectly right, i had seated myself by the big furnace, which emitted a dull red glow, not sufficient to light the place, but enough to make it pleasantly warm, and to show that if a blast were directed in the coals, a fierce fire would soon be kindled. i did not feel at all sleepy now; in fact, in spite of the warmth this furnace-house would not have been a pleasant place to sleep in, for the windows on either side were open, having no glass, only iron bars, and those on one side looked over the dam, while the others were in the wall that abutted on the lane leading down to the little river. piter had been with me all through my walk round, but, seeing me settle down, he had leaped on to the hot ashes and proceeded to curl himself up in a nice warm place, where the probabilities were that he would soon begin to cook. piter had been corrected for this half a dozen times over, but he had to be bullied again, and leaping off the hot ashes he had lowered his tail and trotted back to his kennel, where he curled himself up. all was very still as i sat there, except that the boom and throb of the busy town where the furnaces and steam-engines were at work kept going and coming in waves of sound; and as i sat, i found myself thinking about the beauty of the steel that my uncles had set themselves to produce; and how, when a piece was snapped across, breaking like a bit of glass, the fracture looked all of a silvery bluish-grey. then i began thinking about our tall chimney, and what an unpleasant place mine would be to sit in if there were a furious storm, and the shaft were blown down; and then, with all the intention to be watchful, i began to grow drowsy, and jumping up, walked up and down the furnace-house and round the smouldering fire, whose chimney was a great inverted funnel depending from the open roof. i grew tired of walking about and sat down again, to begin thinking once more. how far is it from thinking to sleeping and dreaming? who can answer that question? to me it seemed that i was sitting thinking, and that as i thought there in the darkness, where i could see the fire throwing up its feeble glow on to the dim-looking open windows on either side, some great animal came softly in through the window on my left, and then disappeared for a few moments, to appear again on my right where the wall overlooked the lane. that window seemed to be darkened for a minute or two, and then became light again, while once more that on my left grew dark, and i saw the figure glide out. i seemed, as i say, to have been thinking, and as i thought it all appeared to be a dream, for it would have been impossible for any one to have crept in at one window, passing the furnace and back again without disturbing me. yes; i told myself it was all fancy, and as i thought i told myself that i started awake, and looked sharply at first one window, and then at the other, half expecting to see someone there. "i was asleep and dreaming," i said to myself; and, starting up impatiently, i walked right out of the furnace-house across the strip of yard, and in at the door, making piter give his stumpy tail a sharp rapping noise upon the floor of his kennel. i went on all through the grinding workshop, and listened at the end of the place to the water trickling and dripping down in the great water-floored cellar. that place had an attraction for me, and i stood listening for some minutes before walking back, thoroughly awake now. i was so used to the place that i had no need to open the lantern, but threaded my way here and there without touching a thing, and i was able to pass right through to the upper floor in the same way. everything was correct, and uncle jack sleeping soundly, as i hoped to be after another hour or so's watching. i would not disturb him, but stole out again, and along the workshop to the head of the stairs, where i descended and stooped to pat piter again before looking about the yard, and then walking slowly into the warm furnace-house. then, after a glance at the windows where i had fancied i had seen someone creep in, i sat down in my old place enjoying the warmth, and once more the drowsy sensation crept over me. how long it was before i dropped asleep i can't tell, but, bad watchman that i was, i did drop asleep, and began dreaming about the great dam miles away up the valley; and there it seemed to me i was fishing with a long line for some of the great pike that lurked far down in the depths. as i fished my line seemed to pass over a window-sill and scraped against it, and made a noise which set me wondering how large the fish must be that was running away with it. and then i was awake, with the perspiration upon my forehead and my hands damp, listening. it was no fishing-line. i was not by the great dam up the river, but there in our own furnace-house, and something was making a strange rustling noise. for some few moments i could not tell where the noise was. there was the rustling, and it seemed straight before me. then i knew it was there, for immediately in front on the open fire something was moving and causing a series of little nickers and sparkles in the glowing ashes. what could it be? what did it mean? i was so startled that i was ready to leap up and run out of the place, and it was some time before i could summon up courage enough to stretch out a hand, and try to touch whatever it was that moved the glowing ashes. wire! yes; there was no doubt of it--wire. a long thin wire stretched pretty tightly reached right across me, and evidently passed from the window overlooking the lane across the furnace and out of the window by the side of the dam. what did it mean--what was going to happen? i asked myself these questions as i bent towards the furnace, touching the wire which glided on through my hand towards the window by the dam. it was all a matter of moments, and i could feel that someone must be drawing the wire out there by the dam, though how i could not tell, for it seemed to me that there was nothing but deep water there. "some one must have floated down the dam in a boat," i thought in a flash; but no explanation came to the next part of my question, what was it for? as i bent forward there wondering what it could mean, i began to understand that there must be some one out in the lane at the other end of the wire, and in proof of this surmise i heard a low scraping noise at the window on my right, and then a hiss as if someone had drawn his breath in between his lips. what could it mean? i was one moment for shouting, "who's there?" the next for turning on my bull's-eye; and again the next for running and rousing up uncle jack. then i thought that i would shout and call to piter; but i felt that if i did either of these things i should lose the clue that was gliding through my hands. what could it mean? the wire, invisible to me, kept softly stirring the glowing ashes, and seemed to be visible there. elsewhere it was lost in the black darkness about me, but i felt it plainly enough, and in my intense excitement, hundreds of yards seemed to have passed through my hand before i felt a check and in a flash knew what was intended. for, all at once, as the wire glided on, something struck against my hand gently, and raising the other it came in contact with a large canister wrapped round and round with stout soft cord. what for? i knew in an instant; i had read of such outrages, and it was to guard against them that we watched, and kept that dog. i had hold of a large canister of gunpowder, and the soft cord wrapped around it was prepared fuse. i comprehended too the horrible ingenuity of the scheme, which was to draw, by means of the wire, the canister of gunpowder on to the furnace, so that the fuse might catch fire, and that would give the miscreants who were engaged time to escape before the powder was fired and brought the chimney-shaft toppling down. for a moment i trembled and felt ready to drop the canister, and run for my life. then i felt strong, for i knew that if i kept the canister in my hands the fuse could not touch the smouldering ashes and the plan would fail. but how to do this without being heard by the men who must be on either side of the furnace-house. it was easy enough; i had but to hold the canister high up above the fire, and pass it over till it was beyond the burning ashes and then let it continue its course to the other window. it was a great risk, not of explosion, but of being heard; but with a curious feeling of reckless excitement upon me i held up the canister, stepping softly over the ash floor, and guiding the terrible machine on till the danger was passed. then stealing after it i climbed gently on to the broad bench beneath the clean window, and with my head just beneath it touched the wire, and waited till the canister touched my hand again. i had made no plans, but, urged on by the spirit of the moment, i seized the canister with both hands, gave it a tremendous jerk, and with my face at the window roared out: "now, fire! fire! shoot 'em down!" i stood on the work-bench then, astounded at the effect of my cry. behind me there was a jerk at the wire, which snapped, and i heard the rush of feet in the lane, while before me out from the window there came a yell, a tremendous splash, and then the sound of water being beaten, and cries for help. at the same moment piter came rushing into the furnace house, barking furiously, and directly after there was the noise of feet on the stairs, and uncle jack came in. "what is it, cob? where's your light?" he cried. i had forgotten the lantern, but i turned it on now as i tucked the canister beneath my arm. "there's a man or two men drowning out here in the dam," i panted hoarsely; and uncle jack leaped on to the bench by my side. "give me the lantern," he cried; and, taking it from my wet hands, he turned it on, held it to the open window, and made it play upon the surface of the dam. "there are two men there, swimming to the side," he cried. "stop, you scoundrels!" he roared; but the beating noise in the water increased. one seemed to get his footing and held out his hand to his companion in distress. the next minute i saw that they had gained the stone wall at the side, over which they clambered, and from there we heard them drop down on to the gravel stones. "they're gone, cob," said my uncle. "shall we run after them?" i said. "it would be madness," he replied. "down, piter! quiet, good dog!" "now what's the meaning of it all?" he said after turning the light round the place. "what did you hear? were they getting in?" "no," i said; "they were trying to draw this canister on to the fire with the wire; but i heard them and got hold of it." uncle jack turned the light of the bull's-eye on to the canister i held, and then turned it off again, as if there were danger of its doing some harm with the light alone, even after it had passed through glass. "why, cob," he said huskily, "did you get hold of that?" "yes, i stopped it," i said, trembling now that the excitement had passed. "but was the fuse alight?" "no," i said; "they were going to draw it over the fire there, only i found it out in time." "why, cob," he whispered, "there's a dozen pounds of powder here wrapped round with all this fuse. come with me to put it in a place of safety: why, it would have half-wrecked our works." "would it?" i said. "would it, boy! it would have been destruction, perhaps death. cob," he whispered huskily, "ought we to go on watching?" "oh, uncle jack," i said, "i suppose i am foolish because i am so young!" "cob, my boy," he said softly; "if you had been ten times as old you could not have done better than you have done to-night. here, let's place this dreadful canister in the water chamber: it will be safer there." "but the men; will they come again?" "not to-night, my lad. i think we are safe for a few hours to come. but what of the future, if these blind savages will do such things as this?" chapter nine. drowning an enemy. i did not sleep that morning, but kept watch with uncle jack, and as soon as the men came to work i hurried off to mrs stephenson's to tell the others of the night's adventures. half an hour later they were with me at the works, where a quiet examination was made, everything being done so as not to take the attention of the work-people, who were now busy. we had first of all a good look round outside, and found that beneath the window of the furnace-house there were some half dozen great nails or spikes carefully driven into the wall, between the stones, so as to make quite a flight of steps for an active man, and across the window lay a tangled-together length of thin wire. we did not stop to draw out the nails for fear of exciting attention, but strolled back at once into the works. and now once for all, when i say _we_, please to understand that it is not out of conceit, for my share in our adventures was always very small, but to avoid uncling you all too much, and making so many repetitions of the names of uncle dick, uncle jack, and uncle bob. i saw several of the men look up from their work as we went through the grinding-shop, but they went on again with their task, making the blades they ground shriek as they pressed them against the swiftly revolving stones. "they must know all about it, uncle bob," i whispered, and he gave me a meaning look. "yes," he said softly; "that's the worst of it, my lad. master and man ought to shake hands and determine to fight one for the other; but, as you see, they take opposite sides, and it is war." we went next into the wheel-pit and had a look round, after which uncle jack spoke aloud to the man who acted as general engineer, and said he thought that the great axle wanted seeing to and fresh cleaning. the man nodded, and said gruffly that he would see to it, and then, as he turned away, i saw him wink at one of the men grinding at a stone and thrust his tongue into his cheek. just then he caught my eye, his countenance changed, and he looked as foolish as a boy found out in some peccadillo, but the next instant he scowled at me, and his fierce dark eyes said as plainly as if they spoke: "say a word about that and i'll half kill you." i read the threat aright, as will be seen; and, turning to follow my uncles, i saw that the man was coming on close behind me, with a look in his countenance wonderfully like that with which he was being followed by piter, who, unobserved, was close at his heels, sniffing quietly at his legs and looking as if he would like to fix his teeth in one or the other. seeing this i stopped back, half expecting that piter, if left behind, might be kicked by the man's heavy clogs. the others did not notice my absence, but went on out of the grinding-shop, and the engineer came close up to me, stooping down as i waited, and putting his face close to mine. "look here, mester," he began in a low threatening tone, "do you know what's meant by keeping thy tongue atween thy teeth?" "yes," i cried; and in the same breath, "mind the dog! down, piter! down!" the man made a convulsive leap as he caught sight of the dog, and his intention was to alight upon the frame-work of one of the large grindstones close by his side--one that had just been set in motion, but though he jumped high enough he did not allow for the lowness of the ceiling, against which he struck his head, came down in a sitting position on the grindstone, and was instantly hurled off to the floor. this was piter's opportunity, and with a low growl and a bound he was upon the man's chest. another moment and he would have had him by the throat, but i caught him by the collar and dragged him off, amidst the murmur of some, and the laughter of others of the men. i did not want to look as if i was afraid, but this seemed to be a good excuse for leaving the grinding-shop, and, holding on by piter's collar, i led him out. just before i reached the door, though, i heard one of the men say to his neighbour--heard it plainly over the whirr and churring of the stones: "i've know'd dawgs poisoned for less than that." "what shall i do?" i asked myself as soon as i was outside; but the answer did not come. i could only think that my uncles had trouble enough on their hands, and that though it was very evident that the men at work for them were not very well affected, it was not likely that we had any one who would wilfully do us an injury. after all, too, nobody had threatened to poison the dog; it was only a remark about what had been known to happen. all this had taken but a very short time, and by the time i had joined my uncles they were just entering the office on the upper floor that looked over the dam. there were several men at work here at lathes and benches, and their tools made so much noise that they did not notice my entrance, closely followed by the dog; and so it was that i found out that they, too, must have known all about the cowardly attempt of the night, for one said to another: "didn't expect to be at work here this morning; did you, mate?" "no," growled the man addressed; "but why can't they leave un aloan. they pay reg'lar, and they're civil." "what do you mean?" said the first speaker sharply. "you going to side wi' un! what do we want wi' a set o' inventing corckneys here!" just then he caught sight of me, and swung round and continued his work, while i walked straight to the office door and went in, where uncle jack was just opening a window that looked out upon the dam. "yes," he said, "here we are." he pointed to a sort of raft formed of a couple of planks placed about five feet apart and across which a dozen short pieces of wood had been nailed, forming a buoyant platform, on which no doubt our enemies had floated themselves down from the head of the dam, where there was a timber yard. "all plain enough now," said uncle jack, grinding his teeth. "oh, if i could have had hold of those two fellows by the collar when they fell in!" "well," said uncle bob, "what would you have done--drowned them?" "not quite," said uncle jack; "but they would have swallowed a great deal more water than would have been good for them." "never mind about impossible threats," said uncle dick. "let's examine the powder canister now." this was taken from its resting-place during the time the men were at breakfast and carried into the office, where the dangerous weapon of our enemies was laid upon the desk and examined. it was a strong tin canister about ten inches high and six across, and bound round and round, first with strong string and afterwards loosely with some soft black-looking cord, which uncle dick said was fuse; and he pointed out where one end was passed through a little hole punched through the bottom of the canister, while the loosely-twisted fuse was held on by thin wire, which allowed the soft connection with the powder to hang out in loops. "yes," said uncle dick; "if that is good fuse, the very fact of any part touching a spark or smouldering patch of ash would be enough to set it alight, and there is enough, i should say, to burn for a quarter of an hour before it reaches the powder. yes, a good ten pounds of it," he added, balancing the canister in his hands. "but it may be a scare," said uncle bob: "done to frighten us. we don't know yet that it is powder." "oh, we'll soon prove that," cried uncle jack, taking out his knife. "uncle! take care!" i cried in agony, for i seemed to see sparks flying from his knife, and the powder exploding and blowing us to atoms. "if you are afraid, cob, you had better go back home," he said rather gruffly, as he cut the fuse through and tore it off, to lie in a little heap as soon as he had freed it from the wire. then the string followed, and the canister stood upright before us on the desk. "looks as harmless as if it were full of arrow-root or mustard," said uncle bob coolly. "perhaps, after all, it is a scare." i stood there with my teeth closed tightly, determined not to show fear, even if the horrible stuff did blow up. for though there was no light in the room, and the matches were in a cupboard, i could not get out of my head the idea that the stuff _might_ explode, and it seemed terrible to me for such a dangerous machine to be handled in what appeared to be so reckless a way. "lid fits pretty tight," said uncle jack, trying to screw it off. "don't do that, old fellow," said uncle dick. "it would be grinding some of the dust round, and the friction might fire it." "well, yes, it might," replied uncle jack. "not likely though, and i want to examine the powder." "that's easily done, my boy. pull that bit of fuse out of the hole, and let some of the powder trickle out." "bravo! man of genius," said uncle jack; and he drew out the plug of fuse that went through the bottom of the canister. as he did this over a sheet of paper a quantity of black grains like very coarse dry sand began to trickle out and run on to the paper, forming quite a heap, and as the powder ran uncle jack looked round at his brother and smiled sadly. "not done to frighten us, eh, bob!" he said. "if that stuff had been fired the furnace-house and chimney would have been levelled." "why, cob," said uncle dick, laying his hand affectionately upon my shoulder. "you must be a brave fellow to have hauled that away from the furnace." "i did not feel very brave just now," i said bitterly. "when uncle jack began to handle that tin i felt as if i must run away." "but you didn't," said uncle bob, smiling at me. "is that gunpowder?" i said hastily, so as to change the conversation. "no doubt of it, my lad," said uncle jack, scooping it up in his hand, so that it might trickle through his fingers. "strong blasting powder. shall i fire some and try?" "if you like," i said sulkily, for it was, i knew, said to tease me. "well, what's to be done, boys?" said uncle jack. "are we going to lay this before the police? it is a desperate business!" "desperate enough, but we shall do no good, and only give ourselves a great deal of trouble if we go to the law. the police might trace out one of the offenders; but if they did, what then? it would not stop the attempts to harm us. no: i'm of opinion that our safety lies in our own watchfulness. a more terrible attempt than this could not be made." "what shall we do with the powder, then?" asked uncle bob; "save it to hoist some of the scoundrels with their own petard?" "oh, of course if you like," said uncle jack. "fancy bob trying to blow anybody up with gunpowder!" "when he can't even do it with his breath made into words." "ah! joke away," said uncle bob; "but i want to see you get rid of that horrible stuff." "we don't want to save it then?" said uncle jack. "no, no; get rid of it." "that's soon done then," said uncle jack, tying a piece of the cord round the canister; and, going to the open window, he lowered it down over the deep water in the dam, where it sank like a stone, and drew the cord after it out of sight. "there," he cried, "that will soon be so soaked with water that it will be spoiled." "who's that," i said, "on the other side of the dam? he's watching us." "squintum the grinder. what's his name--griggs. yes, i shouldn't be a bit surprised if that scoundrel had a hand--" "both hands," put in uncle bob. "well, both hands in this ugly business." "but couldn't you prove it against him?" i said. "no, my lad," said uncle jack; "and i don't know that we want to. wretched misguided lumps of ignorance. i don't want to help to transport the villains." we had drawn back from the window to where there was still a little heap of powder on the desk as well as the fuse. "come, bob," said uncle jack; "you may not be quite convinced yet, so i'll show you an experiment." he took about a teaspoonful of the powder, and placed it in a short piece of iron pipe which he laid on the window-sill, and then taking the rest of the explosive, he gave it a jerk and scattered it over the water. then taking about a yard of the black soft cord that he said was fuse, he tucked one end in the pipe so that it should rest upon the powder, laid the rest along the window-sill, and asked me to get the matches. "now," he said, "if that's what i think--cleverly made fuse, and good strong powder--we shall soon see on a small scale what it would have done on a large. strike a match, cob." i did as i was told, feeling as if i was going to let off a very interesting firework, and as soon as the splint was well alight i was about to hold the little flame to the end of the fuse, but uncle jack stopped me. "no," he said, "i want to see if a spark would have lit it. i mean i want to see if just drawing the canister over the remains of the furnace-fire would have started the fuse. that's it, now just touch the end quickly with the match." there was only a little spark on the wood, and no flame, as i touched the side of the fuse. the effect was instantaneous. the soft black-looking cord burst into scintillations, tiny sparks flew off on all sides, and a dull fire began to burn slowly along the fuse. "capitally made," said uncle jack. "that would have given the scoundrels plenty of warning that the work was well done, and they would have been able to get to a distance before the explosion took place." "and now we shall see whether the powder is good," said uncle dick. "but how slowly it burns!" said uncle bob. "but how surely," i had it on my lips to say. i did not speak though, for i was intently watching the progress of the sparks as they ran along the fuse slowly and steadily; and as i gazed i seemed to see what would have gone on in the great dark building if i had not been awakened by the scraping sound of the canister being hauled over bench and floor. i shuddered as i watched intently, for the fuse seemed as if it would never burn through, and even when, after what in my excitement seemed a long space of time, it did reach the iron pipe, though a few sparks came from inside, the powder did not explode. "uncle bob's right!" i cried with an intense feeling of relief; "that was not powder, and they only tried to frighten us." _puff_! there was a sharp flash from each end of the iron tube, and one little ball of white smoke came into the office, while another darted out into the sunny morning air. "wrong, cob," said uncle jack. "splendidly-made fuse and tremendously-strong powder. we have had a very narrow escape. now, lads, what's to be done?" "what do you say, jack?" said uncle dick. "do our duty--be always on the watch--fight it out." "that's settled," said uncle dick. "now let's get to work again. cob, you can come and see us cast some steel ingots if you like." "cast!" i said. "yes, cast. you know what that is?" "yes, of course." "but you never saw it liquid so that it could be poured out like water." "no," i said, as i followed him, wondering whether i had not better tell him that i had overheard a strange remark about poisoning a dog, and ask if he thought there was any risk about piter, who seemed to grow much uglier every day, and yet i liked him better. the end of it was that i saw the steel lifted out of the furnace in crucibles and poured forth like golden-silver water into charcoal moulds, but i did not speak about the dog. chapter ten. "'night, mate." as it happened, mr tomplin came in that evening, and when he asked how matters were progressing at the works, uncle dick looked round and seemed to be asking his brothers whether he should speak. "ah! i see," said mr tomplin; "they have been up to some tricks with you." "tricks is a mild term," said uncle jack bitterly. "they have not tried to blow you up?" "indeed but they did!" said uncle jack fiercely; "and if it had not been for the coolness and bravery of my nephew there the place would have been destroyed." "tut! tut! tut!" ejaculated mr tomplin; and putting on his spectacles he stared at me in the most provoking way, making me feel as if i should like to knock his glasses off. "is it customary for your people here to fire canisters of gunpowder in the workshops of those who are newcomers?" "sometimes," said mr tomplin coolly. "but such things would destroy life." "well, not always life, my dear sir," said mr tomplin, "but very often great bodily injury is done." "very often?" "well, no, not very often now, but we have had a great many trade outrages in our time." "but what have we done beyond taking possession of a building for which we have paid a large sum of money?" "it is not what you have done, my dear sirs; it is what you are about to do. the work-people have got it into their heads that you are going to invent some kind of machinery that will throw them out of work." "nothing of the kind, my dear sir. we are trying to perfect an invention that will bring a vast deal of trade to arrowfield." "but you will not be able to make them believe that till the business comes." "and before then, i suppose, we are to be killed?" mr tomplin looked very serious, and stared hard at me, as if it was all my fault. "my dear sirs," he said at last, "i hardly know how to advise you. it is a most unthankful task to try and invent anything, especially down here. people are so blindly obstinate and wilful that they will not listen to reason. why not go steadily on with manufacturing in the regular way? what do you say, my young friend?" he added, turning to me. "why not ask the world to stand still, sir?" i exclaimed impetuously. "i say it's a shame!" he looked very hard at me, and then pursed up his lips, while i felt that i had been speaking very rudely to him, and could only apologise to myself by thinking that irritation was allowable, for only last night we had been nearly blown up. "would you put the matter in the hands of the police?" said uncle dick. "well, you might," said mr tomplin. "but you would not," said uncle bob. "no, i don't think i should, if it were my case. i should commence an action for damages if i could find an enemy who had any money, but it is of no use fighting men of straw." mr tomplin soon after went away, and i looked at my uncles, wondering what they would say. but as they did not speak i broke out with: "why, he seemed to think nothing of it." "custom of the country," said uncle bob, laughing. "come, dick, it's our turn now." "right!" said uncle dick; but uncle jack laid hold of his shoulder. "look here," he said. "i don't like the idea of you two going down there." "no worse for us than for you," said uncle bob. "perhaps not, but the risk seems too great." "never mind," said uncle dick. "i'm not going to be beaten. it's war to the knife, and i'm not going to give up." "they are not likely to try anything to-night," said uncle bob. "there, you two can walk down with us and look round to see if everything is all right and then come back." "don't you think you ought to have pistols?" said uncle jack. "no," replied uncle dick firmly. "we have our sticks, and the dog, and we'll do our best with them. if a pistol is used it may mean the destruction of a life, and i would rather give up our adventure than have blood upon our hands." "yes, you are right," said uncle jack. "if bodily injury or destruction is done let them have the disgrace on their side." we started off directly, and i could not help noticing how people kept staring at my uncles. it was not the respectably-dressed people so much as the rough workmen, who were hanging about with their pipes, or standing outside the public-house doors. these scowled and talked to one another in a way that i did not like, and more than once i drew uncle dick's attention to it, but he only smiled. "we're strangers," he said. "they'll get used to us by and by." there was not a soul near the works as we walked up to the gate and were saluted with a furious fit of barking from piter, who did not know our steps till the key was rattled in the gate. then he stopped at once and gave himself a shake and whined. it was growing dusk as we walked round the yard, to find everything quite as it should be. a look upstairs and down showed nothing suspicious; and after a few words regarding keeping a sharp look-out and the like we left the watchers of the night and walked back. "cob," said uncle jack as we sat over our supper, "i don't like those two poor fellows being left there by themselves." "neither do i, uncle," i said. "why not give up watching the place and let it take its chance?" "because we had such an example of the safety of the place and the needlessness of the task?" "don't be hard on me, uncle," i said quickly. "i meant that it would be better to suffer serious loss than to have someone badly injured in defending the place." "you're right, cob--quite right," cried uncle jack, slapping the table. "here, you make me feel like a boy. i believe you were born when you were an old man." "nonsense!" i said, laughing. "but you don't talk nonsense, sir. what are you--a fairy changeling? here, let's go down to the works." "go down?" i said. "to be sure. i couldn't go to bed to-night and sleep. i should be thinking that those two poor fellows were being blown up, or knob-sticked, or turned out. we'll have them back and leave piter to take care of the works, and give him a rise in his wages." "of an extra piece of meat every day, uncle?" "if you had waited a few minutes longer, sir, i should have said that," he replied, laughing; and taking his hat and stick we went down the town, talking about the curious vibrations and throbbings we could hear; of the heavy rumbling and the flash and glow that came from the different works. some were so lit up that it seemed as if the windows were fiery eyes staring out of the darkness, and more than once we stopped to gaze in at some cranny where furnaces were kept going night and day and the work never seemed to stop. as we left the steam-engine part behind, the solitary stillness of our district seemed to be more evident; and though we passed one policeman, i could not help thinking how very little help we should be able to find in a case of great emergency. uncle jack had chatted away freely enough as we went on; but as we drew nearer to the works he became more and more silent, and when we had reached the lane he had not spoken for fully ten minutes. eleven o'clock was striking and all seemed very still. not a light was visible on that side, and the neighbouring works were apparently quite empty as we stood and listened. "let's walk along by the side of the dam, cob," said uncle jack. "i don't suppose we shall see anything, but let's have a look how the place seems by night." i followed close behind him, and we passed under the one gas lamp that showed the danger of the path to anyone going along; for in the darkness there was nothing to prevent a person from walking right into the black dam, which looked quite beautiful and countrified now, spangled all over, as it was, with the reflections of the stars. i was going to speak, but uncle jack raised his hand for me to be silent, and i crept closer to him, wondering what reason he had for stopping me; and then he turned and caught my arm, for we had reached the end of the dam where it communicated with the river. just then two men approached, and one said to the other: "tell 'ee, they changes every night. sometimes it's one and the boy, sometimes two on 'em together. the boy was there last night, and-- hullo! 'night, mate!" "'night!" growled uncle jack in an assumed voice as he slouched down and gave me a shake. "coom on, wilt ta!" he said hoarsely; and i followed him without a word. "i tried it, cob," he whispered as we listened to the retreating steps of the men. "i don't think they knew us in the dark." "they were talking about us," i said. "yes; that made me attempt to disguise my voice. here, let's get back. hark! there's the dog. quick! something may be wrong." we set off at a trot in the direction that the men had taken, but we did not pass them, for they had gone down to their right; but there was no doubt existing that the affairs at the works were well known and that we were surrounded by enemies; and perhaps some of them were busy now, for jupiter kept on his furious challenge, mingling it with an angry growl, that told of something being wrong. chapter eleven. pannell's pet. "who's there?" "all right--open the door! cob and i have come down to see how you are getting on," said uncle jack. the gate was unlocked and a stout iron bar that had been added to the defences taken down. "why, what brings you two here?" cried uncle dick. "what's the matter?" "that's what we want to know. how long has the dog been uneasy?" "for the past hour. i had gone to lie down; bob was watchman. all at once piter began barking furiously, and i got up directly." "let's have another look round," said uncle jack. "here, piter!" i cried; "what's the matter, old fellow?" the dog whined and laid his great jowl in my hand, blinking up at me and trying to make his savage grin seem to be a pleasant smile; but all at once he started away, threw up his head, and barked again angrily. "what is it, old fellow?" i said. "here, show us them. what is it?" piter looked at me, whined, and then barked again angrily as if there was something very wrong indeed; but he could only smell it in the air. what it was or where it was he did not seem to know. we had a good look round, searching everywhere, and not without a great deal of trepidation; for after the past night's experience with the powder it was impossible to help feeling nervous. that's what uncle jack called it. i felt in a regular fright. "everything seems quite satisfactory," uncle jack was fain to say at last. and then, "look here, boys," he cried, "cob and i have been talking this matter over, and we say that the works must take care of themselves. you two have to come back with us." "what! and leave the place to its fate?" said uncle dick. "yes. better do that than any mishap should come to you." "what do you say, bob?" "i've a very great objection to being blown up, knocked on the head, or burned," said uncle bob quietly. "it's just so with a soldier; he does not want to be shot, bayoneted, or sabred, but he has to take his chance. i'm going to take mine." "so am i," said uncle dick. "but, my dear boys--" "there, it's of no use; is it, bob?" cried uncle dick. "if we give way he'll always be bouncing over us about how he kept watch and we daren't." "nonsense!" cried uncle jack. "well, if you didn't," said uncle bob, "that cocky consequential small man of a boy, cob, will be always going about with his nose in the air and sneering. i shall stay." "then we will stay with you." my uncles opposed this plan, but uncle jack declared that he could not sleep if he went back; so the others gave in and we stayed, taking two hours turns, and the night passed slowly by. every now and then piter had an uneasy fit, bursting out into a tremendous series of barks and howls, but there seemed to be no reason for the outcry. he was worst during the watch kept by uncle jack and me after we had had a good sleep, and there was something very pathetic in the way the poor dog looked at us, as much as to say, "i wish i could speak and put you on your guard." but the night passed without any trouble; the men came in to their work, and with the darkness the fear seemed to have passed away. for there in the warm sunshine the water of the dam was dancing and sparkling, the great wheel went round, and inside the works the grindstones were whizzing and the steel being ground was screeching. bellows puffed, and fires roared, and there was the _clink clank_ of hammers sounding musically upon the anvils, as the men forged blades out of the improved steel my uncles were trying to perfect. business was increasing, and matters went so smoothly during the next fortnight that our troubles seemed to be at an end. in one week six fresh men were engaged, and after the sluggish times in london, where for a couple of years past business had been gradually dying off, everything seemed to be most encouraging. some of the men engaged were queer characters. one was a great swarthy giant with hardly any face visible for black hair, and to look at he seemed fit for a bandit, but to talk to he was one of the most gentle and amiable of men. he was a smith, and when he was at the anvil he used almost to startle me, he handled a heavy hammer so violently. i often stood at the door watching him seize a piece of steel with the tongs, whisk it out of the forge with a flourish that sent the white-hot scintillations flying through the place, bang it down on the anvil, and then beat it savagely into the required shape. then he would thrust it into the fire again, begin blowing the bellows with one hand and stroke a kitten that he kept at the works with his unoccupied hand, talking to it all the time in a little squeaking voice like a boy's. he was very fond of swinging the sparkling and sputtering steel about my head whenever i went in, but he was always civil, and the less i heeded his queer ways the more civil he became. there was a grinder, too, taken on at the same time, a short round-looking man, with plump cheeks, and small eyes which were often mere slits in his face. he had a little soft nose, too, that looked like a plump thumb, and moved up and down and to right and left when he was intent upon his work. he was the best-tempered man in the works, and seemed to me as if he was always laughing and showing his two rows of firm white teeth. i somehow quite struck up an acquaintance with these two men, for while the others looked askant at me and treated me as if i were my uncle's spy, sent into the works to see how the men kept on, pannell the smith and gentles the grinder were always ready to be civil. my friendliness with pannell began one morning when i had caught a mouse up in the office overlooking the dam, where i spent most of my time making drawings and models with uncle bob. this mouse i took down as a _bonne bouche_ for pannell's kitten, and as soon as he saw the little creature seize it and begin to spit and swear, he rested upon his hammer handle and stopped to watch it. next time i went into the smithy he did not flourish the white-hot steel round my head, but gave it a flourish in another direction, banged it down upon the anvil, and in a very short time had turned it into the blade of a small hand-bill. "you couldn't do that," he said smiling, as he cooled the piece of steel and threw it down on the floor before taking out another. "not like that," i said. "i could do it roughly." "yah! not you," he said. "try." i was only too eager, and seizing the pincers i took out one of the glowing pieces of steel lying ready, laid it upon the anvil and beat it into shape, forming a rough imitation of the work i had been watching, but with twice as many strokes, taking twice as long, and producing work not half so good. when i had done he picked up the implement, turned it over and over, looked at me, threw it down, and then went and stroked his kitten, staring straight before him. "why, i couldn't ha' done a bit o' forging like that when i'd been at it fower year," he said in his high-pitched voice. "but my uncles have often shown me how," i said. "what! can they forge?" he said, staring very hard at me. "oh, yes, as well as you can!" he blew hard at the kitten and then shook his head in a dissatisfied way, after which it seemed as if i had offended him, for he seized his hammer and pincers and began working away very hard, finishing a couple of the steel bill-hooks before he spoke again. "which on 'em 'vented this here contrapshion?" he said, pointing to an iron bar, by touching which he could direct a blast of air into his fire without having the need of a man or boy to blow. "uncle john," i said. "what! him wi' the biggest head?" i nodded. "yes; he said that with the water-wheel going it was easy to contrive a way to blow the fires." "humph! can he forge a bill-hook or a scythe blade?" "oh, yes!" "who's 'venting the noo steel?" "oh, they are all helping! it was uncle richard who first started it." "oh, uncle richard, was it?" he said thoughtfully. "well, it won't niver do." "why?" "snap a two, and never bear no edge." "who says so?" "traade," he cried. "steel was good enough as it weer." just then, as luck had it, uncle jack came into the smithy, and stood and watched the man as he scowled heavily and flourished out the hot steel as if he resented being watched. "you are not forging those hand-bills according to pattern, my man," said uncle jack, as he saw one finished, pannell beating the steel with savage vehemence, and seeming as if he wished it were uncle jack's head. "that's way to forge a hand-bill," said the man sourly. "your way," said uncle jack quietly. "not mine. i gave you a pattern. these are being made of a new steel." "good for nought," said the man; but uncle jack paid no heed, assuming not to have heard the remark. "and i want them to look different to other people's." "do it yoursen then," said the great fellow savagely; and he threw down the hammer and pincers. "yes, perhaps i had better," said uncle jack, rolling up his white shirt-sleeves, after taking off his coat and throwing it to me. i saw pannell glower at the pure white skin that covered great muscles as big and hard as his own, while, after unhooking a leather apron from where it hung, the lever was touched, the fire roared, and at last uncle jack brought out a piece of white-hot steel, banged it on the anvil, and rapidly beat it into shape. every stroke had its object, and not one unnecessary blow fell, while in a short time he held in the water, which hissed angrily, a hand-bill that was beautifully made, and possessed a graceful curve and hook that the others wanted. "there," said uncle jack. "that's how i want them made." the man's face was set in a savage vindictive look, full of jealous annoyance, at seeing a well-dressed gentleman strip and use the smith's hammer and pincers better than he could have used them himself. "make me one now after that pattern," said uncle jack. it seemed to me that the giant was going to tear off his leather apron furiously and stride out of the place; but just then uncle jack stretched out his great strong hand and lifted up pannell's kitten, which had sprung upon the forge and was about to set its little paws on the hot cinders. "poor pussy!" he said, standing it in one hand and stroking it with the other. "you mustn't burn those little paws and singe that coat. is this the one that had the mouse, cob?" just as i answered, "yes," i saw the great smith change his aspect, pick up the still hot hand-bill that uncle jack had forged, stare hard at it on both sides, and then, throwing it down, he seized the pincers in one hand, the forge shovel in the other, turned on the blast and made the fire glow, and at last whisked out a piece of white-hot steel. this he in turn banged down on the anvil--_stithy_ he called it--and beat into shape. it was not done so skilfully as uncle jack had forged his, but the work was good and quick, and when he had done, the man cooled it and held it out with all the rough independence of the north-countryman. "suppose that may do, mester," he said, and he stared at where uncle jack still stroked the kitten, which made a platform of his broad palm, and purred and rubbed itself against his chest. "capitally!" said uncle jack, setting down the kitten gently. "yes; i wouldn't wish to see better work." "aw raight!" said pannell; and he went on with his work, while uncle jack and i walked across the yard to the office. "we shall get all right with the men by degrees, cob," he said. "that fellow was going to be nasty, but he smoothed himself down. you see now the use of a master being able to show his men how to handle their tools." "yes," i said, laughing; "but that was not all. pannell would have gone if it had not been for one thing." "what was that?" he said. "you began petting his kitten, and that made him friends." i often used to go into the smithy when pannell was at work after that, and now and then handled his tools, and he showed me how to use them more skilfully, so that we were pretty good friends, and he never treated me as if i were a spy. the greater part of the other men did, and no matter how civil i was they showed their dislike by having accidents as they called them, and these accidents always happened when i was standing by and at no other time. for instance a lot of water would be splashed, so that some fell upon me; a jet of sparks from a grindstone would flash out in my face as i went past; the band of a stone would be loosened, so that it flapped against me and knocked off my cap. then pieces of iron fell, or were thrown, no one knew which, though they knew where, for the place was generally on or close by my unfortunate body. i was in the habit of frequently going to look down in the wheel chamber or pit, and one day, as i stepped on to the threshold, my feet glided from under me, and, but for my activity in catching at and hanging by the iron bar that crossed the way i should have plunged headlong in. there seemed to be no reason for such a slip, but the men laughed brutally, and when i looked i found that the sill had been well smeared with fat. there was the one man in the grinders' shop, though, whom i have mentioned, and who never seemed to side with his fellow workers, but looked half pityingly at me whenever i seemed to be in trouble. i went into the grinding-shop one morning, where all was noise and din, the wheels spinning and the steel shrieking as it was being ground, when all at once a quantity of water such as might have been thrown from a pint pot came all over me. i turned round sharply, but every one was at work except the stout grinder, who, with a look of disgust on his face, stood wiping his neck with a blue cotton handkerchief, and then one cheek. "any on it come on you, mester?" he said. "any come on me!" i cried indignantly--"look." "it be a shaam--a reg'lar shaam," he said slowly; "and i'd like to know who throwed that watter. here, let me." he came from his bench, or horse as the grinders call their seat, and kindly enough brushed the water away from my jacket with his handkerchief. "don't tak' no notice of it," he said. "they're nobbut a set o' fullish boys as plays they tricks, and if you tell on 'em they'll give it to you worse." i took his advice, and said nothing then, but naturally enough, spoke to my uncles about it when we were alone at night. "never mind," said uncle dick. "i daresay we shall get the fellows to understand in time that we are their friends and not their enemies." "yes," said uncle jack; "they are better. i dare say it will all come right in time." it was soon after this that i went into the grinding-shop one day while the men were at dinner, and going to the door that opened into the wheel chamber, which always had a fascination for me, i stood gazing down into its depths and listening to the splashing water. "iver try to ketch any o' them long eels, mester jacob?" said a familiar voice; and, starting and looking back, i saw that gentles, the fat little grinder, was sitting down close to his wet grindstone eating his dinner, and cutting it with a newly ground knife blade forged out of our new steel. "eels, gentles!" i said. "i didn't know there were any there." "oh, but there are," he said; "straange big 'uns. you set a line with a big bait on, and you'll soon hev one." "what, down there by the wheel?" "ay, or oop i' the dam. plenty o' eels, lad, theer." "i'll have a try," i said eagerly, for the idea of catching one or two of the creatures was attractive. from that i got talking to the man about his work, and he promised to let me have a few turns at grinding. "on'y, what am i to say if thee coots theesen?" he cried with a chuckle. "oh, but you'll show me how to do it without!" i said laughing. "nay, but what's good o' thee wanting to grind? want to tak' work out o' poor men's hands?" "nonsense!" i cried angrily. "why, gentles, you know better than that. all i want is to understand thoroughly how it is done, so that i can talk to the men about their work, and show them if it isn't right." "oh!" he said in a curious tone of voice. "well, you coom any time when watter-wheel's going, and i'll show thee all that i know. 'tain't much. keeps men fro' starving." "why, gentles," i cried; "you drew three pounds five last week, and i saw you paid." "three pun' five! did i?" he said. "ah, but that was a partic'lar good week. i've got a missus and a lot o' bairns to keep, and times is very bad, mester." "i'm sorry for it," i said; and i went away and had a look in the books as soon as i reached the office, to find that master gentles never drew less than three pounds a-week; but i did not remind him of it, and during the next few days he very civilly showed me how his work was done--that is, the knack of holding and turning the blades, so that i rapidly acquired the way, and was too busy to notice the peculiar looks i received from the other men. of course i know how that i was a mere bungler, and clumsy, and slow in the extreme; but at the time i felt as if i must be very clever, and there was something very satisfactory in seeing a blackened hammered blade fresh from the forge turn bright and clean in my hands, while the edge grew sharp and even. it was playing with edged tools with a vengeance, but i did not understand it then. chapter twelve. pannell's secret. every day the works grew more busy, and prosperity seemed to be coming upon us like sunshine. the men worked steadily and well, and the old opposition had apparently died out; but all the same the watching was kept up as regularly as if it was during war time, though, saving an occasional burst of barking from piter, who used to have these fits apparently without cause, there was nothing to alarm the watchers. it was my turn at home, and i was up early the next morning, wondering how uncle jack and uncle bob had got on during the night, when i came down and found mrs stephenson and martha the maid enjoying themselves. their way of enjoying themselves was peculiar, but that it afforded them pleasure there could be no doubt. it might have been considered a religious ceremony, but though there was a kind of worship or adoration about it, there was nothing religious in the matter at all. what they did was this:--to mix up a certain quantity of black-lead in a little pie-dish, and then kneel down before a stove, and work and slave at it till there was a tremendous gloss all over the iron. in effecting this mrs stephenson used to get a little smudgy, but martha seemed to have an itching nose which always itched most on these occasions, and as you watched her you saw her give six scrubs at the grate with the front of the brush, and then one rub with the back on her face or nose. this act must have been pleasant, for as she bent down and scrubbed she frowned, as she sat up and rubbed her nose with the back of the brush she smiled. now if martha had confined her rubs to her nose it would not have much mattered, but in rubbing her nose she also rubbed her cheeks, her chin, her forehead, and the consequence was a great waste of black-lead, and her personal appearance was not improved. i was standing watching the black-leading business, an affection from which most north-country people suffer very badly, when uncle jack came hurrying in, looking hot and excited. "where's dick?" he cried. "in his room drawing plans," i cried. "what's the matter? is uncle bob hurt?" "no, not a bit!" "then piter is?" "no, no, no. here, dick!" he shouted up the stairs. there was a sound on the upper floor as if some one had just woke an elephant, and uncle dick came lumbering down. "what's wrong?" he cried. uncle jack glanced round and saw that mrs stephenson was looking up from where she knelt in the front room, with her eyes and mouth wide open as the door, and martha was slowly rubbing her nose with the black-lead brush and waiting for him to speak. "put on your hat and come down to the works," he said. we moved by one impulse into the passage, and as we reached the door mrs stephenson cried: "brackfass won't be long;" and then the sound of black-leading went on. "now, then," said uncle dick as we reached the street, "what is it? anything very wrong?" "terribly," said uncle jack. "well, what is it? why don't you speak?" "come and see for yourself," said uncle jack bitterly. "i thought matters were smoothing down, but they are getting worse, and i feel sometimes that we might as well give up as carry on this unequal war." "no: don't give up, uncle jack," i cried. "let's fight the cowards." "bring them into the yard then so that we can fight them," he cried angrily. "the cowardly back-stabbers; sneaks in the dark. i couldn't have believed that such things could go on in england." "well, but we had heard something about what the arrowfield men could do, and we knew about how in the lancashire district the work-people used to smash new machinery." "there, wait till you've seen what has happened," cried uncle jack angrily. "you've just risen after a night's rest. i've come to you after a night's watching, and you and i feel differently about the same thing." very little more was said before we reached the works, where the first thing i saw was a group of men round the gate, talking together with their hands in their pockets. gentles was among them, smoking a short black pipe, and he shut his eyes at me as we passed, which was his way of bestowing upon me a smile. when we passed through the gate the men followed as if we were a set of doctors about to put something right for them, and as if they had been waiting for us to come. uncle bob was standing by the door as we came across the yard, and as soon as we reached him he turned in and we followed. there was no occasion for him to speak; he just walked along the great workshop, pointing to right and left, and we saw at once why the men were idling about. few people who read this will have any difficulty in understanding what wheel-bands are. they used to be very common in the streets, joining the wheels of the knife-grinders' barrows, and now in almost every house they are seen in the domestic treadle sewing-machine. similar to these, but varying in size, are the bands in a factory. they may be broad flat leather straps of great weight and size, formed by sewing many lengths together, or they may be string-like cords of twisted catgut. they all come under the same name, and there were scores in our works connecting the shaft wheels of the main shaft turned by the water-power with the grindstones of the lower floor and the lathes and polishers of the upper. by these connections wheel, stone, and chuck were set spinning-round. without them everything was at a stand-still. as we walked down between the grindstones it was plain enough to see-- every wheel-band had been cut. it was the same upstairs--broad bands and cords all had been divided with a sharp knife, and uncle bob held a piece of whetstone in his hand which had been thrown down by the door, evidently after being used by the miscreant who had done this cowardly trick. as we went upstairs and saw the mischief there the men followed us like a flock of sheep, waiting to see what we should do, for they were perforce idle. only the smiths could work, for by accident or oversight the band which connected the shaft with the blowing apparatus had escaped, and as we stood there by the office door we could hear the _clink clink_ of the hammers upon the anvils and the pleasant roar of each forge. "hallo! what's this?" cried uncle jack as he caught sight of something white on the office door, which proved to be a letter stuck on there by a common wooden-handled shoemakers' knife having been driven right through it. "i did not see that before," said uncle bob excitedly. "no, because it was not there," said uncle jack. "i should have seen it if it had been there when i came out of the office first." "and _i_ am sure that i should have seen it," said uncle bob. the letter was opened and read by uncle jack, who passed it on to his brothers. they read it in turn, and it was handed to me, when i read as follows: "_this hear's the nif as coot them weel-bans. stope makhin noo kine steel, or be strang and bad for wurks_." "come in the office and let's talk it over," said uncle bob. "this must have been placed here by someone in the works." "yes," said uncle jack bitterly. "it is plain enough: the wheel-bands have been cut by one of the men who get their living by us, and who take our pay." "and you see the scoundrel who wrote that letter threatens worse treatment if we do not give up making the new silver steel." "yes," said uncle jack sternly as he turned to uncle dick; "what do you mean to do?" "begin a fresh batch to-day, and let the men know it is being done. here, let's show them that we can be as obstinate as they." then aloud as we approached the men where they had grouped together, talking about the "cooten bands," as they termed it. "you go at once to the machinist's and get a couple of men sent on to repair such of these bands as they can, and put new ones where they are shortened too much by the mending." uncle bob smiled at once. "look here," said uncle dick sharply, "some of you men can make shift by tying or binding your bands till they are properly done." "ay, mester," came in a growl, and shortly after the sound of steel being ground upon the sharply-spinning stones was heard. an hour later a couple of men were fitting bands to some of the wheels, and mending others by lacing them together. i was standing watching them as they fitted a new band to gentles' wheel, while he stood with his bared arms folded, very eager to begin work again. "ain't it a cruel shaame?" he whispered. "here's me, a poor chap paid by the piece, and this morning half gone as you may say. this job's a couple o' loaves out o' my house." he wiped a tear out of the corner of each half-closed eye as he stared at me in a miserable helpless kind of way, and somehow he made me feel so annoyed with him that i felt as if i should like to slap his fat face and then kick him. i went away very much exasperated and glad to get out of the reach of temptation, leaving my uncles busily superintending the fitting of the bands, and helping where they could do anything to start a man on again with his work. and all the time they seemed to make very light of the trouble, caring for nothing but getting the men started again. i went down into the smithy, where pannell was at work, and as i entered the place he looked for a moment from the glowing steel he was hammering into a shape, to which it yielded as if it had been so much tough wax, and then went on again as if i had not been there. his kitten was a little more friendly, though, for it ran from the brickwork of the forge, leaped on to a bench behind me, and bounded from that on to my back, and crept to my shoulder, where it could rub its head against my ear. "well, pannell," i said, "you've heard about the cowardly trick done in the shops?" "ay, i heered on't," he cried, as he battered away at the steel on his anvil. "who did it?" "did it!" he cried, nipping the cherry-red steel in a fresh place and thrusting it back in the fire. "don't they know? didn't they hear in the night?" "no," i said; "they heard nothing, not a sound. the dog did not even bark, they say." "would he bite a man hard?" "he'd almost eat a man if he attacked him." "ay, he looks it," said pannell, patting the black coal-dust down over a glowing spot. "well, who do you think did it?" i said. "someone as come over the wall, i s'pose; but you'd better not talk about it." "but i like to talk about it," i said. "oh, i should like to find out who it was! it was someone here." "here!" he cried, whisking out the steel. "yes, the sneaking, blackguardly, cowardly hound!" i cried. "hush!" he whispered sharply; "some one may hear again." i stared at the great swarthy fellow, for he looked sallow and seared, and it seemed, so strange to me that, while i only felt annoyance, he should be alarmed. "why, pannell," i cried, "what's the matter?" "best keep a still tongue," he said in a whisper. "you never know who may hear you." "i don't care who hears me. it was a coward and a scoundrel who cut our bands, and i should like to tell him so to his face." "howd thee tongue, i say," he cried, hammering away at his anvil, to drown my words in noise. "what did i tell thee?" "that some one might hear me. well, let him. why, pannell, you look as if you had done it yourself. it wasn't you, was it?" he turned upon me quite fiercely, hammer in hand, making me think about wat tyler and the tax-gatherer; but he did not strike me: he brought his hammer down upon the anvil with a loud clang. "nay," he said; "i nivver touched no bands. it warn't my wuck." "well, i never thought it was," i said. "you don't look the sort of man who would be a coward." "oh, that's what you think, is it, lad?" "yes," i said, seating myself on the bench and stroking the kitten. "a blacksmith always seems to me to be a bold manly straightforward man, who would fight his enemy fairly face to face, and not go in the dark and stab him." "ah!" he said; "but i arn't a blacksmith, i'm a white-smith, and work in steel." "it's much the same," i said thoughtfully; and then, looking him full in the face: "no, pannell, i don't think you cut the bands, but i feel pretty sure you know who did." the man's jaw dropped, and he looked quite paralysed for a moment or two. then half recovering himself he plunged his tongs into the fire, pulled out a sputtering white piece of glowing steel, gave it his regular whirl through the air like a firework, and, instead of banging it on to the anvil, plunged it with a fierce toss into the iron water-trough, and quenched it. "why, pannell!" i cried, "what made you do that?" he scratched his head with the hand that held the hammer, and stared at me for a few moments, and then down at the black steel that he had taken dripping from the trough. "dunno," he said hoarsely, "dunno, lad." "i do," i said to myself as i set down the kitten and went back to join my uncles, who were in consultation in the office. they stopped short as i entered, and uncle bob turned to me. "well, philosopher cob," he said, "what do you say? who did this cowardly act--was it someone in the neighbourhood, or one of our own men?" "yes, who was it?" said uncle dick. "we are all divided in our opinions," said uncle jack. "one of our own men," i said; "and pannell the smith knows who it was." "and will he tell?" "no. i think the men are like schoolboys in that. no one would speak for fear of being thought a sneak." "yes," said uncle dick, "and not only that; in these trades-unions the men are all bound together, as it were, and the one who betrayed the others' secrets would be in peril of his life." "how are we to find out who is the scoundrel?" i said. uncle dick shook his head, and did what he always found to be the most satisfactory thing in these cases, set to work as hard as he could, and uncles jack and bob followed his example. chapter thirteen. only a glass of water. the keeping watch of a night had now grown into a regular business habit, and though we discovered nothing, the feeling was always upon us that if we relaxed our watchfulness for a few hours something would happen. the paper stuck on the door was not forgotten by my uncles, but the men went on just as usual, and the workshops were as busy as ever, and after a good deal of drawing and experimenting uncle dick or uncle jack kept producing designs for knives or tools to be worked up out of the new steel. "but," said i one day, "i don't see that this reaping-hook will be any better than the old-fashioned one." "the steel is better and will keep sharp longer, my lad, but people would not believe that it was in the slightest degree different, unless they had something to see," said uncle dick. so the men were set to forge and grind the different shaped tools and implements that were designed, and i often heard them laughing and jeering at what they called the "contrapshions." my turn came round to keep the morning watch about a week after the new bands had been fitted. uncle bob had been on guard during the night, and just as i was comfortably dreaming of a pleasant country excursion i was awakened by a cheery, "tumble up, tumble up!" i sat up confused and drowsy, but that soon passed off as uncle bob laughingly told me, in sham nautical parlance, that all was well on deck; weather hazy, and no rocks ahead as far as he knew. "oh," i said yawning, "i do wish all this watching was over!" "so do i, cob," he cried; "but never mind, we shall tire the rascals out yet." i thought to myself that they would tire us out first, as i went down grumpily and disposed to shiver; and then, to thoroughly waken and warm myself, i had a good trot round the big furnace, where the men had tried to fire the powder. it was circus-horse sort of work, that running round on the black ashes and iron scales, but it warmed me, and as the miserable shivery feeling went off i felt brighter and more ready for my task. piter was with me trotting close behind, as i ran round and round; and when at last i was pretty well out of breath i sat down on a bench, and took the dog's fore-paws on my knees, as i thought about how different my life here seemed from what i had expected. there had been some unpleasant adventures, and a good deal of work, but otherwise my daily career seemed to be very monotonous, and i wondered when our old country trips were to be renewed. then i had a good look round the place upstairs and down; and, so sure as i passed an open window, i felt about with my hands for wires, the memory of that powder-tin being too vivid to be forgotten. i went and listened by the office door, and could hear my uncle breathing heavily. i went and looked out at the dam, which was always worth looking at for its reflections of the heavens, but it was perfectly still. there was no raft gliding down towards the building. down in the grinders' shop all was still, and in the darkness the different shafts and wheels looked very curious and threatening, so much so that it only wanted a little imagination for one to think that this was some terrible torture chamber, the door at the end leading into the place where the water torment was administered, for the curious musical dripping and plashing sounded very thrilling and strange in the solemnity of the night. that place always attracted me, and though there in the darkness i did not care to open the door and look down at the black water, i went and listened, and as i did so it seemed that there was something going on there. every now and then, came a splash, and then a hurrying as of something being drawn over wet bars of wood. then there were a series of soft thuds at irregular intervals, and as i listened all this was magnified by imagination, and i was ready to go and call for uncle bob to descend when a faint squeaking noise brought me to my senses and i laughed. "why, piter," i said, "what a dog you are! don't you hear the rats?" piter rubbed his great head against me and whined softly. "don't care for rats?" i said. "all right, old fellow. i forgot that you were a bull-dog and did not care for anything smaller than a bull, unless it were a man." i stood listening for a few minutes longer, wondering whether some of the sounds i could hear down by the stonework were made by eels, and, recalling what gentles had said, i determined that some evening i would have a try for the slimy fellows either down below the great water-wheel or out of the office-window, where i could drop a line into the deepest part of the dam. then i went into the smiths' shops and thought about how sulky pannell had been ever since i had talked to him about the wheel-bands. "this won't do, piter," i said, trying to rouse myself, for i was dreadfully sleepy; and i had another trot with the dog after me in his solid, silent way--for he rarely barked unless it was in anger--but trotted close behind me wherever i might go. i cannot tell you what a fight i had that night--for it was more like night than morning. i walked fast; i tried all sorts of gymnastic attitudes; i leaped up, caught hold of an iron bar and swung by my arms, and whenever i did these things i grew as lively as a cricket; but as soon as, from utter weariness, i ceased, the horrible drowsiness came on again, and as i walked i actually dreamed that there was a man creeping along the ground towards the building. this seemed to wake me, and it was so real that i went out to see-- nothing. then i had another tour of the place; stood leaning against door-posts, and up in corners, ready to drop down with sleep, but fighting it off again. i went out across the yard and had a look at the dam, lay down on the stone edge, and bathed my face with the fresh cold water, turned my handkerchief into a towel, and walked back in the dim, grey light, seeing that morning was breaking, and beginning to rejoice that i had got rid of my drowsy fit, which seemed unaccountable. piter seemed as drowsy as i, holding his head down in a heavy way as if it were more than he could bear. "poor old boy! why, you seem as sleepy as i am, piter!" i said, as i seated myself on the stairs leading up to the office; and he whined softly and laid his head in my lap. i thought i heard a noise just then, and looked up, but there was no repetition of the sound, and i sat there at a turn of the stairs, leaning against the wall, and wondering why the dog had not started up instead of letting his heavy head drop lower in my lap. "why, you are as drowsy as i am, piter," i cried again, playing with his ears; "anyone would think you had been taking a sleeping draught or something of that kind." he answered with a heavy snore, just like a human being, and i sat gazing down and out through the open doorway into the yard, thinking that it would not be long now before it was broad daylight instead of that half darkness that seemed so strange and misty that i could only just see through the doorway and distinguish the stones. then i could hardly see them at all, and then they seemed to disappear, and i could see all over the yard, and the dam and the works all at once. it was a wonderful power of sight that i seemed to possess, for i was looking through the walls of the upper shop, and all through the lower shop, and down into the water-pit. then i was looking round the furnace, and in at the smiths' forges, and at the great chimney-shaft, and at the precipice by dome tor. what a place that seemed! since my uncle slipped over it the slaty, shaley face appeared to have grown twice as big and high, and over it and down the steep slope a man was crawling right in from the dome tor slip to our works. i saw him come along the stone edge of the dam and over the wheel with the water, to bob up and down in the black pit like a cork float when an eel is biting at a bait. there he went--bob--bob-- bob--and down out of sight. it seemed such a splendid bite, that, being fond of fishing, i was about to strike, the absurdity of the idea of fishing with a man for a float never striking me for a moment; but, just as i was going to pull up, the man was crawling over the floor of the grinders' shop, and the water was not there, though the wheel seemed to be going round and uttering a heavy groan at every turn for want of grease. there he was again, creeping and writhing up the stairs, and higher and higher along the floor among the lathes; then he was in the office, and over the bed where uncle bob lay making a snoring noise like the great water-wheel as it turned. what a curiously-long, thin, writhing man he seemed to be as he crawled and wriggled all over the floor and lathes and polishing-wheels. down, too, into the smiths' shops, and over the half-extinct fires without burning himself, and all the time the wheel went round with its snoring noise, and the man--who was really a big eel--was ringing a loud bell, and-- i jumped up wide-awake, upsetting piter, and throwing his head out of my lap, when, instead of springing up, he rolled heavily half-way down the stairs as if he were dead. "why, i've been to sleep," i said angrily to myself, "and dreaming all sorts of absurd nonsense! that comes of thinking about fishing for eels." i was cold and stiff, and there was a bell ringing in the distance at some works, where the men began an hour sooner than ours. but i took no notice of that, for i was thinking about piter, and wondering how he could lie so still. "is he dead?" i thought; and i went down and felt him. he did not move; but it was evident that he was not dead, for he snored heavily, and felt warm enough; but he was too fast asleep to be roused, even when i took hold of his collar and shook him. i was puzzled, and wondered whether he could have had anything to make him so sleepy. but if he had had anything to make him sleepy i had not, and yet i must have been soundly asleep for two or three hours. i remembered, though, that when i last went round the yard piter had been sniffing about at something, and perhaps he might have eaten what had not agreed with him then. "poor old boy! he'll wake up presently," i said to myself as i lifted him up; and heavy enough he seemed as i carried him down to his kennel, just inside the door, where he lay motionless, snoring heavily still. "lucky thing that no one has been," i said to myself, as, feeling thoroughly ashamed of my breach of trust, i went down to the dam, taking a towel with me this time from out of my office-drawer, and there, kneeling on the stones, i had a good bathe at my face and forehead, and went back feeling ever so much fresher. the sounds of toil were rising in the distance, and over the great town the throb and hum and whirr of the busy hive was rising in the sunny morning air, as, with the events of the night fading away, i went in to my office to put away the towel and use the comb and brush i kept there. that done, i was going to call uncle bob and walk back with him to our home, for the men would soon be there. just then the water-bottle and glass upon my desk caught my eye, and, like a flash, i remembered that i had filled the glass and drunk a little water, leaving the glass nearly full so as to take some more if i wanted it, for a glass of water was, i found, a capital thing to keep off drowsiness when one was watching. i was sure i had left that glass nearly full, and standing on the desk; but i had not been and drunk any more, of that i was sure. i don't know why i had not gone back to have some, considering how sleepy i was, but i certainly had not. i was sure of it. then the water-bottle! it was a common plain bottle such as is used on a wash-stand, and we had three of them always filled with fresh cold water on the desks. mine was full when i poured some out in the night, and now it was quite empty; and as i stared at it and then about the room i saw a great patch of wet on the carpet. i looked farther and there was another patch--a smaller patch or big splash, as if the contents of the glass had been thrown down. it was very strange, and i could not understand it. i had not thrown the water down. if i had wanted to get rid of it, i should have gone to the sink outside or have opened the window, and thrown it out into the dam. the matter was of small consequence, and i paid no more attention to it, but went to uncle bob, where he was lying, fighting with myself as to whether i should tell him that i had been to sleep. i did not like to speak, for i felt--well i felt as most boys would under the circumstances; but i mastered my moral cowardice, as i thought, and determined to tell him--after breakfast. "ah, cob, old chap," he cried, jumping up as i laid my hand on his shoulder, "what a delicious sleep! what a morning too--hah! that's better." he was dressed, for though whoever lay down, so to speak, went to bed, he never undressed; so that after a plunge of the face and hands in the cool fresh water, and a scrub and brush, uncle bob was ready. "i want my breakfast horribly, cob," he said; "and we've an hour to wait. let's have a walk round by the hill as we go home. have you unlocked the gate?" "yes," i said; "before i came up to call you." "that's right. ah, here the men come!" for there was the trampling of feet, and the noise of voices crossing the yard. "fed piter?" "no; not yet," i said. "he's asleep." "asleep!" "yes; he has been asleep these three hours past--asleep and snoring. he's in his kennel now. i couldn't wake him." "nice sort of a watch-dog, cob!" "yes," i said, feeling very guilty and shrinking from my confession. "do you say you tried to wake him?" "yes," i said, "i took him up in my arms, and carried him down to his kennel, and he was snoring all the time." "carried him down! where from?" "the stairs. he went to sleep there." "cob!" he cried, making the blood flush to my face, and then run back to my heart--"why, what's the matter, boy, aren't you well?" "my head aches a little, and my mouth feels rather hot and dry." "and you've got dark marks under your eyes, boy. you've not been asleep too, have you?" i stared at him wildly, and felt far more unwell now. "why don't you speak?" he cried angrily. "you haven't been to sleep, have you?" "i was going to confess it, uncle, if you had given me time," i said. "i never did such a thing before; but i couldn't keep awake, and fell asleep for over two hours." "oh, cob! cob!" "i couldn't help it, uncle," i cried passionately. "i did try so hard. i walked and ran about. i stood up, and danced and jumped, and went in the yard, but it was all of no use, and at last i dropped down on the stairs with piter, and before i knew it i was fast." "was the dog asleep too?" "he went to sleep before i did," i said bitterly. "humph!" "don't be angry with me, uncle bob," i cried. "i did try so hard." "did you take anything last night after i left you?" "no, uncle. you know i was very sleepy when you called me." "nothing at all?" "only a drop of water out of the bottle." "go and fetch what is left," he said. "or no, i'll come. but piter; what did he have?" "i don't know, only that he seemed to pick up something just as we were walking along the yard. that's all." "there's some fresh mischief afoot, cob," cried uncle bob, "and--ah, here it is! well, my man, what is it?" this was to gentles, whose smooth fat face was full of wrinkles, and his eyes half-closed. he took off his cap--a soft fur cap, and wrung it gently as if it were full of water. then he began shaking it out, and brushing it with his cuff, and looked from one to the other, giving me a salute by jerking up one elbow. "well, why don't you speak, man; what is it?" cried uncle bob. "is anything wrong?" "no, mester, there aren't nought wrong, as you may say, though happen you may think it is. wheel-bands hev been touched again." chapter fourteen. uncle bob's patient. uncle bob gave me a sharp look that seemed to go through me, and then strode into the workshop, while i followed him trembling with anger and misery, to think that i should have gone to sleep at such a time and let the miscreants annoy us again like this. "not cut this time," said uncle bob to me, as we went from lathe to lathe, and from to stone. upstairs and downstairs it was all the same; every band of leather, gutta-percha, catgut, had been taken away, and, of course, the whole of this portion of the works would be brought to a stand. i felt as if stunned, and as guilty as if i had shared in the plot by which the bands had been taken away. the men were standing about stolidly watching us. they did not complain about their work being at a stand-still, nor seem to mind that, as they were paid by the amount they did, they would come short at the end of the week: all they seemed interested in was the way in which we were going to bear the loss, or act. "does not look like a walk for us, cob," said uncle bob. "what a cruel shame it is!" "uncle," i cried passionately, for we were alone now, "i can't tell you how ashamed i am. it's disgraceful. i'm not fit to be trusted. i can never forgive myself, but i did try so very very hard." "try, my boy!" he said taking my hand; "why, of course, you did. i haven't blamed you." "no, but i blame myself," i cried. "nonsense, my boy! let that rest." "but if i had kept awake i should have detected the scoundrel." "no, you would not, cob, because if you had been awake he would not have come; your being asleep was his opportunity." "but i ought not, being on sentry, to have gone to sleep." "but, my dear cob, people who are drugged cannot help going to sleep." "drugged!" "to be sure. didn't you say that you drank a little water and afterwards grew sleepy?" "but i did not know it was the water." "here, let me look at your bottle and glass." i took him into the office and showed him the empty receptacles and the two patches on the floor. "clumsily done, cob," he said after looking at and smelling them. "this was done to keep anyone suspicious from examining the water. yes, cob, you were drugged." "oh, uncle bob," i cried excitedly, "i hope i was!" "i don't see why you need be so hopeful, but it is very evident that you were. there, don't worry yourself about it, my boy. you always do your duty and we've plenty to think of without that. we shall spoil two breakfasts at home." "but, uncle," i cried, clinging to his arm, "do you really think i may believe that my sleepiness came from being drugged?" "yes, yes, yes," he cried half angrily. "now are you satisfied? come and let's have a look at the dog." i felt quite guilty at having forgotten poor piter so long, and descending with my uncle we were soon kneeling by the kennel. he had not stirred since i put him in, but lay snoring heavily, and no amount of shaking seemed to have the least effect. "the poor brute has had a strong dose, cob," said uncle bob, "and if we don't do something he will never wake again." "oh, uncle!" i cried, for his words sent a pang through me. i did not know how much i had grown to like the faithful piece of ugliness till my uncle had spoken as he did. "yes, the wretches have almost done for him, and i'm glad of it." "glad!" i cried as i lifted poor piter's head in my hand and stroked it. "glad it was that which made the poor brute silent. i thought he had turned useless through his not giving the alarm." "can't we do something, uncle?" i cried. "i'm thinking, cob," he replied, "it's not an easy thing to give dogs antidotes, and besides we don't know what he has taken. must be some narcotic though. i know what we'll do. here, carry him down to the dam." a number of the workmen were looking on stolidly and whispering to one another as if interested in what we were going to do about the dog. some were in the yard smoking, some on the stairs, and every man's hands were deep in his pockets. "say," shouted a voice as i carried the dog out into the yard, following uncle bob while the men made room for us, "they're a goin' to drown bull-poop." i hurried on after my uncle and heard a trampling of feet behind me, but i took no notice, only as i reached the dam there was quite a little crowd closing in. "wayert a minute, mester," said one of the grinders. "i'll get 'ee bit o' iron and a bit o' band to tie round poop's neck." for answer, uncle bob took the dog by his collar and hind-legs, and kneeling down on the stone edge of the dam plunged him head-first into the water, drew him out, and plunged him in again twice. "yow can't drownd him like that," cried one. "he's dowsing on him to bring him round," said another; and then, as uncle bob laid the dog down and stood up to watch him, there was a burst of laughter in the little crowd, for all our men were collected now. "yes, laugh away, you cowardly hounds," said uncle bob indignantly, and i looked at him wonderingly, for he had always before seemed to be so quiet and good-tempered a fellow. "it's a pity, i suppose, that you did not kill the dog right out the same as, but for a lucky accident, you might have poisoned this boy here." "who poisoned lad?" said a grinder whom i had seen insolent more than once. "i don't know," cried uncle bob; "but i know it was done by the man or men who stole those bands last night; and i know that it was done by someone in these works, and that you nearly all of you know who it was." there was a low growl here. "and a nice cowardly contemptible trick it was!" cried uncle bob, standing up taller than any man there, and with his eyes flashing. "i always thought englishmen were plucky, straightforward fellows, above such blackguards' tricks as these. workmen! why, the scoundrels who did this are unworthy of the name." there was another menacing growl here. "too cowardly to fight men openly, they come in the night and strike at boys, and dogs, and steal." "yow lookye here," said the big grinder, taking off his jacket and baring his strong arms; "yow called me a coward, did you?" "yes, and any of you who know who did this coward's trick," cried uncle bob angrily. "then tek that!" cried the man, striking at him full in the face. i saw uncle bob catch the blow on his right arm, dart out his left and strike the big grinder in the mouth; and then, before he could recover himself, my uncle's right fist flashed through the air like lightning, and the man staggered and then fell with a dull thud, the back of his head striking the stones. there was a loud yell at this, and a chorus rose: "in wi' 'em. throost 'em i' th' dam," shouted a voice, and half a dozen men advanced menacingly; but uncle bob stood firm, and just then fannell the smith strode before them. "howd hard theer," he cried in his shrill voice. "six to one, and him one o' the mesters." just then uncles jack and dick strode in through the gates, saw the situation at a glance, and ran to strengthen our side. "what's this?" roared uncle dick furiously, as uncle jack clenched his fists and looked round, as it seemed to me, for some one to knock down. "in to your work, every man of you." "bands is gone," said a sneering voice. "then get off our premises, you dogs!" he roared. "out of that gate, i say, every man who is against us." "oh, we're not agen you, mester," said gentles smoothly. "i'm ready for wuck, on'y the bands is gone. yow mean wuck, eh, mates?" "then go and wait till we have seen what is to be done. do you hear?-- go." he advanced on the men so fiercely that they backed from him, leaving pannell only, and he stooped to help up the big grinder, who rose to his feet shaking his head like a dog does to get the water out of his ears, for there must have been a loud singing noise there. "off with you!" said uncle dick turning upon these two. "aw reight, mester," said pannell. "i were on'y helping the mate. mester robert there did gie him a blob." pannell was laughing good-humouredly, and just then uncle bob turned upon him. "thank you, pannell," he said quickly. "i'm glad we have one true man in the place." "oh, it's aw reight, mester," said the smith. "here, coom along, thou'st had anew to last thee these two months." as he spoke he half dragged the big grinder away to the workshop, and uncle bob rapidly explained the state of affairs. "it's enough to make us give up," cried uncle dick angrily. "we pay well; we're kind to our men; we never overwork them; and yet they serve us these blackguard tricks. well, if they want to be out of work they shall be, for i'll agree to no more bands being bought till the scoundrels come to their senses." "but we will not be beaten," cried uncle jack, who looked disappointed at there being no more fighting. "no," said uncle bob, wiping his bleeding knuckles. "i feel as if i had tasted blood, as they say, and i'm ready to fight now to the end." "and all the time we are talking and letting that poor dog perish! the cowards!" cried uncle dick fiercely. "is he dead?" "no," i said; "i saw one of his ears quiver a little, but he is not breathing so loudly." "give him another plunge," said uncle jack. uncle bob took the dog as before and plunged him once more in the cold clean water; and this time, as soon as he was out, he struggled slightly and choked and panted to get his breath. "we must get him on his legs if we can," said uncle bob; and for the next half hour he kept trying to make the dog stand, but without avail, till he had almost given up in despair. then all at once poor piter began to whine, struggled to his feet, fell down, struggled up again, and then began rapidly to recover, and at last followed us into the office--where, forgetful of breakfast, we began to discuss the present state of the war. the first thing that caught my eye as we went in was a letter stuck in the crack of the desk, so that it was impossible for anyone to pass without seeing it. uncle jack took the letter, read it, and passed it round, uncle bob reading last. i asked what it was as i stooped over poor piter, who seemed stupid and confused and shivered with the wet and cold. "shall i tell him?" said uncle bob, looking at his brothers. they looked at one another thoughtfully, nodded, and uncle bob handed me the note; and a precious composition it was. "_you london cockneys_," it began, "_you've had plenty warnings 'bout your gimcracks and contrapshions, and wouldn't take 'em. now look here, we won't hev 'em in arrowfield, robbing hard-workin' men of toil of their hard earns and takin' bread out o' wife and childers mouths and starvin' families, so look out. if you three an' that sorcy boy don't pack up your traps and be off, we'll come and pack 'em up for you. so now you know_." "what does this mean?" i said, looking from one to the other. "it means war, my lad," said uncle dick fiercely. "you will not take any notice of this insolent letter?" i said. "oh yes, but we will!" said uncle jack. "not give up and go like cowards?" "i don't think we shall, cob," said uncle jack laughing. "no; we're in the right and they are in the wrong. we've got a strong tower to fight in and defend ourselves; they've got to attack us here, and i think they'll be rather badly off if they do try anything more serious." "this has been bad enough," said uncle bob. "you did not fully understand how narrow an escape cob had." and he related all. "the scoundrels!" said uncle jack, grinding his teeth. "and now this means threatenings of future attacks." "well," said uncle dick, "if they do come i'm afraid someone will be very much hurt--more so than that man stevens you knocked down." "and made a fresh enemy for us," said uncle jack, laughing. "and showed who was a friend," i said, remembering pannell's action. "to be sure," said uncle jack. "well, if anyone is hurt it will be the attacking party, for i am beginning to feel vicious." "well, what about the wheels?" said uncle bob. "every band has gone, and it will be a heavy expense to restore them." "let's go and have breakfast and think it over," said uncle dick. "it's bad to decide in haste. listen! what are the men doing?" "going out in the yard, evidently," said uncle bob. "yes, and down to the gate." so it proved, for five minutes later the place was completely empty. "why, they've forsaken us," said uncle dick bitterly. "never mind," said uncle bob. "let's have our breakfast. we can lock up the place." and this we did, taking poor old piter with us, who looked so helpless and miserable that several dogs attacked him on our way home, anticipating an easy victory. but they did piter good, rousing him up to give a bite here and another there--one bite being all his enemies cared to receive before rushing off, yelping apologies for the mistake they had made in attacking the sickly-looking heavy-eyed gentleman of their kind. piter had jaws like a steel trap, as others beside dogs found before long. when we went back to the works the gate-keeper left in charge said that several of the men had been back, but had gone again, it having been settled that no more work was to be done till the wheel-bands were restored; so the fires were going out, and the smiths, who could have gone on, had to leave their forges. "well," said uncle dick, laughing bitterly, as he gave his beard a sharp tug, "i thought that we were masters here." "quite a mistake," said uncle jack; "the men are the masters; and if we do anything that they in their blind ignorance consider opposed to their interests they punish us." "well, you see, sir," said the gate-keeper, "it's like this here, sir-- work's quite scarce enough, and the men are afraid, that new steel or new machinery will make it worse." "tell them to take the scales off their eyes, then," said uncle dick. "oppose machinery, do they?" "yes, sir." "then if someone invented a new kind of grindstone to grind tools and blades in a quarter of the time, what would they do?" "smash it, sir, or burn the place it was in," said the man with a grin. "then why don't they smash up the grindstones they use now? they are machinery." "what! grindstones, sir? oh, no!" "but they are, man, i tell you," cried uncle dick angrily. "the first men who ground knives or shears rubbed, them on a rough piece of stone; then i dare say a cleverer man found it was handier to rub the blade with the stone instead of the stone with the blade; and then someone invented the round grindstone which turned and ground whatever was held against it." "come along," said uncle jack sharply. "you are wasting breath. they will not believe till they find all this out for themselves." we went in and had a good look round the place, but there was not a band to be found. there had been no cutting--every one had been carried away, leaving no trace behind; and i wanted a good deal of comforting to make me satisfied that it was not my fault. but my uncles were very kind to me, and told me at once that i was to say no more, only to be thankful that i had not drunk more heartily of the water, and been made ill as the dog, who, in spite of seeming better, kept having what i may call relapses, and lying down anywhere to have a fresh sleep. the look round produced no result, and the day was spent in the silent works writing letters, book-keeping, and talking rather despondently about the future. it seemed so strange to me as i went about. no roaring fires and puffing bellows; no clink of hammer or anvil, and no churr and screech of steel being held against the revolving stones. there was no buzz of voices or shouting from end to end of the workshop, and instead of great volumes of smoke rolling out of the top of the tall chimney-shaft, a little faint grey cloud slowly curled away into the air. then there was the great wheel. the dam was full and overflowing, but the wheel was still; and when i looked in, the water trickled and plashed down into the gloomy chamber with its mossy, slimy stone sides, while the light shone in at the opening, and seemed to make bright bands across the darkness before it played upon the slightly agitated waters. then a long discussion took place, in which it was asked whether it would be wise to buy new bands, and to ask the men to come back and work; but opinion was against this. "no," said uncle jack. "i'm for being as obstinate as they are. we've had our bands injured once; now let's show them that if they can afford to wait so can we. we can't, neither can they, but there must be a little obstinacy practised, and perhaps it will bring them to their senses." "and make them bring back our bands?" i ventured to say. "ah, i'm not so hopeful about that!" cried uncle bob. "i'm afraid that we shall have to buy new ones." "yes," said uncle dick; "but i would not mind that if by so doing we could get the men to behave well to us in the future." "and we never shall," said uncle jack, "till cob here ceases to be such a tyrant. the men are afraid of him." "why, uncle!" i exclaimed; and they all laughed at my look of injury. that night uncle jack and uncle dick kept watch; next night we took our turn again, and so matters went on for a week. now and then we saw some of our men idling about, but they looked at us in a heavy stolid way, and then slouched off. the works seemed to be very melancholy and strange, but we went there regularly enough, and when we had a fire going and stayed in there was no doubt about the matter; we were watched. piter grew quite well again, and in his thick head there seemed to be an idea that he had been very badly used, for, as he walked close at my heels, i used to see him give the workmen very ugly looks in a side wise fashion that i used to call measuring legs. one morning my uncles said that they should not go to the works that day, and as they did not seem to want me i thought i would go back and put a project i had in my mind in force. i had passed the night at the works in company with uncle jack, and all had been perfectly quiet, so, putting some bones in the basket for piter, i also thrust in some necessaries for the task i had in hand, and started. about half-way there i met gentles, the fat-faced grinder, and he shut his eyes at me and slouched up in his affectionate way. "ah! mester jacob," he said, "when's this here unhappy strike going to end?" "when the rascals who stole our bands bring them back," i said, "and return to their work." "ah!" he sighed, "i'm afraid they wean't do that, my lad. hedn't the mesters better give in, and not make no more noofangle stoof?" "oh, that's what you think, is it, gentles?" i said. "who? me, mester? oh, no: i'm only a pore hardworking chap who wants to get back to his horse. it's what the other men say. for my part i wishes as there was no unions, stopping a man's work and upsetting him; that i do. think the mesters'll give in, mester jacob, sir?" "i'm sure they will not, gentles," i said, "and you had better tell the men so." "nay, i durstn't tell 'em. oh, dear, no, mester jacob, sir. i'm a quiet peaceable man, i am. i on'y wants to be let alone." i went on, thinking, and had nearly reached the lane by the works, when i met pannell, who was smoking a short black pipe. "hello!" he cried. "hello! pannell," i said. "goin' to open wucks, and let's get on again, lad?" "whenever you men like to bring back the bands and apologise, pannell." "nay, i've got nowt to 'pologise for. i did my wuck, and on'y wanted to be let alone." "but you know who took the bands," i cried. "you know who tried to poison our poor dog and tried to blow up the furnace, now don't you?" he showed his great teeth as he looked full at me. "why, my lad," he said, "yow don't think i'm going to tell, do 'ee?" "you ought to tell," i cried. "i'm sure you know; and it's a cowardly shame." "ay, i s'pose that's what you think," he said quietly. "but, say, lad, isn't it time wuck began again?" "time! yes," i said. "why don't you take our side, pannell; my uncles are your masters?" "ay, i know that, lad," said the big smith quietly; "but man can't do as he likes here i' arrowfield. eh, look at that!" "well, mate," said a rough voice behind me; and i saw the smith start as stevens, the fierce grinder, came up, and without taking any notice of me address the smith in a peculiar way, fixing him with his eye and clapping him on the shoulder. "here, i want to speak wi' thee," he said sharply. "coom and drink." it seemed to me that he regularly took the big smith into custody, and marched him off. this set me thinking about how they must be all leagued together; but i forgot all about the matter as i opened the gate, and piter came charging down at me, delighted to have company once more in the great lonely works. the next minute he was showing his intelligence by smelling the basket as we walked up to the door together. i gave him some of the contents to amuse him, and then entering the deserted grinding-shop, walked straight to the door at the end opening into the great wheel-pit, and throwing it back stood upon the little platform built out, and looked down at the black water, which received enough from the full dam to keep it in motion and make the surface seem to be covered with a kind of thready film that was always opening and closing, and spreading all over the place to the very walls. it looked rather black and unpleasant, and seemed to be a place that might contain monsters of eels or other fish, and it was to try and catch some of these that i had taken advantage of the holiday-time and come. for i had several times called to mind what gentles had said about the fish in the dam and pit, and meant to have a turn; but now i was here everything was so silent and mysterious and strange, that i rather shrank from my task, and began to wonder what i should do if i hooked some monster too large to draw out. "what a coward i am!" i said aloud; and taking the stout eel-line i had brought, and baiting the two hooks upon it with big worms, i gathered up the cord quite ready and then made a throw, so that my bait went down right beneath the wheel, making a strange echoing splash that whispered about the slimy walls. "looks more horrible than ever," i said to myself, as i shook off my dislike, and sat down on the little platform with my legs dangling over the water. but i could not quite shake off my dread, for the feeling came over me: suppose some horrible serpentlike water creature were to raise its head out of the black depths, seize me by the foot, and drag me down. it was an absurd idea, but i could not fight against it, and i found myself drawing my legs up and sitting down tailor fashion with my feet beneath me. and there i sat with not a sound but the dripping water to be heard, and a curious rustling that i soon after made out to be piter busy with his bone. a quarter of an hour, half an hour, passed away, and i did not get a touch, so drawing up my line i restored the baits and threw in again, choosing the far-off corner of the pit close by where the water escaped to the stream below. the bait had not been down a minute, and i was just wondering whether gentles was correct about there being any fish there, when i felt the line softly drawn through my fingers, then there was a slight quivering vibration, and a series of tiny jerks, and the line began to run faster, while my heart began to beat with anticipation. "he was right," i exclaimed, as i tightened the line with a jerk, and then a sharp little struggle began, as the fish i had hooked rushed hither and thither, and fought back, and finally was dragged out of the water, tying itself up in a knot which bobbed and slipped about upon the floor as i dragged it into the grinding-room, and cut the line to set it free, for it was impossible to get the hook out of the writhing creature's jaws. it was an eel of about a pound weight, and, excited now by the struggle, i fastened on a fresh hook, baited it, and threw in the same place again. quite half an hour elapsed before i had another bite, and knowing how nocturnal these creatures are in their habits, i was just thinking that if i liked next time i was on the watch i might throw a line in here, and keep catching an eel every now and then, when-- check! a regular sharp jerk at the line, and i knew that i had hooked a good one, but instead of the line tightening it suddenly grew quite slack. for a moment i was afraid that the fish had broken away, but i realised directly that it had rushed over to my side of the wheel-pit, and it had come so swiftly that i began to think that it could not be an eel. i had not much line to gather in, though, before i felt the check again, and a furious tug given so hard that i let the line run, and several yards were drawn through my fingers before i began to wonder where the eel or other fish i had hooked had gone. "perhaps there is a passage or drain under the works," i thought as i dragged at the line, now to feel some answering throbs; but the fish did not run any farther, only remained stationary. "what a monster!" i cried, as i felt what a tremendous weight there was against me. i drew the line and gained a little, but gave way for fear it should break. this went on for ten minutes or so. i was in a state of the greatest excitement, for i felt that i had got hold of a monster, and began to despair of dragging it up to where i was. such a thing seemed impossible, for the line would give way or the hook break from its hold i was sure. in place of jerking about now, the fish was very still, exercising a kind of inert force against its captor; but i was in momentary expectation of a renewal of the battle, and so powerful did the creature seem, so enormously heavy was it, that i began to regret my success, and to wonder what the consequences would be if i were to get the large eel up there on the floor. one moment i saw myself flying for my life from a huge writhing open-mouthed creature, and saved by a gallant attack made by piter, who, hearing the noise, had dashed in open-jawed to seize the fierce monster by the neck; the next i was calling myself a donkey. "why, of course!" i cried. "when i hooked it the creature ran in towards me, and has darted in and out of some grating and wound the line tightly there." that could not be the case, i felt as i pulled, for though it was evident that the fish had entangled the line, it was in something loose which i got nearly to the surface several times, as i gazed down there in the darkness till all at once, just as i was straining my eyes to make out what it was that was entangled with my hook, the cord snapped, there was a dull plash below me, the water rippled and babbled against the side, and all was still once more. i stood gazing down for a few minutes, and then a flash of intelligence shot through me, and i darted back, rapidly coiling up my wet line and taking it and my basket up into the office, from whence i came hurrying out, and ready to dash down two steps at a time. "why, of course," i kept on saying to myself; "what stupids!" i ran across the yard, unlocked and relocked the gate, leaving piter disappointed and barking, and hurried back to the house, where my uncles were busy over some correspondence. "hurrah!" i cried. "i've found it all out. come along! down to the works!" "you've found out!" cried uncle dick starting. "found it all out!" i cried excitedly. "now, then, all of you! come on and see." i slipped down to mrs stephenson after telling my uncles to go slowly on and that i would overtake them, and that lady smiled in my face as soon as she saw me. "don't say a word!" she cried. "i know what you want. tattsey, get out the pork-pie." "no, no," i cried; "you mistake. i'm not hungry." "nonsense, my dear! and if you're not hungry now, you will be before long. i've a beautiful raised pie of my own making. have a bit, my dear. bring it, tattsey." it was, i found, one of the peculiarities of these people to imagine everybody was hungry, and their hospitality to their friends was without stint. tattsey had not so much black-lead on her face as usual. in fact it was almost clean, while her hands were beautifully white, consequent upon its being peggy day; that is to say, the day in which clothes were washed in the peggy tub, and kept in motion by a four-legged peggy, a curious kind of machine with a cross handle. so before i could say another word the pork-pie was brought out on the white kitchen-table, and mrs stephenson began to cut out a wedge. "may i take it with me," i said, "and eat it as i go along?" "bless the boy; yes, of course," said our homely landlady. "boys who are growing want plenty to eat. i hate to see people starve." "but i want you to do me a favour," i said. "of course, my dear. what is it?" "i want you to lend me your clothes-line." "what, that we are just going to put out in the yard for the clean clothes? i should just think not indeed." "how tiresome!" i cried. "well, never mind; i must buy a bit. but will you lend me a couple of meat-hooks?" "now, what in the world are you going to do with a clothes-line and two meat-hooks?" "i'm going fishing," i said impatiently. "now don't you talk nonsense, my dear," said our plump landlady, looking rather red. "do you think i don't know better than that?" "but i am going fishing," i cried. "where?" "in our wheel-pit." "then there's someone drownded, and you are going to fish him out." "no, no," i cried. "will you lend me the hooks?" "yes, i'll lend you the hooks," she said, getting them out of a drawer. "we sha'n't want the old clothes-line," said tattsey slowly. "no, we sha'n't want the old clothes-line," said mrs stephenson, looking at me curiously. "there, you can have that." "i'll tell you all about it when i come back," i cried as the knot of clean cord was handed to me; and putting an arm through it and the hooks in my pocket i started off at a run, to find myself face to face with gentles before i overtook my uncles. "going a wallucking, mester jacob?" he said. "no; i'm going a-fishing." "what, wi' that line, mester?" "yes." "arn't it a bit too thick, mester?" "not in the least, gentles," i said; and leaving him rubbing his face as if to smooth it after being shaved, i ran on and overtook my uncles just before we reached the works. "thought you weren't coming, cob," said uncle dick. "what are you going to do with the rope?" "have patience," i said laughing. just then we passed stevens, who scowled at us as he saw me with the rope, while pannell, who was with him, stared, and his face slowly lit up with a broad grin. they turned round to stare after us as we went to the gate, and then walked off quickly. "what does that mean, oh, boy of mystery?" said uncle jack. "they suspect that i have discovered their plans," i cried joyfully. "and have you--are you sure?" "only wait five minutes, uncle, and you shall see," i cried. we entered the works, fastened the gate after us, and then, taking the end of my fishing-line as soon as we reached the grinding-shop, i began to bind the two meat-hooks one across the other. "what, are you going to try for eels that way?" said uncle bob laughing, as my uncles seemed to be gradually making out what was to come. "well," i said, "they broke my other line." by this time i had fastened the hooks pretty firmly, and to the cross i now secured the end of the clothes-line. "fine eel that, cob," said uncle dick, hunting the one i had caught into a corner, for it had been travelling all over the place. "yes," i said; "and now the tackle's ready, throw in and see if you can't get another." uncle dick went straight to the doorway, stepped on to the platform, and threw in the hook, which seemed to catch in something and gave way again. "come, i had a bite," he said laughing. "what has been thrown in here-- some bundles of wire or steel rods?" "try again," i said laughing, and he had another throw, this time getting tight hold of something which hung fast to the hooks, and came up dripping and splashing to the little platform, where it was seized, and uncle bob gave a shout of delight. "why, i never expected to catch that," cried uncle dick. "i thought it was some stolen rings of wire," said uncle jack, as he seized hold, and together they dragged a great tangle of leather and catgut bands over the platform into the grinding-shop, fully half falling back with a tremendous splash. "cob, you're a hero," cried uncle dick. "the malicious scoundrels!" cried uncle jack. "throw in again," said uncle bob. and then uncle dick fished and dragged and hauled up tangle after tangle till there was quite a heap of the dripping bands, with rivulets of water streaming away over the stone floor, and right in the middle a monster of an eel, the gentleman i had hooked, and which had wound itself in and out of the catgut bands till it was held tight by the mouth. "he deserves to have his freedom," said uncle dick, as he gave the bands a shake so that the hook came out of the eel's mouth, and it began to writhe and twine about the floor. "and he shall have it," i cried, taking a walking-stick, and for the next five minutes i was employed trying to guide my prisoner to the doorway leading into the pit. i suppose you never tried to drive an eel? no? well, let me assure you that pig-driving is a pleasant pastime in comparison. we have it on good authority that if you want to drive a pig in a particular direction all you have to do is to point his nose straight and then try to pull him back by the tail. away he goes directly. try and drive a big thick eel, two feet six inches long, with a walking-stick, and you'll find it a task that needs an education first. put his head straight, and he curves to right or left. pull his tail, and he'll turn round and bite you, and hold fast too. mine turned round and bit, but it was the walking-stick he seized with his strong jaws, and it wanted a good shake to get it free. every way but the right would that eel squirm and wriggle. i chased him round grindstones, in and out of water-troughs, from behind posts and planks, from under benches, but i could not get him to the door; and i firmly believe that night would have fallen with me still hunting the slimy wriggling creature if uncle bob had not seized it with his hands after throwing his pocket-handkerchief over its back. the next instant it was curled up in the silk, writhing itself into a knot, no doubt in an agony of fear, if eels can feel fear. then it was held over the pit, the handkerchief taken by one corner, and i expected to hear it drop with a splash into the water; but no, it held on, and though the handkerchief was shaken it was some time before it would quit its hold of the silk, a good piece of which was tight in its jaws. at last: an echoing splash, and we turned back to where my uncles jack and dick were busy with the bands. "the best day's fishing i ever saw, cob," cried uncle jack. "it was stupid of us not to drag the pit or the dam before." "i don't know about stupid," said uncle bob. "you see we thought the bands were stolen or destroyed. we are learning fast, but we don't understand yet all the pleasant ways of the arrowfield men." the rest of the day was spent over the tiresome job of sorting out the different bands and hanging them on their own special wheels to drain or dry ready for use, and when this was done there was a feeling of satisfaction in every breast, for it meant beginning work again, and uncle bob said so. "yes," said uncle jack; "but also means a fresh attempt to stop our work as soon as the scoundrels know." "never mind," replied uncle dick. "it's a race to see who will tire first: the right side or the wrong, and i think i know." "what's to be done next?" said uncle bob. "let the men know that we are ready for them to come back to work if they like to do so," said uncle jack. "why not get fresh hands altogether?" "because they would be just as great children as those we have now. no; let us be manly and straightforward with them in everything. we shall fight for our place, but we will not be petty." "but they will serve us some other scurvy trick," said uncle bob. "let them," said uncle dick; "never mind. there," he cried, "those bands will be fit to use to-morrow with this clear dry air blowing through. let's go home now and have a quiet hour or two before we come to watch." "i wish," said uncle jack, "that the works joined our house." "go on wishing," said uncle bob, "and they won't join. now, how about telling the men?" "let's call and see dunning and tell him to start the fires," said uncle dick; and as we went back the gate-keeper was spoken to, and the old man's face lit up at the idea of the place being busy again. "and i hope, gentlemen," he whispered from behind his hand, "that you will be let alone now." "to which," said uncle bob as we walked on, "i most devoutly say, amen." chapter fifteen. i have an idea. the work was started the next morning, and for a fortnight or so everything went on in the smoothest manner possible. the men were quite cheerful and good-tempered, doing their tasks and taking their wages, and though we kept our regular watch nothing disturbed us in the slightest degree. "an' so you fun 'em in the wheel-pit, did you, mester jacob?" said gentles to me one dinner-hour as he sat by his grindstone eating his bread and meat off a clean napkin spread over his knees. "yes," i said, looking at him keenly. "but how came you to find 'em, mester?" i told him. "did you, now?" he cried, shutting his eyes and grinning. "think o' that! why, i put you up to the eels, and so i might say it was me as found the bands, only you see it was not you nor yet me--it was the eel." he nearly choked himself with laughing, but my next words sobered him, and he sat up looking painfully solemn and troubled of face. "i'll be bound you know who threw those bands into the water, gentles," i said. one of his eyes quivered, and he looked at me as if he were going to speak. he even opened his mouth, and i could see his tongue quivering as if ready to begin, but he shut it with a snap and shook his head. "don't tell any stories about it," i said; "but you do know." "don't ask me, mester," he cried with a groan. "don't ask me." "then you do know," i cried. "i don't know nowt," he said in a hoarse whisper. "why, man alive, it wouldn't be safe for a chap like me to know owt. they'd put a brick round my neck and throw me in the watter." "but you do know, gentles," i persisted. "i don't know nowt, i tell 'ee," he cried angrily. "such friends as we've been, mester jacob, and you to want to get me into a scrarp." "why, gentles!" i cried. "if you know, why don't you speak out like a man?" "'cause i'm a man o' peace, mester jacob, and don't want to harm nobody, and i don't want nobody to harm me. nay, i know nowt at all." "well, i think you are a contemptible coward, gentles," i said warmly. "you're taking my uncles' money and working on their premises, and though you know who has been base enough to injure them you are not man enough to speak." "now don't--don't--don't, my lad," he cried in a hoarse whisper. "such friends as we've been too, and you go on like that. i tell 'ee i'm a man of peace, and i don't know nowt at all. on'y give me my grinstone and something to grind--that's all i want." "and to see our place blown up and the bands destroyed. there, i'm ashamed of you, gentles," i cried. "but you'll be friends?" he said; and there were tears in his eyes. "friends! how can i be friends," i cried, "with a man like you?" "oh dear, oh dear!" i heard him groan as i left the workshop; and going to piter's kennel i took off his collar and led him down to the dam to give him a swim. he was a capital dog for the water, and thoroughly enjoyed a splash, so that before the men came back he had had a swim, shaken himself, and was stretched out in the sunshine under the wall drying himself, when, as i stooped to pat him, i noticed something about the wall that made me look higher in a hurried way, and then at the top, and turn off directly. i had seen enough, and i did not want to be noticed, for some of the men were beginning to come back, so stooping down i patted piter and went off to the office. as soon as the men were well at work i went into one of the sheds, where there were two or three holes under the benches where the rats came up from the dam, and where it was the custom to set a trap or two, which very rarely snared one of the busy little animals, though now and then we did have that luck, and piter had the pleasure of killing the mischievous creature if the trap had not thoroughly done its work. i soon found what i wanted--an old rusty spring trap with its sharp teeth, and, shaking off the dust, i tucked it under my jacket and strolled off to the smith's shops, where i found pannell hammering away as hard as ever he could. he was making reaping-hooks of my uncles' patent steel, and as i stood at the door and watched him i counted the blows he gave, and it was astonishing how regular he was, every implement taking nearly the same number of blows before he threw it down. "well, pannell," i said, "arn't you sorry to have to work so hard again?" he whisked a piece of hot steel from his forge and just glanced at me as he went on with his work, laying the glowing sparkling steel upon the anvil. "sorry!"--_bang_--"no"--_bang_--"not a"--_bing, bang_, _bang_--"not a"--_bang, bang, bing, bang, bang_--"bit of it." that was how it sounded to me as he worked away. "wife"--_bang_--"bairns"--_bing, bang, bang, bing, chinger, chinger, bing, bang_--"eight"--_bang_--"of 'em. i hate"--_bang_--"to do"--_bang_--"nowt"--_bang_--"but"--_bang_--"smoke all"--_bang_--"day." "i say, pannell," i said, after glancing round and seeing that we were quite alone, "how came you to throw our bands in the wheel-pit?" "what!" he cried, pincers in one hand, hammer in the other; and he looked as if he were going to seize me with one tool and beat me with the other. "yah! get out, you young joker! you know it warn't me." "but you know who did it." pannell looked about him, through the window, out of the door, up the forge chimney, and then he gave me a solemn wink. "then why don't you speak?" the big smith took a blade of steel from the fire as if it were a flaming sword, and beat it into the reaping-hook of peace before he said in a hoarse whisper: "men's o' one side, lad--unions. mesters is t'other side. it's a feight." "but it's so cowardly, pannell," i said. "ay, lad, it is," he cried, banging away. "but i can't help it. union says strike, and you hev to strike whether you like it or whether you don't like it, and clem till it's over." "but it's such a cowardly way of making war, to do what you men do." "what they men do, lad," he whispered. "what you men do," i repeated. "nay, they men," he whispered. "you are one of them, and on their side, so what they do you do." "is that so?" he said, giving a piece of steel such a hard bang that he had to repeat it to get it into shape. "of course it is." "well, i s'pose you're right, lad," he said, thoughtfully. "why don't you tell me, then, who threw the bands in the wheel-pit, so that he could be discharged?" "me! me tell! nay. look at that now." _that_ was a piece of steel spoiled by the vehemence of his blows, and it was thrust back into the fire. "i will not say who gave me the information," i said. he shook his head. "nobody shall ever know that you told me." he took a little hook he was forging and made a motion with it as if i were a stalk of wheat and he wanted to draw me to him. "lad," he said, "man who tells on his mate aren't a man no longer. i _am_ a man." we stood looking at each other for some time, and then he said in his rough way: "it aren't no doing o' mine, lad, and i don't like it. it aren't manly. one o' the mesters did owt to me as i didn't like i'd go up to him and ask him to tek off his coat like a man and feight it out, or else i'd go away; but man can't do as he likes i' arrowfield. he has to do what trade likes." "and it was the trade who threw our bands away, and tried to blow us up, and half-poisoned me and piter." "hah!" he said with a sigh. "that's it, lad." "ah, well, i didn't expect you'd tell me, pannell," i said, smiling. "you see i can't, my lad. now can i?" "no; it wouldn't be honourable. but i say, pannell, i mean to do all i can to find out who plays us these dirty tricks." the big smith looked about him before speaking again. "don't, my lad," he whispered. "yow might get hurt, and i shouldn't like that i'deed." "oh, i won't get hurt!" i said. "look here, pannell, do you see this?" "ay, lad. trap for the rats. i've sin scores on em." "we set them to catch the rats," i said, hesitating a moment or two before making my venture. "i say, pannell," i said, "we're very good friends you and i." "course we are, lad; for a londoner you're quite a decent chap." "thank you," i said, smiling. "well, on the quiet, i want you to do me a favour." "long as it aren't to tell on my mates, lad, i'll do owt for you. there!" that _there_ was as emphatic as a blow from his hammer on the anvil. "i thought you would, pannell," i said. "well, look here. my uncles are as good and kind-hearted men as ever lived." "and as nyste to work for as ever was," said pannell, giving an emphatic bang on his work as he hammered away. "well, i'm very fond of them," i said. "nat'rally, lad, nat'rally." "and as i know they're trying to do their best for everybody who works for them, as well as for themselves, so as to find bread for all--" i stopped just then, for the big smith's face was very red, and he was making a tremendous clangour with his hammer. "well," i said, "it worries me very much to see that every now and then a big rat gets to their sack of wheat and gnaws a hole in it and lets the grain run out." "where do they keep their wheat?" said pannell, leaving off for awhile. "here," i said. "ah! there's part rats about these here rezzywors," he said, thoughtfully. "why don't you set that trap?" "because it isn't half big enough--not a quarter big enough," i said; "but i wish to catch that rat, and i want you to make me a big trap-like this, only four times as large, and with a very strong spring." "eh?" "i want to set that trap, and i want to catch that, great cowardly rat, and i want you to make me a trap that will hold him." "eh?" "don't you understand?" i said, looking at him meaningly as he stood wiping the perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand. "yow want to set a trap to catch the big rat as comes and makes a hole in the mester's sack." "yes," i said. "i want to catch him." "what! here about the works?" "yes," i said. "now do you see?" _poof_! pannell gave vent to a most curious sound that was like nothing so much as one that might have been emitted if his forge bellows had suddenly burst. to give vent to that sound he opened his mouth wide, clapped his hands on his leather apron, and bent nearly double. "why, pannell!" i exclaimed. _poof_! he stamped first one leg on the black iron dust and ashes, and then the other, going round his anvil and grumbling and rumbling internally in the most extraordinary manner. then he looked me in the face and exploded once more, till his mirth and the absurdity of his antics grew infectious, and i laughed too. "and you're going to set a big trap to catch that there"--_poof_--"that theer very big rat, eh?" "yes," i said, "if i can." "and you want me," he whispered, with his eyes starting with suppressed mirth, "to make you that theer big trap." "yes." "then i'll do it," he whispered, becoming preternaturally solemn. "stop! 'tween man an' man you know." he held out his great black hard hand, which i grasped. "on my honour, pannell, i'll never tell a soul that you made the trap, not for ten years, or twenty, if you like." "that's enough," he said, giving his leg a slap. "haw, haw, haw, haw, haw! here, give us the model. when dyer want it, lad?" "as soon as ever you can get it made, pannell." he looked at me with his face working, and scraping a hole in the ashes he buried the trap, seized hammer and pincers, and worked away again, but stopped every now and then to laugh. "i say," he said suddenly, "it'll sarve 'em right; but if they knowed as i did it they'd wait for me coming home and give me the knobsticks. ay, that they would." "but they will not know, pannell," i said. "it's our secret, mind." "hey, but i'd like to see the rat i' the trap!" he whispered, after exploding with another fit of mirth. "let's have the trap first," i said. "i don't know that i shall catch him then." "what are you going to bait with?" he said between two fierce attacks upon a piece of steel. "oh, i have not settled that yet!" "i'll tell 'ee," he whispered with his face working. "bait it with a wheel-band." he roared with laughter again, and if i had had any doubts before of his understanding that i wanted a very strong man-trap, i had none now. chapter sixteen. something for me. rash--cruel--unwise. well, i'm afraid it was all those, but i was only a boy, and i was stung by the injustice and cowardly cruelty of the outrages perpetrated on us by the men who earned their bread in our works; and hence it was, that, instead of feeling any compunction in doing what i proposed, i was delighted with the idea, and longed for an opportunity to put it in force. i was, then, very eager to begin, for the present calm, i felt sure, was only going before the storm, and after what i had found out i was anxious to be ready. pannell did not keep me waiting long. two days after i had made my plans with him i went into his smithy, and in answer to my inquiring look he said, in a heavy, unmoved way: "theer's summut for you hung up i' the forge chimney. she goes hard, but theer's a steel bar 'long wi' her as you can prise down the spring till she's set. on'y mind thysen, lad--mind thysen." "and will it hold a man, pannell?" i cried. "ay; this here's noo pattern. i haven't got into it yet i've got a rare lot of 'em to do." "but tell me," i whispered, "will it?" "think this here noo steel's better than owd fashion stoof?" he said. "bother the steel!" i said, speaking lower still. "i want you to tell me whether--" "bull-poop's gettin' too fat, mester jacob," said pannell. "don't give 'im so much meat. spoils a dorg. give un bones as he can break oop and yeat. that's the stoof for dorgs. gives un such a coat as never was." "will you tell me?" i began, angrily. "nay, i wean't tell thee nowt," he growled. "i've telled thee enew as it is. tek it when i'm not here, and good luck to thee!" i could get no more from him, for he would not say another word about the trap, so i waited impatiently for the night so that i might smuggle it from the forge chimney into my desk. when the time came it was quite absurd how many hindrances there were to my little task. i did not want to set it that night. i only wanted to get it in safety to my desk; but first there were men hanging about the smithies as if they were watching me; then there were my uncles; and lastly, there was gentles, who made signs that he wished to speak to me, and i didn't care to say anything to the sleek, oily fellow, who only wanted to what he called make it up. at last, though, everyone had gone but uncle jack, who was busy writing a letter or two, and i was to wait for him, and we were going back together. i slipped off to the smithy, and just as i was half-way there i turned quickly round, feeling quite cold, and as if i was found out, for i heard a curious yawning noise behind me. it was only piter, who looked up in my face and gave his tail a wag, and then butted his great head against my leg, holding it tightly there as if it was so heavy that he was glad to give it a rest. i went on at once impatiently, and piter's head sank down, the dog uttering a low, discontented whine on being left. i glanced up at the wall, half expecting to see some one looking over and watching me; then up at the windows, fearing that one of the men might still be left. but all was perfectly quiet, and though i half anticipated such an accident there was no one seated on the top of either of the great chimney-shafts in the neighbourhood watching me with a telescope. i had a few more absurdly impossible ideas of this kind as i went along the yard, feeling horribly guilty and ready to give up my undertaking. the very silence and solitariness of the place startled me, but i went on and turned in at the open door of the smithy where pannell worked, and breathed more freely as i looked round and saw that i was alone. but to make sure i stepped up on to the work-bench and looked out of the window, but there was nothing but the dam to be seen there, and i leaped down and climbed on to the forge, with the coal-dust crushing under my feet, gave a last glance round, and was about to peer up the funnel-like, sheet-iron chimney, when there was a loud clang, and i bounded down, with my heart beating furiously. i stamped my foot directly after and bit my lips angrily because i had been such a coward, for i had moved a pair of smiths' tongs when i stepped up, and they had slid off on to the ground. "i'm doing what i ought not to do," i said to myself as i jumped on to the forge again, "but now i've gone so far i must go on." i peered up in the dark funnel and could see nothing, but i had come prepared, and striking a match i saw just before me, resting on a sooty ledge, the object of my quest. i lifted it down, astounded at its size and weight, and found that it was an exact imitation of the rat-trap, but with blunt teeth, and a short steel lever with a point like a crowbar was attached to it by means of a bit of wire. it was enormous, and i quite trembled at the idea of carrying it to the office; but after a sharp glance out of the doorway i took hold of the trap by the iron chain bound round it, and walked quickly to my own place, hoping that even if i had been seen, the watcher would not have been able to make out what i was carrying. there was not much room to spare when i had laid the great trap in my desk, the lid of which would only just shut down over it; but once safely there, and with the key in the lock ready for me to turn if i heard steps, i had a good look at my treasure. i was nervous now, and half repentant, for the instrument looked so formidable that i felt that i should not dare to use it. i had a good look though, and found that it was very complete with chain and ring, and that the lever had a head to it like a pin, evidently so that after it had been used, it could be placed through the ring at the end of the chain, and driven down to act as a peg in the ground. i had hardly arrived at all this when i heard uncle jack's cough, and hastily closing the desk and locking it, i went to meet him. "sorry to keep you waiting so long, my boy," he said; "but i wanted to send word to your father how we are going on." it was on the second night that i put my plan into practice. i had thought it all well out, and inspected my ground, which was just below the wall, pretty close to the edge of the dam, where i had seen some marks which had made me suspicious. so as soon as uncle bob had gone to lie down, and i had begun my half of the watch, i fastened up piter, took out my heavy trap, carried it down to the edge of the dam, and carefully felt the wall for the place i had marked by driving in a little nail. i soon found it, placed my trap exactly beneath it, and wrenching down the spring by means of the lever, i tried to set it. i had practised doing this in my own place, and could manage it pretty well, but in the darkness and excitement that troubled me now, it proved to be an exceedingly difficult job. twice i managed to get it set, and was moving away when it went off with a startling clang that made me jump, and expect to see uncle bob come running out, especially as the dog set up a furious bark. i quieted piter though each time, and went and tried again till i managed my task, having to take great care that i did not hoist myself with my own petard, for it was a terribly dangerous engine that i was setting, though i did not think so then. it was now set to my satisfaction, and being quite prepared with a big hammer, my next task was to drive in the lever like a peg right through the ring and up to the head, so that if i did catch my bird, there would be no chance of his getting away. i felt about in the dark for a suitable place, and the most likely seemed to be just at the extent of the five feet of chain, which reached to the edge of the dam, where, between two of the big stones of the embankment, i fancied i could drive in the lever so that it could not be drawn out. so taking the steel bar with the sharp edge i ran it through the ring, directed the point between two blocks of stone, and then began to drive. as i said i was well prepared, having carefully thought out the whole affair, and i had bound several thicknesses of cloth over the head of the hammer like a pad so as to muffle the blows, and thus it was that i was able to drive it home without much noise. at first it went in so easily that i was about to select a fresh place, but it soon became harder and firmer, and when i had done and felt the head it was quite immovable, and held the ring close down to the stones. my idea had been to cover the trap with a handful or two of hay, but it was so dark that i thought i would leave it, as it was impossible to see it even from where i looked. i left it, meaning to come the next morning and set it free with a file, for i did not want to take up the peg, and i could get another for lever and join the chain with a strong padlock the next time. it was about eleven o'clock when i had finished my task, and i did not know whether to be pleased or alarmed. i felt something like a boy might who had set a bait at the end of a line to catch a crocodile, and was then very much alarmed for fear he should have any luck. i crept away and waited, thinking a great deal about piter, and what would be the consequences if he walked over the trap, but i argued that the chances were a hundred thousand to one against his going to that particular spot. besides, if i left him chained up uncle bob was not likely to unloose him, so i determined to run the risk, and leave the trap set when i went off guard. the time went slowly by without any alarm, and though i went now and then cautiously in the direction of my trap it had not been disturbed, and i came away more and more confident that it was in so out of the way a part of the yard that it might be there for weeks unseen. i felt better after this, and at the appointed time called uncle bob, who took his watch, and when he called me in the morning the wheel was turning, and the men were coming up to their work. "i thought you were tired, cob, so i let you lie till the last moment." i was so stupid and confused with sleep that i got up yawning; and we were half-way back home before, like a flash, there came to me the recollection of my trap. i could not make an excuse and go back, though i tried hard to invent one; but went on by my uncle's side so quiet and thoughtful that he made a remark. "bit done up, cob! you ought to have another nap after dinner." "oh, i'm all right, uncle," i said, and i went on home with him to have steel-traps for breakfast and think of nothing else save what they had caught. for i felt perfectly sure that someone had come over the wall in the night--stevens i expected it would prove to be--and had put his foot right in the trap, which had sprung, caught him by the leg, and cut it right off, and i felt sure that when i got back i should find him lying there where he had bled to death. the next thing that struck me was that i was a murderer, and that i should be tried and condemned to death, but respited and sentenced to transportation for life on account of my youth. with such thoughts as these rushing through my brain it was not likely that i should enjoy the breakfast with the brown and pink ham so nicely fried, and the eggs that were so creamy white, and with such yolks of gold. i did _not_ enjoy that breakfast, and i was feverishly anxious to get back to the works, and though first one and then another advised me to go and lie down, i insisted upon going. i was all in a tremble as i reached the gate, and saw old dunning's serious face. i read in it reproach, and he seemed to be saying to me, "oh, how could you do it?" seemed, for what he did say was, "nice pleasant morning, mester jacob!" i told a story, for i said, "yes, it is," when it was to me the most painful and miserable morning i had ever experienced; but i dared not say a word, and for some time i could not find an opportunity for going down the yard. nobody ever did go down there, unless it was to wheel a worn-out grindstone to a resting-place or to carry some broken wood-work of the machinery to throw in a heap. there was the heap of coal and the heap of slack or coal-dust, both in the yard; but those who fetched the coal and slack fetched them from this side, and they never went on the other. the last time i could recall the men going down there to the dam, was when we threw in piter to give him a bath. piter! had he been let loose? the thought that had come of him was startling, but easily set right, for there was the bull-dog fast asleep in his kennel. then there was stevens! the thought was horrible. he ought to be in the grinding-shop, and if he were not--i knew! it would have been easy to go and look, but i felt that i could not, and i walked back to the gate and spoke to old dunning. "all the men come yet?" i said. "no, mester jacob, they hevn't all come yet," he said. i dare not ask any more. all had not come, and one of those who had not come was, of course, stevens, and he was lying there dead. i walked back with dunning's last words ringing in my ears. "ain't you well, mester jacob?" no, i was not well. i felt sick and miserable, and i would have given anything to have gone straight down the yard and seen the extent of the misery i had caused. oh! if i could have recalled the past, and undone everything; but that was impossible, and in a state of feverish anxiety i went upstairs to where the men were busy at lathe and dry grindstones, to try and get--a glimpse of my trap, as i hoped i could from one of the windows. to my horror there were two men looking out, and i stopped dumb-foundered as i listened for their words, which i knew must be about the trapped man lying there. "nay, lad," said one, "yow could buy better than they at pit's mouth for eight shillings a chaldron." oh, what a relief! it was like life to me, and going to one window i found that they could only see the heap of coals. from the other windows there was no better view. even from the room over the water-wheel there was no chance of a glimpse of the trap. i could not stop up there, for i was all of a fret, and at last, screwing up my nerves to the sticking point, i went down determined to go boldly into the grinder's shop, and see if stevens was there. what an effort it was! i have often wondered since whether other boys would have suffered what i did under the circumstances, or whether i was a very great coward. well, coward or no, i at last went straight into the grinder's shop, and there was the plashing rumble of the great water-wheel beyond the door, the rattle of the bands and the whirr and whirl and screech of the grindstones as they spun round, and steel in some form or other was held to their edge. there were half a dozen faces i knew, and there was gentles ready to smile at me with his great mouth and closed eyes. but i could only just glance at him and nod, for to my horror stevens' wheel was not going, and there was no one there. i felt the cold sweat gather all over my face, and a horrible sensation of dread assailed me; and then i turned and hurried out of the building, so that my ghastly face and its changes should not be seen. for just then i saw stevens rise up from behind his grindstone with an oil-can in his hand--he had been busy oiling some part or other of the bearings. chapter seventeen. my travelling companion. somehow or another i could not get to that trap all that day, and night came, and still i could not get to it. i tried, but unless i had wanted to draw people's attention to the fact that i had something there of great interest, i could not go. even at leaving time it was as bad, and i found myself in the position that i must either tell one of my uncles what i had done, or leave the trap to take its chance. i chose the latter plan, and calling myself weak coward, went home, arguing to myself that no one would go in the spot where i had placed the trap, but some miscreant, and that it would serve him right. to my utter astonishment, directly after tea uncle dick turned to me. "cob," he said; "we have a special letter to send to canonbury to your father, and a more particular one to bring back in answer, so we have decided that you shall take it up. you can have three or four days' holiday, and it will be a pleasant change. your mother and father will be delighted to see you, and, of course, you will be glad to see them." "but when should i have to go?" i said. "to-night by the last train. quarter to eleven--you'll get to london about three in the morning. they expect one of us, so you will find them up." "but--" "don't you want to go?" said uncle jack severely. "yes," i said; "but--" "but me no buts, as the man said in the old play. there, get ready, boy, and come back to us as soon as you can. don't make the worst of our troubles here, cob." "no, no," said uncle dick, "because we are getting on famously as soon as we can manage the men." "and that we are going to do," said uncle bob. "i say i wish i were coming with you." "do, then," i cried. "get out, you young tempter! no," said uncle bob. "go and take your pleasure, and have pity upon the three poor fellows who are toiling here." i was obliged to go, of course, but i must tell them about the trap first. tell _them_! no, i could not tell uncle dick or uncle jack. i was afraid that they would be angry with me, so i resolved to speak to uncle bob before i went--to take him fully into my confidence, and ask him to move the trap and put it safely away. it is so easy to make plans--so hard to carry them out. all through that evening i could not once get a chance to speak to uncle bob alone; and time went so fast that we were on our way to the station, and still i had not spoken. there was only the chance left--on the platform. "don't look so solid about it, cob," said uncle jack. "they'll be delighted to see you, boy, and it will be a pleasant trip. but we want you back." "i should think we do," said uncle dick, laying his great hand on my shoulder and giving me an affectionate grip. "yes, we couldn't get on without our first lieutenant, philosopher cob," said uncle bob. i tried to look bright and cheerful; but that trap had not got me by the leg--it seemed to be round my neck and to choke me from speaking. what was i to do? i could not get a chance. i dare not go away and leave that trap there without speaking, and already there was the distant rumble of the coming train. in a few minutes i should be on my way to london; and at last in despair i got close to uncle bob to speak, but in vain--i was put off. in came the train, drawing up to the side of the platform, and uncle bob ran off to find a comfortable compartment for me, looking after me as kindly as if i had been a woman. "oh," i thought, "if he would but have stayed!" "good-bye, my lad!" said uncle dick. "take care of yourself, cob, and of the packet," whispered uncle jack. i was about to slap my breast and say, "all right here!" but he caught my hand and held it down. "don't," he said in a low half-angry voice. "discretion, boy. if you have something valuable about you, don't show people where it is." i saw the wisdom of the rebuke and shook hands. "i'll try and be wiser," i whispered; "trust me." he nodded, and this made me forget the trap for the moment. but uncle bob grasped my hand and brought it back. "stand away, please," shouted the guard; but uncle bob held on by my hand as the train moved. "take care of yourself, lad. call a cab the moment you reach the platform if your father is not there." "yes," i said, reaching over a fellow-passenger to speak. "uncle bob," i added quickly, "big trap in the corner of the yard; take it up at once--to-night." "yes, yes," he said as he ran along the platform. "i'll see to it. good-bye!" we were off and he was waving his hand to me, and i saw him for a few moments, and then all was indistinct beneath the station lamps, and we were gliding on, with the glare and smoke and glow of the busy town lighting up the sky. it had all come to me so suddenly that i could hardly believe i was speeding away back to london; but once more comfortable in my mind with the promise that uncle bob had made to take up the trap, i sat back in the comfortable corner seat thinking of seeing my father and mother again, and of what a series of adventures i should have to relate. then i had a look round at my fellow-passengers, of whom there were three--a stout old gentleman and a young lady who seemed to be his daughter, and a dark-eyed keen-looking man who was seated opposite to me, and who held a newspaper in his hand and had a couple of books with him. "i'd offer to lend you one," he said, touching his books and smiling; "but you couldn't read--i can't. horrible lights." just then a heavy snore from the old gentleman made the young lady lean over to him and touch him, waking him up with a start. the keen-looking man opposite to me raised his eyebrows and smiled slightly, shading his face from the other occupants with his newspaper. three or four times over the old gentleman dropped asleep and had to be roused up, and my fellow-passenger smiled good-humouredly and said: "might as well have let him sleep." this was in a whisper, and he made two or three remarks to me. he seemed very much disposed to be friendly and pointed out the lights of a distant town or two. "got in at arrowfield, didn't you?" he said at last. i replied that i did; and it was on the tip of my tongue to say, "so did you," but i did not. "i'm going on to london," he said. "nasty time to get in--three in the morning. i hate it. no one about. night cabs and milk carts, police and market wagons. people at the hotel always sleepy. ah! here we are at westernbow." for the train was stopping, and when it did draw up at the platform the old gentleman was roused up by the young lady, and they got out and left us alone. "ha! ha!" said my companion, "that's better. give us room to stretch our legs. do you bet?" "no," i said, "never." "good, lad! don't; very bad habit. i do; i've lots of bad habits. but i was going to say, i'll bet you an even half-crown that we don't have another passenger from here to london." "i hope we shall not," i said as i thought of a nap on the seat. "so do i, sir--so do i," he said, nodding his head quickly. "i vote we lie down and make the best of it--by and by. have a cigar first?" "thank you; i don't smoke," i said. "i do. will you excuse me if i have a cigar? not a smoking carriage-- more comfortable." i assured him that i should not mind; and he took out a cigar, lit it, and began to smoke. "better have one," he said. "mild as mild. they won't hurt you." i thanked him again and declined, sitting back and watching him as he smoked on seeming to enjoy his cigar, and made a remark or two about the beautiful night and the stars as the train dashed on. after a time he took out a flask, slipped off the plated cup at the bottom, and unscrewed the top, pouring out afterward some clear-looking liquid. "have a drink?" he said, offering me the flask-cup; but i shook my head. "no, thank you," i said; and somehow i began thinking of the water i had drunk at the works, and which had made me so terribly sleepy. i don't know how it was, but i did think about that, and it was in my mind as he said laughingly: "what! not drink a little drop of mild stuff like that? well, you are a fellow! why it's like milk." he seemed to toss it off. "better have a drop," he said. i declined. "nonsense! do," he cried. "do you good. come, have a drink." he grew more persistent, but the more persistent he was the more i shrank from the cup he held in his hand; and at last i felt sorry, for he seemed so kind that it was ungracious of me to refuse him so simple a request. "oh, very well!" he said, "just as you like. there will be the more for me." he laughed, nodded, and drank the contents of the cup before putting the screw-top on the flask, thrusting it in his breast-pocket, and then making a cushion of his railway wrapper he lay at full length upon the cushion, and seemed to compose himself to sleep. it was such a good example that, after a few minutes' silence, i did the same, and lay with my eyes half-closed, listening to the dull rattle of the train, and thinking of the works at arrowfield, and what a good job it was that i spoke to uncle bob about the trap. then i hoped he would not be incautious and hurt himself in letting off the spring. i looked across at my fellow-traveller, who seemed to be sleeping soundly, and the sight of his closed eyes made mine heavy, and no wonder, for every other night i had been on guard at the works, and that seemed to shorten my allowance of sleep to a terrible degree. i knew there could be no mistake, for i was going as far as the train went, and the guard would be sure to wake me up if i was fast asleep. and how satisfactory it seemed to be lying there on the soft cushions instead of walking about the works and the yard the previous night. i was growing more and more sleepy, the motion of the train serving to lull me; and then, all at once, i was wide-awake staring at the bubble of glass that formed the lamp in the ceiling, and wondering where i was. i recollected directly and glanced at my fellow-traveller, to see that he was a little uneasy, one of his legs being off the seat; but he was breathing heavily, and evidently fast asleep. i lay watching him for a few minutes, and then the sweet restful feeling mastered me again, and i went off fast asleep. one moment there was the compartment with its cushions and lamp with the rush and sway of the carriage that made me think it must be something like this on board ship; the next i was back at the works keeping watch and wondering whether either of the men would come and make any attempt upon the place. i don't know how long i had been asleep, but all at once, without moving, i was wide-awake with my eyes closed, fully realising that i had a valuable packet of some kind in my breast-pocket, and that my fellow-traveller was softly unbuttoning my overcoat so as to get it out. i lay perfectly still for a moment or two, and then leaped up and bounded to the other side of the carriage. "there, it is of no use," said my fellow-traveller; "pull that letter out of your pocket and give it to me quietly or--" he said no more, but took a pistol out of his breast, while i shrank up against the farther door, the window of which was open, and stared at him aghast. "do you hear?" he said fiercely. "come; no nonsense! i want that letter. there, i don't want to frighten you, boy. come and sit down; i sha'n't hurt you." the train was flying along at forty miles an hour at least, and this man knew that the packet i had was valuable. how he knew it i could not tell, but he must have found out at arrowfield. he was going to take it from me, and if he got it what was he going to do? i thought it all over as if in a flash. he was going to steal the packet, and he would know that i should complain at the first station we reached; and he would prevent this, i felt sure. but how? there was only one way. he had threatened me with a pistol, but i did not think he would use that. no; there was only one way, and it was this--he would rob me and throw me out of the train. my legs shook under me as i thought this, and the light in the carriage seemed to be dancing up and down, as i put my right arm out of the window and hung to the side to keep myself up. all this was a matter of moments, and it seemed to be directly after my fellow-passenger had spoken first that he roared out, "do you hear, sir? come here!" i did not move, and he made a dash at me, but, as he did, my right hand rested on the fastening of the door outside, turned the handle, and clinging to it, i swung out into the rushing wind, turning half round as the door banged heavily back, when, by an instinctive motion, my left hand caught at anything to save me from falling, grasped the bar that ran along between door and door, and the next moment, how i know not, i was clinging to this bar with my feet on the foot-board, and my eyes strained back at the open door, out of which my fellow-passenger leaned. "you young idiot, come back!" he roared; but the effect of his words was to make me shrink farther away, catching at the handle of the next door, and then reaching on to the next bar, so that i was now several feet away. the wind seemed as if it would tear me from the foot-board, and i was obliged to keep my face away to breathe; but i clung to the bar tightly, and watched the fierce face that was thrust out of the door i had left. "am i to come after you?" he roared. "come back!" my answer was to creep past another door, to find to my horror that this was the last, and that there was a great gap between me and the next carriage. what was i to do? jump, with the train dashing along at such a rate that it seemed as if i must be shaken down or torn off by the wind. i stared back horror-stricken and then uttered a cry of fear, as the window i had just passed was thrown open and a man leaned out. "i'll swear i heard someone shout," he said to a travelling companion, and he looked back along the train. "yes," he continued, "there's someone three compartments back looking out. oh, he's gone in now. wonder what it was!" just then he turned his head in my direction, and saw my white face. i saw him start as i clung there just a little way below him to his right, and within easy reach, and, for i should think a minute, we stared hard at each other. then he spoke in a quiet matter-of-fact way. "don't be scared, my lad," he said; "it's alright. i can take hold of you tightly. hold fast till i get you by the arms. that's it; now loose your right hand and take hold of the door; here pass it in. that's the way; edge along. i've got you tight. come along; now the other hand in. that's the way." i obeyed him, for he seemed to force me to by his firm way, but the thought came over me, "suppose he is that man's companion." but even if he had been, i was too much unnerved to do anything but what he bade me, so i passed one hand on to the window-frame of the door, then edged along and stood holding on with the other hand, for he had me as if his grasp was a vice, and then his hands glided down to my waist. he gripped me by my clothes and flesh, and before i could realise it he had dragged me right in through the window and placed me on the seat. then dragging up the window he sank back opposite to me and cried to a gentleman standing in the compartment: "give me a drop of brandy, jem, or i shall faint!" i crouched back there, quivering and unable to speak. i was so unnerved; but i saw the other gentleman hand a flask to the bluff-looking man who had saved me, and i saw him take a hearty draught and draw long breath, after which he turned to me. "you young scoundrel!" he cried; "how dare you give me such a fright!" i tried to speak, but the words would not come. i was choking, and i believe for a minute i literally sobbed. "there, there, my lad," said the other kindly, "you're all right. don't speak to him like that now, jordan. the boy's had a horrible scare." "scare!" said the big bluff man; "and so have i. why, my heart was in my mouth. i wouldn't go through it again for a hundred pounds. how did you come there, sir?" "let him be for a few minutes," said the other gently. "he'll come round directly, and tell us." i gave him a grateful look and held out my wet hand, which he took and held in his. "the boy has had a terrible shock," he said. "he'll tell us soon. don't hurry, my lad. there, be calm." i clung to his hand, for he seemed to steady me, my hand jerking and twitching, and a curious sensation of horror that i had never felt before seeming to be upon me; but by degrees this passed off, the more quickly that the two gentlemen went on talking as if i were not there. "i'm so much obliged," i said at last, and the big bluff man laughed. "don't name it," he said, nodding good-humouredly. "five guineas is my fee." i shivered. "and my friend here, doctor brown, will have a bigger one for his advice." "he's joking you, my lad," said the other gentleman smiling. "i see you are not hurt." "no, sir," i said; "i--" the trembling came over me again, and i could not speak for a minute or two, but sat gazing helplessly from one to the other. "give him a drop of brandy," said the big bluff man. "no, let him be for a few minutes; he's mastering it," was the reply. this did me good, and making an effort i said quickly: "a man in the carriage tried to rob me, and i got on to the foot-board and came along here." "then you did what i dare not have done," said the one who dragged me in. "but a pretty state of affairs this. on the railway, and no means of communicating." "but there are means." "tchah! how was the poor lad to make use of them? well, we shall have the scoundrel, unless he gets out of the train and jumps for it. we must look out when we stop for taking the tickets. we shall not halt before." by degrees i grew quite composed, and told them all. "yes," said my big friend, "it was very brave of you; but i think i should have parted with all i had sooner than have run such a risk." "if it had been your own," said the other gentleman. "in this case it seems to me the boy would have been robbed, and probably thrown out afterwards upon the line. i think you did quite right, my lad, but i should not recommend the practice to anyone else." they chatted to me pleasantly enough till the train began at last to slacken speed preparatory to stopping for the tickets to be taken, and at the first symptom of this my two new friends jumped up and let down the windows, each leaning out so as to command a view of the back of the train. i should have liked to look back as well, but that was impossible, so i had to be content to sit and listen; but i was not kept long in suspense, for all at once the quieter and more gentlemanly of my companions exclaimed: "i thought as much. he has just jumped off, and run down the embankment. there he goes!" i ran to the side, and caught a glimpse of a figure melting away into the darkness. then it was gone. "there goes all chance of punishing the scoundrel," said the big bluff man, turning to me and smiling good-temperedly. "i should have liked to catch him, but i couldn't afford to risk my neck in your service, young man." i thanked him as well as i could, and made up my mind that if my father was waiting on the platform he should make a more satisfactory recognition of the services that had been performed. this did not, however, prove so easy as i had hoped, for in the confusion of trying to bring them together when i found my father waiting, i reached the spot where i had left my travelling-companions just in time to see them drive off in a cab. chapter eighteen. against the law. the next day, after recounting plenty of my adventures to my mother, but, i am afraid, dressing some of them up so that they should not alarm her, a letter reached me from uncle bob. it was very short. he hoped i had reached town safely, and found all well. the night had passed quite quietly at the works, and he ended by saying: "i took up the trap. all right!" that was a great relief to me, and made my stay in town quite pleasant. i went down to the old works with my father, and it made me smile to see how quiet and orderly everything was, and how different to the new line of business we had taken up. the men here never thought of committing outrages or interfering with those who employed them, and i could not help thinking what a contrast there was between them and the arrowfield rough independence of mien. my father questioned me a great deal about matters upon which my uncles had dwelt lightly, but i found that he thoroughly appreciated our position there and its risks. "not for another six months, cob," he said in answer to an inquiry as to when he was coming down. "you four must pacify the country first," he added laughing, "and have the business in good going order." my visit was very pleasant, and i could not help feeling proud of the treatment i received at home; but all the same i was glad to start again for arrowfield and join my uncles in their battle for success. for there was something very exciting in these struggles with the men, and now i was away all this seemed to be plainer, and the attraction grew so that there was a disposition on my part to make those at home quite at their ease as to the life i was leading down at arrowfield. at last the day came for me to start on my return journey, when once more i had a packet to bear. "i need not tell you that it is of great value, cob," said my father. "button it up in your pocket, and then forget all about it. that is the safest way. it takes off all the consciousness." "i don't suppose i shall meet my friend this time," i said. my father shuddered slightly. "it is not likely," he said; "but i should strongly advise you to change carriages if you find yourself being left alone with a stranger." word had been sent down as to the train i should travel by, and in due time i found myself on the arrowfield platform and back at our new home, where mrs stephenson and tattsey were ready with the most friendly of smiles. "everything has been going on splendidly," was the report given to me. piter had been carefully attended to, and the works watched as well as if i had been at arrowfield. i felt annoyed, and, i suppose, showed it, for it seemed as if my uncles were bantering me, but the annoyance passed off directly under the influence of the warmth displayed by all three. "i'm beginning to be hopeful now that work will go on steadily, that this watching can be given up, and that we can take to a few country excursions, some fishing, and the like." that was uncle dick's expressed opinion; and i was glad enough to hear it, for though i did not mind the work i liked some play. uncle jack was just as hopeful; but uncle bob evidently was not, for he said very little. this time i had travelled by a day train, and i was quite ready to take my turn at the watching that night. uncle jack, whose turn it was, opposed my going, as i had been travelling so far; but i insisted, saying that i had had my regular night's rest ever since i had left them, and was consequently quite fresh. i wanted to ask uncle bob where he had hidden the trap, but i had no opportunity, and as neither uncle dick nor uncle jack made any allusion to it i did not start the subject. perhaps uncle bob had not told them, meaning to have a few words with me first. it almost seemed like coming home to enter the works again, where piter was most demonstrative in his affection, and carried it to such an extent that i could hardly get away. i had a look round the gloomy old place at once, and felt quite a thrill of pride in the faintly glowing furnaces and machinery as i thought of the endless things the place was destined to produce. "look here, cob," said uncle jack, "i shall lie down for three hours, mind; and at the end of that time you are to wake me. it is only nine o'clock now, and you can get over that time with a book. there will be no need to walk round the place." "would piter warn us, do you think?" i said. "oh, yes! it is getting quite a form our being here. the men are toning down." he threw himself on the bed, and i took up a book and read for an hour, after which i had a walk through the gloomy workshops, and in and out of the furnace-houses and smithies, where all was quiet as could be. after this i felt disposed to go and open the big door and look down into the wheel-pit. i don't know why, only that the place attracted me. i did not, however, but walked back to the doorway to look at the glow which overhung the town, with the heavy canopy of ruddy smoke, while away behind me the stars were shining brightly, and all was clear. i patted piter, who came to the full length of his chain, and then i had a look about with the lantern to see if i could find where uncle bob had put the trap. i felt that it must be under lock and key somewhere, but the cupboards had nothing to show, and, try how i would, i could think of no likely place for it to be hidden in. so i gave up the task of trying to find it, and walked back to the door, where i found piter lying down hard at work trying to push his collar over his head. the patient, persevering way in which he tried, getting both his fore-paws against it, was most amusing, the more so that there was not the slightest possibility of success attending his efforts, for his neck, which the collar fitted pretty closely, was small, and his bullet head enormous by comparison. "come," i said, as i bent over him; "shall i undo it for you?" he looked up at me as i put the dark lantern down, and whined softly. then he began working at the collar again. "look here," i said, as i sat on the bottom step. "shall i undo it?" dogs must have a good deal of reason, for piter leaped up and laid his head in my lap directly, holding it perfectly still while i unbuckled the strap collar, when he gave a sniff or two at my hands, licked them, and bounded off to have a regular good run all over the place before he came back and settled down close to me in the little office where i was trying to read. twelve o'clock at last, and i awoke uncle jack, who rose at once, fresh and clear as if he were amply rested, and soon after i was fast asleep, dreaming away and fancying i could hear the rattle and the throb of the train. then i was talking to that man again, and then swinging out on the carriage-door with the wind rushing by, and the bluff man leaning out over me, and piter on the carriage with him, barking at my aggressor, who was shrieking for mercy. then i was awake, to see that it was uncle jack who was leaning over me, and the window was open, admitting a stream of cold air and a curious yelling noise, mingled with the barking of a dog. "what is the matter?" i cried. "that's what i want to know," said uncle jack. "i went with a candle, but the wind puffed it out. where did you put the lantern?" "lantern--lantern!" i said in a confused way, "did i have it?" "yes; you must have had it. can't you think? gracious, what a noise! piter must have got someone by the throat." "oh, i know!" i cried as i grew more fully awake. "on the shelf in the entry." we ran down together, and a faint glow showed its whereabouts, still alight, but with the dark shade turned over the bull's-eye. "where does the noise come from?" i said, feeling startled at the alarming nature of the cries, freshly awakened as i was from sleep. "i can hardly tell," he said, seizing the lantern and taking a sharp hold, of his stick. "bring a stick with you, my boy, for there may be enemies in the way." "why, uncle," i cried, "some poor creature has fallen from the side path into the dam." "some wretched drunken workman then," he said, as we hurried in the direction, and there seemed to be no doubt about it now, for there was the splashing of water, and the cry of "help!" while piter barked more furiously than ever. we ran down to the edge of the dam, the light of the bull's-eye flashing and dancing over the ground, so that we were able to avoid the different objects lying about; and directly after the light played on the water, and then threw into full view the figure of the bull-dog as he stood on the stone edge of the dam barking furiously at a man's head that was just above the surface of the water. "help! help!" he cried as we drew near, and then i uttered a prolonged "oh!" and stood still. "quiet, piter! down, dog! can't you see it is a friend!" but the dog seemed to deny it, and barked more furiously than ever. "quiet, sir! here, cob, lay hold of the lantern. will you be quiet, dog! lay hold of him, cob, and hold him." i obeyed in a half stupid way, holding the lantern with one hand, as i went on my knees, putting my arm round piter's neck to hold him back; and in that way i struggled back from the edge, watching my uncle as i made the light fall upon the head staring wildly at us, a horrible white object just above the black water of the dam. "help! help!" it cried. "save me! oh!" "catch hold of the stick. that's right; now your hand. well done! what's holding you down? have you got your foot entangled? that's better: how did you fall in?" as my uncle rapidly asked these questions he got hold of the man, and dragged him on to the stone edge of the dam, when there was a horrible clanking noise, the rattle of a chain, the man uttered a hideous yell, and as piter set up a tremendous barking again i turned off the light. "here, don't do that," cried my uncle. i hardly know what induced me to turn off the light, unless it was a shamefaced feeling on being, as i thought, found out. and yet it did not seem that i was the guilty party. uncle bob had said he had taken up the trap, and it was all right. he must have altered his mind and set it again. "that's better," said my uncle as i turned on the light once more; and then piter made such a struggle that i could not hold him. there was a bit of a scuffle, and he was free to rush at the man, upon whom he fixed himself as he lay there howling and dripping with water. the man yelled again horribly, sprang up with piter holding on to him; there was the same horrible clanking noise on the stones, and down he fell once more groaning. "help! murder! take away the dorg. oh, help!" he cried. "good gracious! what is the matter?" cried uncle jack, telling me what i knew. "the man's leg's in a trap." he sprang up again, for by main force uncle jack had dragged piter away with his mouth full of trouser leg; but there were only two clanks and a sprawl, for the poor wretch fell headlong again on the stones, praying for mercy. "why, his leg's in a great trap, and it's held by a chain," cried uncle jack. "here, how came you in this condition?" "eh mester, aw doan know. deed aw doan know," the fellow groaned. "hey, but it's biting my leg off, and i'll be a lame man to the end o' my days." "why, it's gentles!" cried uncle jack, taking the lantern from me, for i had enough to do to hold the dog. "tek off the thing; tek off the thing," groaned the man. "it's a-cootin' my leg i' two, i tell'ee." "hold your noise, and don't howl like that," cried uncle jack angrily, for he seemed to understand now that the man must have climbed over into the yard and been caught, though he was all the more surprised, for quiet smooth-faced gentles was the last man anyone would have suspected. "but i tell'ee its tekkin off my leg," groaned the man, and he made another trial to escape, but was checked by the peg driven tightly into the ground between the stones, and he fell again, hurting himself horribly. "i shall be a dead man--murdered in a minute," he groaned. "help! oh, my poor missus and the bairns! tek off that thing, and keep away yon dorg." "look here," said uncle jack, making the light play on the poor wretch's miserable face. "how came you here?" "your dorg flew at me, mester, and drove me in t'watter." "yes, exactly; but how came you in the yard?" "i d'know, mester, i d'know." "i suppose not," said uncle jack. "tek off that thing, mester; tek off that thing. it's most cootin off my leg." i was ready to add my supplications, for i knew the poor wretch must be in terrible agony; but i felt as if i could not speak. "i'll take it off by and by, when i know how you came here." "i tell'ee it's 'gen the law to set they montraps," cried the fellow in a sudden burst of anger, "and i'll have the law o' thee." "i would," said uncle jack, still making the light play over the dripping figure, and then examining the trap, and tracing the chain to the peg. "hullo!" he cried, "what's this?" he was holding the lantern close to a dark object upon the ground quite close, and gentles uttered a fresh yell, bounded up, made a clanking noise, and fell again groaning. "doan't! doan't! thou'lt blow us all to bits." "oh, it's powder, then, is it?" cried uncle jack. "hey, i d'know, mester, i d'know." "didn't bring it with you, i suppose?" said uncle jack. "nay, mester, i didn't bring it wi' me." "then how do you know it's powder?" "hey, i d'know it's powder," groaned the miserable wretch. "it only looks like it. tek off this trap thing. tek away the light. hey, bud i'm being killed." "let me see," said uncle jack with cool deliberation. "you climbed over the wall with that can of powder and the fuse." "nay, nay, mester, not me." "and fell into a trap." "yes, mester. tek it off." "where did you mean to put that can of powder?" "nay, mester, i--" "tell me directly," cried uncle jack, giving the chain a drag and making gentles yell out; "tell me directly, or i'll pitch you into the dam." uncle jack's manner was so fierce that the man moaned out feebly: "if i tell'ee wilt tek off the trap?" "perhaps i will. speak out. where did you mean to put the powder can?" "under big watter-wheel, mester." "and fire the fuse?" "yes, mester." "how long would it have burned?" "twenty minutes, mester." "same length as the one that was run in the furnace-house?" "yes, mester." "you cowardly scoundrel! you were in that too, then," cried uncle jack, going down on one knee and seizing the man by the throat and shaking him till he realised how horribly he was punishing him, when he loosed his hold. "don't kill me, mester. oh, my wife and bairns!" "a man with a wife and children, and ready to do such a dastardly act as that! here, you shall tell me this, who set you on?" the man set his teeth fast. "who set you on, i say?" "nay, mester, i canna tell," groaned gentles. "but you shall tell," roared uncle jack. "you shall stay here till you do." "i can't tell; i weant tell," groaned the man. "we'll see about that," cried uncle jack. "pah! what a brute i am! hold the light, cob. piter! you touch him if you dare. let's see if we can't get this trap open." he took hold of it gently, and tried to place it flat upon the stones, but the poor trapped wretch groaned dismally till he was placed in a sitting posture with his knee bent, when piter, having been coerced into a neutral state, uncle jack pressed with all his might upon the spring while i worked the ring upon it half an inch at a time till the jaws yawned right open and gentles' leg was at liberty. he groaned and was evidently in great pain; but as soon as it was off, his face was convulsed with passion, and he shook his fists at uncle jack. "i'll hev the law of ye for this here. i'll hev the law of ye." "do," said uncle jack, picking up the can of powder; "and i shall bring this in against you. let me see. you confessed in the presence of this witness that you came over the wall with this can of powder to blow up our water-wheel so as to stop our works. mr gentles, i think we shall get the better of you this time." the man raised himself to his feet, and stood with great difficulty, moaning with pain. "now," said uncle jack, "will you go back over the wall or out by the gate." "i'll pay thee for this. i'll pay thee for this," hissed the man. uncle jack took him again by the throat. "look here," he said fiercely. "have a care what you are doing, my fine fellow. you have had a narrow escape to-night. if we had not been carefully watching you would by now have been hanging by that chain-- drowned. mind you and your cowardly sneaking scoundrels of companions do not meet with some such fate next time they come to molest us. now go. you can't walk? there's a stick for you. i ought to break your thick skull with it, but i'm going to be weak enough to give it to you to walk home. go home and tell your wife and children that you are one of the most treacherous, canting, hypocritical scoundrels in arrowfield, and that you have only got your deserts if you are lamed for life." he gave gentles his stick and walked with him to the gate, which he unlocked and held open for him to pass out groaning and suffering horribly. "good-night, honest faithful workman!" he said; "friendly man who only wanted to be left alone. do you want your can of powder? no: i'll keep it as a memento of your visit, and for fear you might have an accident at home." the man groaned again as he passed out and staggered. "poor wretch!" said uncle jack, so that i alone heard him. "ignorance and brutality. here," he said aloud, "take my arm. i'll help you on to your house. one good turn deserves another." uncle jack went to him and took his stick in his hand, when, fancying i heard something, i turned on the light just in time to show uncle jack his danger, for half a dozen men armed with sticks came out of the shadow of the wall and rushed at him. it was fortunate for him that he had taken back the stout oak walking-stick that he made his companion on watching nights, or he would have been beaten down. as it was he received several heavy blows, but he parried others, and laid about him so earnestly that two men went down, and another fell over gentles. by that time my uncle had retreated to the gate, darted through, and banged and locked it in his enemies' face. "rather cowardly to retreat, cob," he panted; "but six to one are long odds. where's the powder can?" "i have it, uncle," i said. "ah, well, suppose you give it to me, or else the light! the two don't go well together. they always quarrel, and it ends in what mr o'gallagher in _perceval keene_ called a blow up." i gave him the can, and then listened to the muttering of voices outside, half expecting that an attempt might be made to scale the wall. "no," said uncle jack; "they will not do that. they don't make open attacks." "did you see who the others were?" "no, it was too dark. there, let's get inside. but about that trap. i won't leave it there." i walked with him in silence, and lighted him while he dragged the iron peg out of the ground, and carried all back to the office, where he examined the trap, turning it over and over, and then throwing it heavily on the floor. he looked hard at me then, and i suppose my face told tales. "i thought so," he said; "that was your game, master cob." "yes," i said; "but i thought it was taken up. i told uncle bob to take it up when i went to london." "he thought you meant the trap of the drain," cried uncle jack, roaring with laughter. "he had the bricklayer to it, and said there was a bad smell, and it was well cleaned out." "oh!" i exclaimed; "and i made sure that it was all right again." "how came you to set the trap there?" "i had seen marks on the wall," i said, "where someone came over, but i never thought it could be gentles." "no, my lad, one don't know whom to trust here; but how came you to think of that?" "it was the rat-trap set me thinking of it, and when i made up my mind to do it i never thought it would be so serious as it was. are you very angry with me?" uncle jack looked at me with his forehead all in wrinkles, and sat down on a high stool and tapped the desk. i felt a curious flinching as he looked so hard at me, for uncle jack was always the most stern and uncompromising of my uncles. faults that uncle dick would shake his head at, and uncle bob say, "i say, come, this won't do, you know," uncle jack would think over, and talk about perhaps for two or three days. "i ought to be very angry with you, cob," he said. "this was a very rash thing to do. these men are leading us a horrible life, and they deserve any punishment; but there is the law of the land to punish evildoers, and we are not allowed to take that law in our own hands. you might have broken that fellow's leg with the trap." "yes, i see now," i said. "as it is i expect you have done his leg serious injury, and made him a worse enemy than he was before. but that is not the worst part of it. what we want here is co-operation--that's a long word, cob, but you know what it means." "working together," i said. "of course. you are only a boy, but you are joined with us three to mutually protect each other, and our strength lies in mutual dependence, each knowing exactly what the other has done." "yes, i see that, uncle," i said humbly. "how are we to get on then if one of the legs on which we stand--you, sir, gives way? it lets the whole machine down; it's ruin to us, cob." "i'm very sorry, uncle." "we are four. well, suppose one of us gets springing a mine unknown to the others, what a position the other three are in!" "yes," i said again. "i see it all now." "you didn't spring a mine upon us, cob, but you sprang a trap." i nodded. "it was a mistake, lad, though it has turned out all right as it happened, and we have been saved from a terrible danger; but look here, don't do anything of the kind again." "shall you go to the police about this?" i said. "no, and i'm sure the others will agree with me. we must be our own police, cob, and take care of ourselves; but i'm afraid we have rough times coming." chapter nineteen. pannell says nothing. "better and better!" cried uncle dick, waving a letter over his head one morning after the post had come in. "all we have to do is to work away. our steel is winning its way more and more in london, and there is already a greater demand than we can supply." "it seems funny too," i said. "i went through norton's works yesterday with mr tomplin, and saw them making steel, and it seemed almost exactly your way." "yes, cob," said uncle dick, "_almost_. it's that trifling little difference that does it. it is so small that it is almost imperceptible; but still it is enough to make our steel worth half as much again as theirs." "you didn't show them the difference, did you, cob?" said uncle jack, laughing. "why, how could i?" "ah! i forgot; you don't know. but never mind, you'll arrive at years of discretion some day, cob, and then you will be trusted with the secret." "i consider that he could be trusted now," cried uncle dick. "i am quite willing to show him whenever he likes. we make a fresh batch to-morrow." "no," i said; "i don't want to be shown yet. i can wait." "is that meant sulkily, or is it manly frankness?" said uncle jack sharply. "oh, i'll answer that," replied uncle dick--"certainly not sulkily." "i endorse that," said uncle bob; and i gave them both a grateful look. "he shall learn everything we know," said dick. "it is his right as his father's son. if we have not shown him sooner it is on account of his father's interests, and because we felt that a secret that means property or nothing is rather a weighty one for a lad of his years to bear. well, once more, cob, you will not mind being left?" "no," i said, "you will not be away many hours. the men will hardly know that you have gone, and if they were to turn disagreeable i'm sure pannell would help me." "oh, there's no fear of any open annoyance," said uncle jack; "the men have been remarkably quiet since we caught master gentles. by the way, anyone know how he is?" "i know," i said. "i've seen mrs gentles every day, and he leaves the infirmary to-morrow." "cured?" "yes; only he will walk a little lame, that's all, and only for a month or two." "well, take care of the place, cob," said uncle jack. "i don't suppose the men will interfere with you, but if they do you can retreat." "if you thought they would interfere with me," i said, "you would not go." they all laughed, and, as we had arranged, they left the works one by one, and i went on just as usual, looking in at one place, and then another, to see how the men were going on, before returning to the office and copying some letters left for me to do. it was a month since the adventure with the trap, and to see the men no one could have imagined that there was the slightest discontent among them. pannell had said very little, though i had expected he would; in fact he seemed to have turned rather surly and distant to me. as for the other men, they did their work in their regular independent style, and i had come to the conclusion that my best way was to treat all alike, and not make special friends, especially after the melancholy mistake i had made in putting most faith in one who was the greatest scoundrel in the place. my uncles had gone to the next town to meet a firm of manufacturers who had been making overtures that seemed likely to be profitable, and this day had been appointed for the meeting. after a time i went into pannell's smithy, to find him hammering away as earnestly as ever, with his forehead covered with dew, his throat open, and his shirt-sleeves rolled up, so as to give his great muscles full play. "well," he said all at once, "want another trap?" "no," i said, smiling. "i say, pannell, what did the men think about it?" he opened his lips to speak, but closed them directly. "no," he said shortly; "won't do. i'm on t'other side, you see." "but you might tell me that," i cried. "i say, i should as soon have thought of catching you as old gentles." "hush! say rat," he whispered. "don't name names. and say, lad, don't talk about it. you don't want to get me knocked on the head?" "no, pannell," i said; "indeed i don't. you're too good a fellow." "nay, i'm not," he said, shaking his head. "i'm a downright bad un." "not you." "ay, but i am--reg'lar down bad un." "what have you been doing?" "nowt," he said; and he brought down his hammer with a tremendous bang as if he meant to make a full stop at the end of his sentence. "then why are you a bad one?" he looked at me, then out of the window, then front the door, and then back at me. "i'm going to lunnon to get work," he said. "no, don't; we like you--you're such a good steady workman. why are you going?" "don't like it," he said. "man can't do as he pleases." "uncle john says he can't anywhere, and the masters are the men's servants here." "nay, lad," he whispered as he hammered away. "men's worse off than the masters. wuckman here hev to do what the trade tells him, or he'd soon find out what was what. man daren't speak." "for fear of getting into trouble with his mates?" "nay, his mates wouldn't speak. it's the trade; hish!" he hammered away for some time, and his skill with his hammer fascinated me so that i stopped on watching him. a hammer to me had always seemed to be a tool to strike straightforward blows; but pannell's hammer moulded and shaped, and always seemed to fall exactly right, so that a piece of steel grew into form. and i believe he could have turned out of the glowing metal anything of which a model had been put before his eyes. "well," i said, "i must go to my writing." "nay, stop a bit. we two ain't said much lately. they all gone to kedham?" "yes; how did you know?" "oh, we knows a deal. there aren't much goes on as we don't know. look ye here; i want to say summat, lad, and i can't--yes, i can." "well, say it, then," i said, smiling at his eagerness. "going to--look here, there was a rat once as got his leg caught in a trap." "yes, i know there was," i replied with a laugh. "nay, it's nowt to laugh at, lad. rats has sharp teeth; and that there rat--a fat smooth rat he were--he said he'd bite him as set that trap." "pannell!" i cried, as a curious feeling of dread came over me for a moment and then passed away. "ay, lad." "you don't mean to say that?" "me!--i mean to say! nay, lad, not me. i never said nothing. 'tain't likely!" i looked at him searchingly, but his face seemed to turn as hard as the steel he hammered; and finding that he would not say any more, i left him, to go thoughtfully back to my desk and try to write. but who could write situated as i was--left alone with about thirty workmen in the place, any one of whom might be set to do the biting in revenge for the trap-setting? for there was no misunderstanding pannell's words; they were meant as a sort of warning for me. and now what was i to do? i wished my uncles had not gone or that they had taken me, and i nearly made up my mind to go for a walk or run back home. but it seemed so cowardly. it was not likely that anyone would touch me there, though the knowledge the men evidently had of their masters' movements was rather startling; and i grew minute by minute more nervous. "what a coward i am!" i said to myself as i began writing, but stopped to listen directly, for i heard an unusual humming down in the grinders' shop; but it ceased directly, and i heard the wheel-pit door close. "something loose in the gear of the great wheel, perhaps," i thought; and i went on writing. all at once the idea came upon me. suppose they were to try and blow me up! i slipped off my stool and examined all the papers beneath my desk and in the waste-paper basket, and then i felt so utterly ashamed that i forced myself back into my seat and tried to go on writing. but it was impossible. the day was bright and sunny and the water in the dam was dancing and glittering, for the wind was off the hills and blew the smoke in the other direction--over the town. there was a great patch of dancing light on the ceiling reflected from the dam, and some flowers in the window looked bright and sent out a sweet perfume; but i could see nothing but men crawling in the dark with powder-cans and fuses; and to make myself worse, i must go to uncle jack's cupboard and look at the can that we had found by gentles that night, just as it had been picked up, with a long fuse hanging out of the neck and twisted round and round. i went back after locking it up and taking out the key, and after opening the window i stood looking out to calm myself, wishing the while that i was right away among the hills far from the noise of whirring stones and shrieking metal. i knew the sun was shining there, and the grass was green, and the view was spread out for miles; while from where i stood there were the great black buildings, the tall shafts, and close beneath me the dam which, in spite of the sunshine, suggested nothing but men coming down from the head on rafts of wood to work some mischief. the situation became intolerable; i could not write; i could not get calm by walking up and down; and every time there was a louder noise than usual from the upper or lower workshop i started, and the perspiration came out upon my face. what a coward! you will say. perhaps so; but a boy cannot go through such adventures as fell to my lot and not have some trace left behind. i stood at last in the middle of the little office, and thought of what would be the best thing to do. should i run away? no; that would be too cowardly. i came to the right conclusion, i am sure, for i decided to go and face the danger, if there was any; for i said to myself, "better to see it coming than to be taken unawares." now, please, don't think me conceited. in place of being conceited, i want to set down modestly and truthfully the adventures that befell me while my lot was cast among a number of misguided men who, bound together in what they considered a war against their masters, were forced by their leaders into the performance of deeds quite opposed to their ordinary nature. it was a mad and foolish combination as then conducted, and injured instead of benefiting their class. urged by my nervous dread of coming danger, i, as i have said, determined to see it if i could, and so be prepared; and in this spirit i put as bold a face on the matter as possible, and went down the long workshop where the men were grinding and working over the polishing-wheels, which flew round and put such a wonderful gloss upon a piece of metal. then i went down and into the furnace-house, where the fires were glowing, and through the chinks the blinding glare of the blast-fed flame seemed to flash and cut the gloom. the men there gave me a civil nod, and so did the two smiths who were forging knives, while, when i went next into pannell's smithy, feeling all the more confident for having made up my mind to action, the big fellow stared at me. "yow here agen?" he said. "yes." "well, don't stay, lad; and if i was you i should keep out of wet grinders' shop." "why?" i said. he banged a piece of steel upon his anvil, and the only answers i could get from him were raps of the hammer upon the metal; so i soon left him, feeling highly indignant with his treatment, and walked straight to his window, stepped up on the bench, and looked down, wondering whether it would be any good to fish from there. the water after some hours' working was much lower, so that a ledge about nine inches wide was laid bare and offered itself as a convenient resting-place; but i thought i would not fish while my uncles were away, especially since they had left me in charge. so i walked right to the very place i had been warned to avoid, and found the men as busy as usual, and ready enough to say a few civil words. and so the afternoon wore away, and telling myself that i had been scared at shadows, i felt a great deal more confident by tea-time when the men were leaving. i sat in the office then as important as if i were the master, and listened to their leaving and crossing the yard. i could hear them talking to the gate-keeper, and then i fancied i heard a rustling noise outside the building, but it was not repeated, and i began listening to the last men going, and soon after, according to his custom, old dunning the gate-keeper came to bring his key. i heard the old fellow's halting step on the stairs, and trying to look very firm i answered his tap with a loud and important "come in!" "all gone, mester jacob, sir," he said. "i s'pose you'll tek a look round?" "yes; i'll do that, dunning," i replied. "then, good-night, sir!" "one moment, dunning," i cried, as he turned to go. "i know you don't mix with the quarrels between masters and men." "not i, mester jacob. i just do my bit o' work here, which just suits me, being a worn-out sort o' man, and then goes back home to my tea and my garden. you've nivver seen my bit o' garden, mester jacob, sir. you must come." "to be sure i will, dunning; but tell me, how do the men seem now?" "bit tired, sir. end o' the day's wuck." "no, no; i mean as to temper. do you think they are settling down?" "o ay; yes, sir. they'd be quiet enew if the trade would let 'em alone." "no threats or anything of that sort?" "well, you see, sir, i've no right to say a word," he replied, sinking his voice. "if they thought i was a talker, mebbe they'd be falling upon me wi' sticks; but you've always been a kind and civil young gentleman to me, so i will tell you as gentles says he means to pay you when he gets a chance." "then i must keep out of mr gentles's way," i said, laughing outside, for i felt very serious in. "ay, but that arn't it, mester jacob, sir," said old dunning, to make me more comfortable. "you see, sir, you nivver know where to hev a man like that. he might hit at you wi' his own fisty, but it's more'n likely as he'll do it wi' some one else's, or wi' a clog or a knobstick. you can nivver tell. good-night, mester jacob, sir. keep a sharp look-out, sir, and so will i, for i shouldn't like to see a nice well-spoken young gentleman like you spoiled." i followed dunning down to the gate, and turned the key after him, feeling horribly alarmed. spoiled--not like to see a boy like me spoiled. what did spoiling mean? i shuddered at the thought, and though for a moment i thought of rushing out and getting home as quickly as i could, there was a sort of fear upon me that a party of men might be waiting at one of the corners ready to shoot me. "i must wait a bit, and get cool," i said; and then looking about me, i shivered, for the great works looked strange and deserted, there was a horrible stillness in the place, and i had never felt so lonely and unpleasantly impressed even when watching in the middle of the night. just then there was a whine and a bark, and piter gave his chain a jerk. there was society for me at all events, and, going to the kennel, i unhooked the spring swivel and set the dog free, when, as usual, he showed his pleasure by butting his great head at me and trying to force it between my legs. i was used to it and knew how to act, but with a stranger it would have been awkward and meant sitting down heavily upon the dog unless he leaped out of the way. of course i did not sit down on piter, but lifted a leg over him, and as soon as he had become steady made a sort of inspection of the place to see that nothing was wrong, feeling that it was a sort of duty to do, as i was left alone. piter kept close to me, rubbing my leg with one ear as we went all over the place, and as i found no powder-cans and fuses, no bottles full of fulminating silver, or any other deadly implement, my spirits rose and i began to laugh at myself for my folly. there was only the lower workshop with its grindstones to look through, and lit up as it was by the evening sun there did not seem to be anything very terrible there. the floor was wet, and the stones and their frames and bands cast broad shadows across the place and on the opposite wall, but nothing seemed to be wrong, only i could hear the hollow echoing plash of the water falling from the wheel sluice down into the stone-walled pit. there was nothing new in this, only that it seemed a little plainer than usual, and as i looked i saw that the door had been left open. that was nothing particular, but i went on to close it, not being able to see the bottom, the view being cut off by a great solid bench in the middle of the floor. on passing round this, though, i saw that there was something wrong; two or three bands had gone from as many grindstones, and had evidently been hastily thrown into the wheel-pit, whoever had done this having left one on the floor, half in and half out, and keeping the door from shutting close. "that couldn't be gentles," i said aloud as i threw back the door, and my words echoed in the great black place, where the sunlight was cutting the shadow in a series of nearly horizontal rays as it came in past the wheel. i could see at a glance the amount of the mischief done: one band was evidently down in the water, and hung hitched in some way on to the band upon the floor. it had been intended to be dragged in as well, but it had caught against the iron of the rail that surrounded the bracket-like platform the width of the door and projecting over the water, which was ten feet below. i recalled standing upon it to catch eels, when i contrived to catch the lost bands as well, and thinking that perhaps after all there were several of the straps sunken below me, i stooped down, took hold of the band, and pulled. it would not come, being caught somehow at the edge of the platform; so gathering it closely in my hands rather unwillingly, for it was a wet oily affair, i stepped on to the platform, uttered a shriek, and fell with a tremendous splash into the water below. i felt the platform give way, dropping at once from beneath my feet, and though i snatched at it my hands glided over the boards in an instant and i was down amidst a tangle of bands in the deep black water. chapter twenty. a companion in trouble. i can't tell you the horrors of those moments as they appeared to me. no description could paint it all exactly; but one moment i was down in darkness with the current thundering in my ears, the next i was up at the surface beating and splashing, listening to the echoing of the water, which sounded hollow and strange, looking up at the sunshine that streamed in past the wheel, and then i went under. it is a strange admission to make, but in those first few moments of surprise and horror i forgot that i knew how to swim, and all my movements were instinctive and only wearied and sent me down again after i had risen. then reason came to my help, and i began to strike out slowly and swam to the side of the great stone chamber, passing one hand along the slimy wall trying to get some hold, but finding none; and then swimming straight across to the other side and trying there, for i dared not approach the wheel, which looked horrible and dangerous, and i felt that if i touched it the great circle would begin to revolve, and perhaps take me down under the water, carry me up on the other side, and throw me over again. it looked too horrible, all wet, slimy, and dripping as it was, or possibly i might have climbed up it and reached the edge of the dam, so i swam right beyond it and felt along the other side, but without avail. there was nothing but the slimy stonework, try where i would, and the chill of horror began to have a numbing effect on my arms. i swam on to and fro beneath the doorway, with the little platform hanging by one end far above my had, and once as i swam my foot seemed to touch something, which might have been a piece of the sunken wood or iron work, but which made me shrink as if some horrible monster had made a snatch at me. i shouted, but there was only the hollow echoing of the stone chamber and the lapping and whispering of the water; and, knowing that i was alone locked in the works, the terrible idea began to dance before me that i was going to die, for unless i could save myself i need not expect help. the thought unnerved me more and more and made me swim more rapidly in the useless fashion i was pursuing, and once more i stared in a shrinking way at the great wheel, which, innocent enough in itself, seemed a more terrible engine than ever. i knew it would move if i swam across and clung to it, and i really dared not go near. there was always something repellent and strange even in a big water cistern in a house, and as a mere boy i have often started back in terror at the noise made by the pipes when the water was coming driving the air before it with a snorting gurgle, and then pouring in, while to climb up a ladder or set of steps and look down into the black watery place always gave me a shudder and made me glad to get away. it is easy to imagine, then, what my feelings were, suddenly cast into that great stone-walled place, with i did not know what depth of water beneath me, and inhabited as i knew by large twining eels. i daresay the eels were as much afraid of me as i was of them; but that made no difference to my feelings as i swam here and there trying in vain for something to which to cling; but in the darkest parts as well as the lightest it was always the same, my hand glided over the stones and splashed down again into the water. i was too much confused to think much, and moment by moment i was growing more helpless. i can remember making a sort of bound to try and get a hold of the broken platform above my head, but the effect of that effort was only to send me below the surface. i can recall, too, thinking that if i let my feet down i might find bottom, but this i dared not do for fear of what might be below; and so, each moment growing more feeble, i stared at the opened doorway through which i had come, at the iron-barred grating through which the water escaped, and which was the entrance to a tunnel or drain that ran beneath the works. then i turned my eyes up at the sunlit opening through which seemed to come hope surrounding the black tooth-like engine that was hung there ready to turn and grind me down. my energy was nearly exhausted, the water was above my lips, and after a wild glare round at the slimy walls the whispering lapping echoes were changed for the thunderous roar and confusion felt by one plunged beneath the surface; and in my blind horror i began beating the water frantically in my last struggle for life. natural instinct seems to have no hesitation in seizing upon the first help that comes. it was so here. i might have swum to the wheel at first and clung to it, but i was afraid; but now, after going under once or twice--i'm sure i don't know which--i came up in close proximity to the great mass of slimy wood-work, one of my hands touched it, the other joined it directly, and i clung panting there, blind, confused, helpless, but able to breathe. almost at the same moment, and before i knew what i was holding on by, there came a sound which sent hope and joy into my heart. it was the whimpering whine of piter, who directly after set up a short yapping kind of bark, and i had a kind of idea that he must be somewhere on the wood-work inside the wheel. i did not know that he had fallen in at the same time as i; and though once or twice i had heard him whining, i did not realise that he was also in danger; in fact the horrible overwhelming selfishness of the desire for self-preservation had swept away everything but the thought of how i was to get out of my trouble. every moment now gave me a little confidence, though it was nearly driven away when, able to see clearly again, i found myself holding on by one of the wooden pocket-like places formed with boards on the outer circumference of the engine--the places in fact into which, when the sluice was opened, the water rushed, and by its weight bore the wheel round. after a few minutes' clinging there, beginning to feel numbed and chilled by the cold, i realised that the sun was setting, that the patches of light were higher, and that in a very few minutes the horrors of this place would be increased tenfold by my being plunged in profound darkness. i dreaded moving, but i knew that the water could not come down upon me unless the sluice was opened, and that was turned off when the men left work, so that the water was saved for the next day, and the wheel ceased to turn. i determined then to try and climb up from pocket to pocket of the wheel and so reach the stone-race at the opening, along which the water poured. my courage revived at this, and drawing my legs under me i got them upon one of the edges of the pocket beneath the water, raised myself up and caught hold of one higher than i had hold of before, and was about to take a step higher when, to my horror, the huge wheel began to feel the effect of my weight, and gradually the part i held descended. at the same moment there was a loud splash, a beating of the water, a whining barking noise, and i knew i had shaken piter off the bar or spoke to which he had been clinging inside. "here, piter; here dog," i shouted; and he swam round to me, whining piteously and seeming to ask me for help. this i was able to give him, for, holding tightly with one hand, i got my right arm round him and helped him to scramble up into one of the pockets, though the effort had weighed down the wheel and i sank deeper in the water. i made another trial to climb up, but though the resistance of the great wheel was sufficient to support me partly it soon began to revolve, and i knew that it would go faster if i tried to struggle up. i heaved a despairing sigh, and for the first time began to think of gentles. "this must be his doing," i said to myself. he had set some one to take out the support of the little platform, and i was obliged to own that after all he had only set a trap for me just as i had set one for him. still there was a great difference: he was on his way to do harm when he was caught--i was engaged in my lawful pursuits and trying to do good. i had another trial, and another, but found it would, in my exhausted state, be impossible to climb up, and as i clung there, up to my chest in the water, and with the dog close to me, he whined piteously and licked my face. the next minute he began to bark, stood up with his hind feet on the edge of one bar, his fore-paws on the one above, and made a bound. to my surprise he reached his aim, and his weight having no effect on the wheel, he scrambled up and up till i knew he must have reached the top. there was no doubt about it. the next minute i heard the rattling shaking noise made by a dog when getting rid of the water in its coat. then a loud and joyous barking. then only the dripping, plashing sound of the water that escaped through the sluice and came running in and falling about the wheel. what time was it? about half-past six, and the men would not come to work till the next morning. could i hang there till then? i knew it was impossible--that in perhaps less than half an hour i should be compelled to loose my hold and fall back into the black water without strength to stir a paralysed arm. i shouted again and again, but the walls echoed back my cry, and i knew it was of no use, for it was impossible for any one to hear me outside the place. it was only wasting strength, and that was wanted to sustain me as long as possible. there was one hope for me, though: my uncles would be returning from redham at ten or eleven o'clock, and, not finding me at home, they would come in search of me. when it is too late! i must have said that aloud, for the word _late_ came echoing back from the wall, and for a time i hung there, feeling numbed, as it were, in my head, and as slow at thinking or trying to imagine some way of escape as i was at movement. but i made one more effort. it seemed to be so pitiful that a wretched, brainless dog, when placed in a position like this, should be able to scramble out, while i, with the power of thinking given to me, with reason and some invention, was perfectly helpless. this thought seemed to send a current like electricity through me, nerving me to make another effort, and loosening one hand i caught at the bar above me as before, changed the position of my feet, and began to climb. i gave up with a groan, for i was only taking the place of the water and turning the wheel just as a turnspit dog would work, or a squirrel in its cage, only that i was outside the wheel and they would have been in. i came down with a splash; and as i clung there i could hear the water go softly lapping against the wall and whispering in the corners as if it were talking to itself about how soon i should have to loose my hold, sink down, and be drowned. i was weakened by this last effort as well as by the strain upon my nerves, and as the water ceased to lap and whisper a horrible silence crept down into the place in company with the darkness. only a few minutes before all was bright where the sun rays flashed in; now there was only a soft glow to be seen, and all about me black gloom. i grew more and more numbed and helpless, and but for the fact that i hung there by my hands being crooked over the edge of the board across the wheel, i believe i must have fallen back, but my fingers stiffened into position and helped me to retain my hold, till at last they began to give way. i had been thinking of home and of my uncles, and wondering how soon they would find me, and all in a dull nerveless way, for i suppose i was too much exhausted to feel much mental or bodily pain, when all at once i began to recall stories i had read about the saint bernard dogs and the travellers in the snow; and then about the shepherds' collies in the north and the intelligence they displayed. several such tales came to my memory, and i was just thinking to myself that they were all nonsense, for if dogs had so much intelligence, why had not piter, who had a head big enough for a double share of dogs' brains, gone and fetched somebody to help me, instead of making his own escape, and then going and curling himself up by one of the furnaces to get dry--a favourite place of his if he had the chance. just then, as i seemed to be half asleep, i heard a sharp bark at a distance, then another nearer, and directly after piter was on the top of the wheel, where he had stepped from the sluice trough, barking with all his might. "wheer is he then, boy? wheer is he then?" said a gruff hoarse voice. piter barked more furiously than ever, and the glow seemed to give way to darkness overhead, as the voice muttered: "dear, dear! hey! think o' that now. mester jacob, are you theer?" "help!" i said, so faintly that i was afraid i should not be heard. "wheerabouts? in the watter?" "i'm--on--the wheel," i cried weakly, and then, as i heard the sound of someone drawing in his breath, i strove to speak once more and called out: "turn the wheel." it began to move directly, but taking me down into the water, and i uttered a cry, when the wheel turned in the other direction, drawing me out and up. my arms straightened out; i was drawn closer to the wood-work. i felt that i should slip off, when my toes rested upon one of the bars, while, as i rose higher, the tension on my arms grew less, and then less, and at last, instead of hanging, i was lying upon my chest. then a pair of great hands laid hold of me, and piter was licking my face. pannell told me afterwards that he had to carry me all along the narrow stone ledge to the window of his smithy, and thrust me through there before climbing in after me, for it was impossible to get into the yard the other way without a boat. i must have fainted, i suppose, for when i opened my eyes again, though it was in darkness, the icy water was not round me, but i was lying on the warm ashes down in one of the stoke-holes; and the faint glow of the half-extinct fire was shining upon the shiny brown forehead of the big smith. "pannell!" i exclaimed, "where am i?" "get out!" he growled. "just as if yow didn' know." "did you save me?" "'sh, will yo'!" he whispered. "how do we know who's a-watching an' listening? yow want to get me knob-sticked, that's what yow want." "no, no," i said, shivering. "yow know where we are, o' course. down in the big stokul; but be quiet. don't shout." "how did you know i was in there?" "what, in yonder?" "yes, of course; oh how my arms ache and throb!" "let me give 'em a roob, my lad," he said; and strongly, but not unkindly, he rubbed and seemed to knead my arms, especially the muscles above my elbows, talking softly in a gruff murmur all the while. "i did give you a wink, lad," he said, "for i know'd that some'at was on the way. i didn' know what, nor that it was so bad as that theer. lor' how can chaps do it! yow might hev been drowned." "yes," i said with a shiver. "the cowards!" "eh! don't speak aloud, lad. how did you get in? some un push thee?" "push me! no; the platform was broken loose, and a trap set for me, baited with a wheel-band," i added angrily. pannell burst into a laugh, and then checked himself. "i weer not laughing at yow, lad," he whispered, "but at owd gentles. so yow got in trap too?" "trapped! yes; the cowardly wretches!" "ay, 'twere cowardly. lucky i came. couldn't feel bottom, eh?" "no." "nay, yow wouldn't; there's seven foot o' watter there, wi'out mood." "how did you know i was there?" "what! didn' i tell ye?" "no." "i were hanging about like, as nigh as i could for chaps, a waitin' to see yow go home; but yow didn't coom, and yow didn't coom; and i got crooked like wi' waiting, and wondering whether yow'd gone another way, when all at once oop comes the bull-poop fierce like, and lays holt o' me by the leg, and shakes it hard. i was going to kick un, but he'd on'y got holt of my trowsis, and he kep on' shacking. then he lets go and barks and looks at me, and takes holt o' my trowsis agin, and hangs away, pulling like, till i seemed to see as he wanted me to coom, and i followed him." "good old piter!" i said; and there was a whine. i did not know it, but piter was curled up on the warm ashes close by me, and as soon as he heard his name he put up his head, whined, and rapped the ashes with his stumpy tail. "he went to the wucks fast as he could, and slipped in under the gate; but i couldn't do that, you see, mester, and the gate was locked, so i was just thinking what i'd best do, and wondering where you might be, when i see stivens come along, looking as if he'd like to howd my nose down again his grindstone, and that made me feel as if i'd like to get one of his ears in my tongs, and his head on my stithy. he looked at me, and i looked at him, and then i come away and waited till he'd gone." "it seemed as if help would never come," i said. "ay, it weer long time," said pannell; "but i found no one about at last, and i slipped over the wall." "yes, and i know where," i said. "and there was piter waiting and wanting me to follow him. but there was no getting in--the doors were locked. i seemed to know, though, that the dog wanted to get me to the wheel-pit, and when i tried to think how to get to you i found there was no way 'cept through my forge. so i got out o' my window, and put the dorg down, and--well, i came. arn't much of a fire here, but if i blow it up stivens or some on 'em will hear it, or see it, or something; and i s'pose i shall have it for to-night's work." i did feel warmer and better able to move, and at last i rose to make the best of my way back. "nobody will notice my wet things," i said, "now it's dark. i don't know what to say to thank you, pannell." "say i was a big boompkin for meddling ower what didn't consarn me. if i don't come to wuck to-morrow you'll know why." "no; i shall not," i cried wonderingly. "ah, then, you'll have time to find out," he muttered. "good-night, lad!" "stop a moment and i'll open the gate," i cried. "nay, i shall go out as i come in. mayn't be seen then. mebbe the lads'll be watching by the gate." he stalked out, and as i followed him i saw his tall gaunt figure going to the corner of the yard where the trap was set, and then there was a scuffling noise, and he had gone. i left the place soon after, and as i fastened the gate i fancied i saw stevens and a man who limped in his walk; but i could not be sure, for the gas lamp cast but a very feeble light, and i was too eager to get home and change my things to stop and watch. the run did me good, and by the time i had on a dry suit i was very little the worse for my immersion, being able to smile as i told my uncles at their return. they looked serious enough, though, and uncle jack said it was all owing to the trap. the question of putting the matter in the hands of the police was again well debated, but not carried out--my uncles concluding that it would do no good even if the right man were caught, for in punishing him we should only have the rest who were banded together more bitter against us. "better carry on the war alone," said uncle dick; "we must win in the end." "if we are not first worn-out," said the others. "which we shall not be," cried uncle dick, laughing. "there are three of us to wear out, and as one gets tired it will enrage the others; while when all three of us are worn-out we can depute cob to carry on the war, and he is as obstinate as all three of us put together." they looked at me and laughed, but i felt too much stirred to follow their example. "it is too serious," i said, "to treat like that; for i am obstinate now much more than i was, and i should like to show these cowards that we are not going to be frightened out of the town." "cob don't know what fear is," said uncle jack with a bit of a sneer. "indeed but i do," i replied. "i was horribly frightened when i fell into that place; but the more they frighten me, the more i want for us to make them feel that we are not to be beaten by fear." "bravo!" cried uncle bob, clapping his hands. "there! let's go on with our work," said uncle dick; "we must win in the end." to have seen the works during the next few days, anyone would have supposed that there had never been the slightest trouble there. after due consideration the little platform had been replaced and the bands taken from the grindstone gear duly put in position, the men taking not the slightest notice, but working away most industriously. pannell, however, did not come back, and his forge was cold, very much to my uncles' annoyance. on inquiry being made we were told that his mother was dying, and that he had been summoned to see her. i felt a little suspicious, but could hardly believe that anything was wrong, till one evening uncle jack proposed that we two should have a walk out in the country for a change. i was only too glad, for the thought of getting away from the smoke and dirt and noise was delightful. so as to get out sooner we took a short cut and were going down one of the long desolate-looking streets of rows of houses all alike, and built so as to be as ugly as possible, when we saw on the opposite side a man seated upon a door-step in his shirt-sleeves, and with his head a good deal strapped and bandaged. "that's one of the evils of a manufacturing trade where machinery is employed," said uncle jack. "i'm afraid that, generally speaking, the accidents are occasioned by the men's carelessness or bravado; but even then it is a painful thing to know that it is your machinery that has mutilated a poor fellow. that poor fellow has been terribly knocked about, seemingly." "yes," i said, looking curiously across the road. "so far we have been wonderfully fortunate, but--here, this way! where are you going?" "over here," i said, already half across the road; for the brawny arms and long doubled-up legs of the man seemed familiar. "why?" cried uncle jack; but he followed me directly. "pannell!" i exclaimed. "what, mester jacob!" he cried, lifting up his head with his face in my direction, but a broad bandage was over his eyes. "why, what's all this?" i cried; "have you had some accident?" "yes, met wi' acciden' done o' purpose." "but they said your mother was dying," i cried as i held the great hard hand, which was now quite clean. "ay, so i heard say," replied the great fellow. "is she better?" "better! well, she ain't been badly." "not dying?" said uncle jack. "what's that yow, mester?" said pannell. "sarvice to you, sir. my mother!--dying! well, i suppose she be, slowly, like the rest of us." "but what have you been doing?" i cried. "what a state you are in!" "state i'm in! yow should have seen me a fortnit ago, my lad. i'm splendid now--coming round fast." "but how was it?" cried uncle jack, while i turned white as i seemed to see it all. "how was it, mester!" said pannell laughing. "well, you see, i weer heving bit of a walluck, wi' my pipe in my mooth, and it being bit dusk like that night i didn't see which way i were going, and run my head again some bits o' wood." "sticks!" i said excitedly. he turned his head towards me smiling. "couldn't see rightly as to that, mester jacob," he said; "i dessay they weer." "and a set of cowards had hold of them!" i cried. "nay, i can't say," replied the great fellow. "yow see, mester, when owt hits you on the head it wuzzles you like, and you feel maazed." uncle jack stood frowning. "you know very well, pannell," i cried angrily, "that you have been set upon by some of these treacherous cowards for helping me that evening. oh, uncle jack!" i cried, passionately turning to him, "why don't you go to the police?" "howd thee tongue, lad!" cried pannell fiercely. "yow don't know nowt about it. don't yow do nowt o' t' sort, mester. let well alone, i say." "but i cannot stand still and see these outrages committed," said uncle jack in a low angry voice. "hey, but thou'lt hev to, 'less you give up maakin' 'ventions. trade don't like 'em, and trade will hev its say." "but that you should have been so brutally used for doing a manly action for this boy," began uncle jack. "theer, theer, theer," said pannell; "i don't kick agen it. i s'pected they'd do some'at. i know'd it must coom. chap as breaks the laws has to tek his bit o' punishment. chaps don't bear no malice. i'm comin' back to work next week." "look here," said uncle jack, who was a good deal moved by the man's calm patience, "what are we to do to come to terms with the workmen, and have an end to these outrages?" "oh, that's soon done," replied pannell, rubbing one great muscular arm with his hand, "yow've just got to give up all contrapshions, and use reg'lar old-fashioned steel, and it'll be all right." "and would you do this, my man?" said uncle jack, looking down at the great muscular fellow before him. "ay, i'd do it for sake o' peace and quiet. i should nivver go agen trade." "and you would advise me to give up at the command of a set of ignorant roughs, and make myself their slave instead of master." "mester jacob," said pannell, "i can't see a bit wi' this towel round my head; look uppards and downards; any o' the chaps coming?" "no," i said. "then look here, mester, i will speak if i nivver do again. no, i wouldn't give up if i was you, not if they did a hundred worse things than they've done yet. theer!" uncle jack looked down on the man, and then said quickly: "and you, what will you do?" "get to wuck again, mester, as soon as i can." "and the men who beat you like that?" "eh, what about 'em?" "shall you try and punish them?" "punish 'em, mester! why, how can i? they punished me." "but you will turn upon them for this, pannell, will you not?" "nay, mester; i went again 'em, and they knob-sticked me for it, and it's all done and over. i shall soon be back at my stithy, if you'll hev me again." "have you! yes, my man, of course," said uncle jack. "i wish we could have more like you." "cob," said uncle jack as we strode on and got well out into the country, "we've got a very strong confederation to fight, and i do not feel at all hopeful of succeeding; but, there: we've put our hands to the plough, and we can't look back. now never mind business, let's listen to the birds and enjoy the fresh country air for a time." we were going up the valley, passing every now and then "a wheel" as it was called, that is a water-wheel, turning a number of grindstones, the places being remarkably like ours, only that as we got farther out the people who ground and forged did their work under the shade of trees, while the birds piped their songs, and air and water were wonderfully different from what they were about our place on the edge of the great town. "let's get back, cob," said uncle jack despondently. "it makes me miserable to hear the birds, and see the beauty of the hills and vales, and the sparkling water, and know that men toiling together in towns can be such ruffians and so full of cruelty to their fellow creatures." "and so strong and true and brave and ready to help one another." "as who are, cob?" said my uncle. "well, for want of thinking of anyone else just now," i said, "there's poor pannell; he saved me, and he has just shown us that he is too faithful to his fellow-workmen to betray them." uncle jack laid his hand upon my shoulder and gave it a hearty grip. "you're right, my lad," he said. "you're the better philosopher after all. there's good and bad, and like so many more i think of the bad and overlook the good. but all the same, cob, i'm very uneasy. these men have a spiteful feeling against you, and we shall not be doing right if we trust you out of our sight again." chapter twenty one. what i caught and heard. "i should say you will very likely have some sport," said uncle dick. "try by all means." "i hardly like to, uncle," i said. "nonsense, my lad! all work and no play makes jack--i mean jacob--a dull boy." "but it will seem as if i am neglecting my work." "by no means. besides, we shall not be busy for a day or two. have a few hours' fishing, and i daresay one of us will come and see how you are getting on." the opportunity was too tempting to be lost, so i got a cheap rod and a dear line--a thoroughly good one, asked a gardener just outside to dig up some small red worms for me, and, furnishing myself with some paste and boiled rice, i one morning took my place up at the head of the dam where the stream came in, chose a place where the current whirled round in a deep hole and began fitting my tackle together prior to throwing in. i had been longing for this trial, for i felt sure that there must be some big fish in the dam. it was quite amongst the houses and factories, but all the same it was deep, there was a constant run of fresh water through it, and i had more than once seen pieces of bread sucked down in a curiously quiet way, as if taken by a great slow moving fish, a carp or tench, an old inhabitant of the place. certainly it was not the sort of spot i should have selected for a day's fishing had i been offered my choice, but it was the best i could obtain then, and i was going to make the most of it. i laughed to myself as i thought of the eels, and the great haul i had made down in the wheel-pit, and then i shuddered as i thought of the horrors i had suffered down there, and wondered whether our troubles with the men were pretty well over. i hoped so, for from what i heard the business was succeeding beyond the hopes of the most sanguine of my uncles, and if we were left alone success on the whole was assured. of course it was this brilliant prospect that induced them to stay on and dare the perils that lurked around, though, during the past few weeks, everything had been so quiet that once more we were indulging in the hope that the war was at an end. in spite of dr johnson's harsh saying about a fisherman, i know of no more satisfactory amusement than is to be found in company with a rod and line. the sport may be bad, but there is the country, the bright sky, the waving trees, the dancing waters, and that delicious feeling of expectation of the finest bite and the biggest fish that never comes but always may. i was in this state of expectancy that day. the sport was not good certainly, for the fish i caught were small, but i argued that where there were small fish there must be large, and sooner or later some of the monsters of the dam would see and take my bait. i fished till dinner-time, varying my position, and when the bell rang some of the men came and sat on the edge and watched me, chatting civilly enough as they smoked their pipes. as luck had it i caught a couple of good-sized silvery roach, and stevens gave his leg a regular slap as he exclaimed: "well if they'd towd me there was fish like that i' th' dam i wouldn't hev believed it." the bell rang for work to be resumed, and the men slowly moved along the dam edge, stevens being left, and he stopped to fill and light his pipe--so it seemed to me; but as he stooped over it, puffing away large clouds of smoke, i heard him say: "don't look. soon as men's gone in, yow go and stand on ledge close under grinding-shop windows, and see what you catch." "it's such an awkward place to get to," i said. "i suppose it's deep, but--" "you do what i tell'ee, and don't talk," growled stevens, and he strolled off with his hands in his pockets after his mates. "i sha'n't go," i said. "it's a very awkward place to get to; the ledge is not above nine inches wide, and if i got hold of a big fish, how am i to land him!" the very idea of getting hold of a fish that would be too hard to land was too much for me, and i should have gone to the ledge if it had only been four and a half inches wide. so, waiting to have a few more throws, which were without result, i picked up my basket, walked right round the end of the dam, and then along the top of a narrow wall till i reached the end of the works at the far side, and from there lowered myself gently down on the ledge, along which pannell had brought me when he rescued me from the wheel-pit, right at the other end, and towards which i was slowly making my way. it was slow travelling, and my feet were not above a couple of inches above the water, while the windows of the grinding-shop were about four feet above my head. i made no special selection, but stopped right in the middle, just where i imagined that the dam head would be deepest, and softly dropped in my line after setting down my basket and leaning my back against the stone building. as i did so i wished that there had been a place to sit down, but there was of course only just room to stand, and there i was with the water gliding on and over the great wheel a few yards to my left; to my right the windows, out of which poured the black smoke of the forges, and from which came the _clink chink_ of hammer upon anvil, while above me came throbbing and vibrating, screeching and churring, the many varied sounds made by the grinders as they pressed some piece of steel against the swiftly revolving stone, while, in spite of dripping drenching water, the least contact drew from the stone a shower of sparks. i fished on, after making a few alterations in the depth of my bait, finding the water far deeper than i expected. i renewed that bait, too, but no monstrous fish came to take it, to hook itself, and to make a rush and drag me off my ledge. the sounds buzzed and rattled overhead; there was the echoing plash of the water over the wheel, and the whispering echoes which did not sound at all terrible now, and above all from the windows overhead, in intervals of the grinding, i could hear the men talking very earnestly at times. i paid very little heed, for i was interested in my fishing and the water across which the spiders were skating. i wanted a big bite--that big bite--but still it did not come, and i began to wonder whether there were any fish of size in the place. "there's every reason why there should be," i thought. deep clear water fed by the great dam up in the hills, and of course that dam was fed by the mountain streams. this place was all amongst buildings, and plenty of smuts fell on the surface; in fact the wind used to send a regular black scum floating along to the sides. _plop_! my heart gave a throb of excitement, for there was a rise evidently made by a big fish over to my right close inshore. "now if i had been there," i thought, "i should have most likely been able to catch that fish and then--" bah! who wanted to catch a great water-rat that had plumped off the bank into the water? i could see the sleek-coated fellow paddling about close inshore. then he dived down, and there were a lot of tiny bubbles to show his course before he went right in under the bank, which was full of holes. i could almost fancy i was in the country, for there were a few rushes and some sedgy growth close to where the rat had been busy. farther off, too, there was the sound that i had heard down in a marshy part of essex with my uncles, during one of our excursions. "_quack, quack, quack! wuck, wuck, wuck_!"--a duck and a drake just coming down to the water to drink and bathe and feed on the water-weed and snails. yes; it quite put me in mind of the country to have wild ducks coming down to the pool, and--there were the two wild ducks! one, as the cry had told me, was a drake, and he had once been white, but old age and arrowfield soot and the dirty little black yard where he generally lived had changed his tint most terribly, and though he plunged in, and bobbed and jerked the water all over his back, and rubbed the sides of his head and his beak all among his feathers, they were past cleaning. as to his wife, who expressed herself with a loud quack, instead of saying _wuck, wuck_ in more smothered tones, she was possibly quite as dirty as her lord, but being brown the dirt did not show. her rags did, for a more disreputable bird i never saw, though she, too, washed and napped her wings, and dived and drenched herself before getting out on the bank to preen and beak over her feathers. alas! as people say in books, it was not the country, but dingy, smoke-bewithered arrowfield, and i wondered to myself why a couple of birds with wings should consent to stay amongst factories and works. i knew the top of my float by heart; so must that skating spider which had skimmed up to it, running over the top of the water as easily as if it were so much ice. i was growing drowsy and tired. certainly i leaned my back up against the wall, but it was quite upright, and there was no recompense. whatever is the use of watching a float that will not bob? it may be one of the best to be got in a tackle-shop, with a lovely subdivision of the paint--blue at the bottom and white at the top, or green and white, or blue and red, but if it obstinately persists in sitting jauntily cocked up on the top of the water immovable, fishing no longer becomes a sport. but i did not fish all that time for nothing. as i said, i was becoming drowsy with looking so long at the black cap at the top of my float. perhaps it was the whirr and hum of the machinery, and the faint sound of plashing water; even the buzz and churr and shriek of the steel upon the fast spinning stones may have had something to do with it. at any rate i was feeling sleepy and stupid, when all at once i was wide-awake and listening excitedly, for the shrieking of blade held upon grindstone ceased, and i heard a voice that was perfectly familiar to me say: "tell 'ee what. do it at once if you like; but if i had my wayer i'd tie lump o' iron fast on to that theer dorg's collar and drop 'im in dam." "what good ud that do?" said another voice. "good! why we'd be shut on him." "ay, but they'd get another." "well, they wouldn't get another boy if we got shut o' this one," said the first voice. "but yow wouldn't go so far as to--" the man stopped short, and seemed to give his stone a slap with the blade that he was grinding. "i d'know. he's a bad un, and allus at the bottom of it if owt is found out." "ay, but yow mustn't." "well, p'r'aps i wouldn't then, but i'd do something as would mak him think it were time to go home to his mother." my face grew red, then white, i'm sure, for one moment it seemed to burn, the next it felt wet and cold. i did not feel sleepy any longer, but in an intense state of excitement, for those words came from the window just above my head, so that i could hear them plainly. "it's all nonsense," i said to myself directly after. "they know i'm here, and it's done to scare me." just then the churring and screeching of the grinding steel burst out louder than ever, and i determined to go away and treat all i had heard with silent contempt. pulling up my line just as a fisher will, i threw in again for one final try, and hardly had the bait reached the bottom before the float bobbed. i could not believe it at first. it seemed that i must have jerked the line--but no, there it was again, another bob, and another, and then a series of little bobs, and the float moved slowly off over the surface, carrying with it a dozen or so of blacks. i was about to strike, but i thought i would give the fish a little more time and make sure of him, and, forgetting all about the voices overhead, i was watching the float slowly gliding away, bobbing no longer, but with the steady motion that follows if a good fish has taken the bait. and what a delight that was! what a reward to my patience! that it was a big one i had no doubt. if it had been a little fish it would have jigged and bobbed the float about in the most absurd way, just as if the little fish were thoughtless, and in a hurry to be off to play on the surface, whereas a big fish made it a regular business, and was calm and deliberate in every way. "now for it," i thought, and raising the point of the rod slowly i was just going to strike when the grinding above my head ceased, and one of the voices i had before heard said: "well, we two have got to go up to the _pointed star_ to-night to get our orders, and then we shall know what's what." i forgot all about the fish and listened intently. "nay, they can't hear," said the voice again, as if in answer to a warning; "wheels makes too much noise. i don't care if they did. they've had warnings enew. what did they want to coom here for?" "ay," said another, "trade's beginning to feel it a'ready. if we let 'em go on our wives and bairns 'll be starving next winter." "that's a true word, lad; that's a true word. when d'yow think it'll be?" "ah, that's kept quiet. we shall know soon enew." "ay, when it's done." "think this 'll sattle 'em?" "sattle! ay, that it will, and pretty well time. they'll go back to lonnon wi' their tails twix' their legs like the curs they are. say, think they've got pistols?" "dunno. sure to hev, ah sud say." "oh!" "well, s'pose they hev? you aren't the man to be scarred of a pop-gun, are yo'?" "i d'know. mebbe i should be if i hev the wuck to do. i'm scarred o' no man." "but you're scarred of a pistol, eh lad? well, i wunner at yo'." "well, see what a pistol is." "ay, i know what a pistol is, lad. man's got a pistol, and yo' hit 'im a tap on the knuckles, and he lets it fall. then he stoops to pick it up, and knobstick comes down on his head. nowt like a knobstick, lad, whether it be a man or a bit o' wood. wants no loading, and is allus safe." "well, all i've got to say is, if i have the wuck to do i shall--" _churr, churry, screech, and grind_. the noise drowned the words i was eager to hear, and i stood bathed with perspiration, and hot and cold in turn. that some abominable plot was in hatching i was sure, and in another minute i might have heard something that would have enabled us to be upon our guard; but the opportunity had passed, for the men were working harder than ever. i was evidently in very bad odour with them, and i thought bitterly of the old proverb about listeners never hearing any good of themselves. what should i do--stop and try to hear more? _jig, jig, tug, tug_ at the top of my rod, and i looked down to see that the float was out of sight and the rod nearly touching the water. my fisherman's instinct made me strike at once, and in spite of the agitation produced by the words i had heard i was ready for the exciting struggle i expected to follow. i had certainly hooked a fish which struggled and tugged to get away; but it was not the great carp or tench i expected to capture, only a miserable little eel which i drew through the water as i walked slowly along the ledge towards the end of the works farthest from the wheel, where i climbed on the wall, and, still dragging my prize, i went right on to the far end, where the water came in from the stream. there i crossed the wooden plank that did duty for a bridge, and glanced furtively back at the windows of the works looking out upon the dam. as far as i could make out i had not been seen, and i had obtained some very valuable information that might be useful for our protection. when i had reached the spot where i had begun fishing i drew in my capture; but it was not a long eel, but a mass of twined-up, snake-like fish which had wreathed itself into a knot with my line. to get it free seemed to be impossible, so i cut off the piece of line just above the knot and let it fall into the water to extricate itself, while i went back to the office to have a few words with my uncles about what i had heard. "i think we are in duty bound to send you home, cob," said uncle jack, and the others murmured their acquiescence. "send me home!" i cried. "what! just when all the fun is going to begin!" "fun!" said uncle dick, "fun that the frogs suffered when the boys stoned them, eh?" "oh, but you know what i mean, uncle. i don't want to go." "but we have run you into terrible risks already," cried uncle bob, "and if you were hurt i should feel as if i could never face your father and mother again." "oh, but i sha'n't be hurt," i cried. "there, i'm ready for anything, and shall always try to get on the safe side." "as you always do," said uncle jack grimly. "no, my boy, you must not stay. it is evident from what you overheard that the men have some design against us on hand. above all, they have taken a great dislike to you, and in their blind belief that you are one of the causes of their trouble they evidently feel spiteful and will not shrink from doing you harm. and that's rather a long-winded speech," he added, smiling. "can't we make them see that we are working for them instead of against them?" said uncle dick. "no," said uncle bob. "no one can teach prejudiced workmen. the light comes to them some day, but it takes a long time to get through their dense brains. i think cob must go." "oh! uncle bob," i exclaimed. "i can't help it," my lad. "there seems to be no help for it. i shall regret it horribly, for your uncles are very poor company." "thankye," said uncle dick. "nice remark from the most stupid of three brothers," grumbled uncle jack. "but you ought not to be exposed to these risks," continued uncle bob, "and now that by your own showing there is something worse on the way." "oh, it can't be worse than it has been; and besides, the men said i was always the first to find anything out. you see i have this time-- again." "yes, with a vengeance," said uncle jack. "and i'm sure you can't spare me." "no, we can ill spare you, cob," said uncle dick, "but we should not be doing our duty if we kept you here." "now, uncle," i cried, "i believe if i went home--though, of course, they would be very glad to see me--my father would say i ought to be ashamed of myself for leaving you three in the lurch." "look here! look here! look here!" cried uncle bob. "we can't sit here and be dictated to by this boy. he has run risks enough, and he had better go back to them at once." "oh, you see if i would have said a word if i had known that you would have served me like this!" i cried angrily. "anyone would think i was a schoolgirl." "instead of a man of sixteen," said uncle bob. "never mind," i cried, "you were sixteen once, uncle bob." "quite right, my boy, so i was, and a conceited young rascal i was, almost as cocky as you are." "thank you, uncle." "only i had not been so spoiled by three easy-going, good-natured uncles, who have made you think that you are quite a man." "thank you, uncle," i said again, meaning to be very sarcastic. "instead of a soft stripling full of sap." "and not fit to stand against the blows of oak cudgels and the injured arrowfield workmen," said uncle dick. "oh, all right! banter away," i said. "i don't mind. i shall grow older and stronger and more manly, i hope." "exactly," said uncle jack; "and that's what we are aiming at for you, my lad. we don't want to see you scorched by an explosion, or hurt by blows, or made nervous by some horrible shock." "i don't want to be hurt, of course," i said, "and i'm not at all brave. i was terribly frightened when i found the powder canister, and when i fell in the wheel-pit. i believe i was alarmed when i heard the men talking about what they were going to do; but i should be ashamed of myself, after going through so much, if i ran away, as they said you three would do." "how was that?" cried uncle bob. "with your tails between your legs, regularly frightened away like curs." "they may carry us to the hospital without a leg to stand upon, or take us somewhere else without heads to think, but they will not see us running away in such a fashion as that," quoth uncle dick. "boy," said uncle jack, in his sternest way, "i would give anything to keep you with us, but i feel as if it has been a lapse of duty towards you to let you run these risks." "but suppose i had been made a midshipman, uncle," i argued, "i should have always been running the risks of the sea, and the foreign climate where i was sent, and of being killed or wounded by the enemy." "if there was war," suggested uncle bob. "yes, uncle, if there was war." "cob, my lad," said uncle dick, "that's a strong argument, but it does not convince us. your uncle jack speaks my feelings exactly. i would give anything to keep you with us, for your young elastic nature seems to send off or radiate something brightening on to ours; and, now that you are going away, i tell you frankly that your courage has often encouraged us." "has it, uncle?" i cried. "often, my lad." "ay that it has," said uncle jack. "i've often felt down-hearted and ready to throw up our adventure; but i've seen you so fresh and eager, and so ready to fight it out, that i've said to myself--if a boy like that is ready to go on it would be a shame for a man to shrink." "yes," said uncle bob, "i confess to the same feeling." "well, that is shabby," i cried. "what is, boy?" said uncle jack. "to send me off like this. why, you'll all break down without me." "no, no; that does not follow," said uncle bob. "ah, won't it! you'll see," i said. "look here, cob, be reasonable," exclaimed uncle jack, walking up and down the room in a very excited way. "you see, ever since you were born we've made a sort of playmate of you, and since you grew older, and have been down here with us, you know we have not treated you as if you were a boy." "well, no, uncle, i suppose you have not." "we have talked with you, consulted with you, and generally behaved towards you as if you were a young man." "and now all at once you turn round and punish me by treating me as if i were a little boy." "no, no, my lad; be reasonable. we have been consulting together." "without me." "yes, without you; because we felt that we were not doing you justice-- that we were not behaving as good brothers to your mother, in letting you go on sharing these risks." "but there may be no more, uncle." "but there will be a great many more, my boy," said uncle jack solemnly; "and what would our feelings be if some serious accident were to happen to you?" "just the same, uncle jack," i cried, "as mine would be, and my father's and mother's, if some accident were to happen to you." uncle jack wrinkled up his broad forehead, stared hard at me, and then, in a half-angry, half amused way, he went to the table, took up an imaginary piece of soap and began to rub it in his palms. "i wash my hands of this fellow, boys," he said. "dick, you are the oldest; take him in hand, dress him down, give him sixpence to buy hardbake and lollipops, and send him about his business." "make it half-a-crown, uncle," i cried, with my cheeks burning with anger; "and then you might buy me a toy-horse too--one with red wafers all over it, and a rabbit-skin tail." "my dear cob," said uncle jack, "why will you be so wilfully blind to what is good for you?" my cheeks grew hotter, and if i had been alone i should have burst into a passion of tears, but i could not do such a thing then, when i wanted to prove to these three that i was fit to be trusted and too old to be sent home. "we do not come to this conclusion without having carefully thought it out, boy," cried uncle bob. "very well, then!" i cried, almost beside myself with passion. "confess now," said uncle bob; "haven't you often felt very much alarmed at having to keep watch of a night in that lonely factory?" "of course i have." "and wished yourself at home?" said uncle dick. "scores of times, uncle." "well, then, now we wish you to go, feeling that it is best for you, and you turn restive as that jackass we hired for you to ride down in essex." "haven't you three fellows been teaching me ever since i was a little tot, to try and be a man?" "yes," said uncle dick. "when i've tumbled down and knocked the skin off my knees haven't you said `don't cry: be a man!'" "oh yes! guilty!" said uncle dick. "if i fell out of the swing didn't you hold your cool hand to the great lump on my head and tell me that i must try to bear it without howling: like a man?" "yes, boy, yes." "and when i broke my arm, after getting up the rock after the gulls' eggs, didn't you tell me about the spartan boys?" "i did, cob, i did." "yes, of course you did," i cried indignantly. "you were all three alike: always teaching me to bear pain and be courageous, and master my natural cowardice and be a man. now didn't you?" "ay, ay, ay! captain cob," they chorused. "and here," i cried passionately, "after fighting all these years and making myself miserable so as to do exactly what you all taught me, now that there is a chance of showing that i know my lesson and have done well, you all treat me like a mollycoddle, and say to me by your looks: `you're a poor cowardly little cub; go home to your mother and be nursed.'" "have you done with the soap?" said uncle dick, turning to uncle jack, as i stood there, feeling angry, passionate, excited, and carried out of myself. "eh?" said uncle jack staring. "i say, have you done with the metaphorical soap? i want to wash my hands of him too." "it's too bad, uncle," i cried. "here, bob," said uncle dick in his grim way, "you take him in hand." "no, thank you," said uncle bob. "i'll trouble you for the soap when you've done." "and now," i cried, speaking to them as i had never done before, "you make worse of it by laughing at me." "no, no," cried uncle dick; "we were not laughing at you, but we do now;" and starting with a tremendous "ha-ha-ha!" the others joined in, and i stalked out of the parlour and went up to my room, where i set to work, and in about ten minutes had all my belongings carefully packed in my little carpet-bag--the new one that had been bought for me--and the little brass padlock on and locked. just then the parlour door opened as i was looking out of my bed-room window at the smoke and glow over the town, and thinking that after all i liked the noise and dirt and busy toil always going on, knowing, as i did, how much it had to do with the greatness of our land. "cob!" came up uncle dick's big voice. "yes, uncle," i said quietly. "tea's ready." "i don't want any tea," i said. "yes, you do, lad. fried ham and eggs." "come," i said to myself, "i'll let them see that i can behave like a man. perhaps i shall have to go home by the last train to-night or the first in the morning. poor old piter," i thought, "i should like to have taken you!" so i went down quite coolly and walked into the parlour, where my uncles were waiting for me before seating themselves at the table. that touched me; it was so full of consideration and respect for the boy they were going to send away. plump, comfortable mrs stephenson was just ready to take off the bright tin dish-cover, and as she did so there was a perfect pile of fried ham and eggs, looking brown and white and pink and orange, and emitting a most appetising odour. "is mr jacob a bit sadly, gentlemen?" said mrs stephenson, looking at me with interest. "oh no," i said quickly; and a bit touched too by mrs stephenson's respectful way and the _mr_ "only tired. i shall be all right when i've had my tea." "that's bonnie," she cried nodding. "i'd better butter a couple more cakes, hadn't i, gentlemen?" "that you had," said uncle bob. "let's eat well, or we shall never be able to fight it out with your fellow-townsmen." "ah, deary me, gentlemen," she cried; "it's sore work, that it is! i'm sure if they only knew what i do they'd behave better to you. them trades is doing more harm than good." she bustled out of the room, and as soon as the door was closed uncle dick turned to me. "shake hands, cob, my boy," he said. i held mine out frankly, for i had had my say, and i was determined to show them that i could act like a man. "now with me," said uncle jack in his hard stern way. "and with me," said uncle bob. i shook hands all round; but in spite of every effort my lip would quiver, and i had to bite it hard to keep down the emotion i felt. "shall i speak?" said uncle jack. uncle dick nodded. "why not wait till after tea?" said uncle bob. "no, i shall tell him now," said uncle jack grimly. "i'm hungry, and we may as well spoil his tea and get his share, for he will not be able to eat after what i've said. cob, my lad, we've been talking this over again very seriously." "all right, uncle!" i said quietly. "i'm quite ready to go. i've packed up, but i'd rather go to-morrow morning. i want to go and shake hands with pannell and bid piter `good-bye.'" "you have packed up?" he said rather sternly. "yes, uncle." "did you do that in a fit of passion or sulks?" "no," i said sharply; "but because i wanted to show you to the very last that i had not forgotten what you taught me about self-denial and all that." "god bless you, my lad!" he cried, hurting me horribly as he shook hands exceedingly hard. "i'm glad to hear you say that, for we've been saying that if we want to win in this fight we can't afford to part with one quarter of the company. cob, my lad, we want you to stay." "uncle!" i cried. "yes, my lad, you are older in some things than your years, and though i'd do anything rather than run risks for you, i do feel that with right on our side, please god, we shall win yet, and that it would be cowardly for us even to let you turn tail." i don't know what i should have said and done then, as uncle jack exclaimed: "have i said right, dick, bob?" "yes, quite," said uncle dick warmly; "and for my part--" "hush! sit down," cried uncle bob, hastily setting the example so as to end the scene. "yes, two eggs, please. quick, here's mrs stephenson coming with the cakes." chapter twenty two. stevens has a word with me. next morning i went down to the works, feeling as if i had grown in one night a year older, and after giving piter the bones i always took him down, and receiving the ram-like butt he always favoured me with to show his gratitude, i was going round the place, when i heard a familiar clinking and saw a glow out of the little smithy that had for some time been cold. i ran in, and there, looking rather pale and with a bit or two of sticking-plaster about his temples, was pannell hammering away as if he were trying to make up for lost time. "why, pannell, old man," i cried, running in with outstretched hand, "back again at work! i am glad to see you." he looked up at me with a scowl, and wiped his brow with the arm that was terminated by a fist and hammer--a way, i have observed, much affected by smiths. his was not a pleasant face, and it was made more repulsive by the scars and sticking-plaster. as our eyes met it almost seemed as if he were going to strike me with his hammer; but he threw it down, gave his great hand a rub back and front upon his apron, probably to make it a little blacker, and then gripped mine as badly as uncle jack had on the previous night. in fact, you see, i suffered for people liking me. "are you glad, mun?" he said at last hoarsely; "are you glad? well that's cheering anyhow, and thank ye." he nodded and went on with his work again while i went to mine about the books, but with a suspicious feeling of impending trouble on my mind, as i passed two of the men who saw me come out of the smithy, and who must have seen me shaking hands with pannell. i don't know why they should have minded, for i should have done the same with either of them had we been on as friendly terms. as i entered my little office my eyes lit on the common fishing-rod i had used, and that set me thinking about the conversation i had heard as i stood on the ledge. i recalled what had been said overnight in a long discussion with my uncles, and the advice they had given. "don't show suspicion," uncle dick had said, "but meet every man with a frank fearless look in the eye, as if you asked no favour of him, were not afraid of him, and as if you wanted to meet him in a straightforward way." i thought a good deal about it all, and how my uncles said they meant to be just and kind and stern at the same time; and it certainly did seem as if this was the most likely way to win the men's respect. "for now that we have concluded to keep you with us, cob, i must warn that we mean business, and that we have made up our minds that we shall win." that morning went off quietly enough, and though we all kept a quiet searching look-out, there was nothing to excite suspicion. then evening came, and the watching, in which again that night i had no share, but it was an understood thing that i was to be at the works at the same time as the men next day. it was a lovely autumn morning with the wind from the country side, and as i hurried up and off to the works there was a feeling in the air that seemed to tempt me away to the hills and vales, and made me long for a change. "i'll see if one of them won't go for a day," i said to myself; and hopeful of getting the holiday, and perhaps a run up to the great dam, i reached the works before the men. "well done, industrious!" cried uncle bob, who opened the gate to me. "you are first." "that's right," i said. "no, it isn't. where's uncle dick? why, you look pale." "uncle dick isn't awake," he said quickly. "fact is, cob, i've had a scare. as you say, i found that they'd been at piter again. the poor dog has been drugged, and that must mean something wrong." sure enough, poor piter lay fast asleep and breathing heavily; but after our last experience we did not feel so despondent about bringing him to again, so, leaving him in his kennel where he had crept, we roused uncle dick and told him. "we can't look round now," he said. "the men are coming in to their work, but we shall soon hear if there is anything wrong. the bands again, i expect." just then we heard the noise made by the drawing of the sluice, the wheel went plashing round, the shaft rumbled, connections were being made, and in a very few minutes the first grindstone was sending forth its loud churring noise. then there was more and more, and at last the works were in full swing. "there's nothing wrong, then, with the bands," said uncle dick; and then we waited, wondering what trick had been played, till about an hour had passed, during which the same remedies as were tried before were put into force with poor old piter, and he recovered sufficiently to wag his tail. just about that time uncle jack arrived, and was put in possession of our fresh trouble. "and you can find nothing wrong?" he said. "nothing." "have you looked under the desks, and in the cupboards?" "we've quietly searched everywhere," replied uncle bob earnestly. "then we must go on as usual," said uncle jack. "there, you two go home: cob and i will chance the risks." "it may have been an attempt to get rid of the dog," i said, "and nothing more." "that's what i've been thinking," said uncle jack; and soon after we were left alone. towards mid-day i went down to have a chat with pannell, and to ask him how he had got on during his long illness. "tidy," he said sourly. "there was the club helped me, but the mesters did most." "what! my uncles?" "ay, didn't you know?" he cried, busying himself about lighting a smaller forge at the back of the first. i shook my head. "paid me pound a-week all the time i was badly, my lad." "and very kind of them too," i said warmly. "ay, 'twas. felt at times, lad, as if i warn't worth the money, that i did." just then stevens made his appearance, crossing from the grinders' shop to one of the smithies at the end; and as he went along at some distance i saw him look curiously over at where i was standing talking to pannell. "theer it is again," said the latter. "you mean well, lad, and it's very kind on you; but i shall hev it 'fore long on account o' talking to thee." "oh, surely not!" i cried angrily. "the men will never be such cowards as to attack you for that." "men weant, but trade will," said pannell. "mates can't do as they like about it. look ye yonder; what did i say?" he nodded in the direction of stevens, who had returned directly, stopped opposite the smithy, but at some distance, and as soon as i looked up he began to signal to me to go to him. i never liked the man, for he always seemed to dislike me, and i gave him the credit of being one of the active parties in the outrages that had been committed upon us. but i remembered what our plans were to be--frank, straightforward, and fearless--and i walked right up to stevens, whose brow was lowering and full of menace. "here, i want a word with you," he said fiercely. "all right, stevens!" i said. "what is it?" "come over here," he replied, "and i'll tell ye." he led the way along the yard to the other side of the great coal heap, which lay there massive and square, through its sides being carefully built up with big blocks of coal. we were quite out of sight there, and, as i thought, how easy it would be for him to knock me down with one of the lumps. i was perfectly cool though, till he suddenly seized me by the jacket. i struck up at his hand, but he held on tightly, and there was a curious smile on his face as he said: "nay, you don't, lad; i'm stronger than thou." "what do you want?" i cried, making a virtue of necessity and standing firm. "what do i want, eh?" he said slowly. "oh, just a word or two wi' thee, my lad. there, you needn't call thee uncle." "i was not going to call him," i retorted. "why should i?" "because you're scarred about what i'm going to do to thee." "no, i'm not," i replied boldly; "because you daren't do anything unless it's in the dark, when you can attack a man behind his back." he winced at this and scowled, but turned it off with a laugh. "'tack a what?" he said. "a boy, then," i cried. "i know i'm a boy; but i meant people generally." "nivver you mind that," he said. "you don't understand trade. but joost you look there. yow've been saying i did some'at to the dog." "that i have not," i cried. "ay, but you did say it," he repeated fiercely. "i did not say so," i cried almost as angrily; "but if i had said it, i don't suppose i should have been far wrong." "nay, lad, i did nowt to the dog. i did nowt--i--" he let his hand fall, and a feeling of relief from some expectation came over his face. he had been talking to me, but it was in a curious way, and all the time he talked he seemed to be looking over my shoulder more than in my face. but now he drew a long breath and seemed satisfied with the explanation; and just then i uttered a cry of horror, for there was a loud report, and the yard seemed to be filled with flying cinders and smoke. stevens gave me a grim look and laid his hand on my shoulder. "lucky yow weern't theer," he said. "might have been hurt. come and see." we joined the men who were hurrying in the direction of the smoke that obscured one end of the yard. "what is it, uncle jack?" i cried, as i ran to his side. "i don't know yet," he said. "it was somewhere by the smithies." "yes; that's plain enough," said my uncle, and we pressed on in front of the men, to come upon pannell, tending down and rubbing his eyes. "pannell!" i cried; "you are not hurt?" "nay, not much," he said sourly. "got the cinder and stuff in my eyes, but they missed me this time." "what! was it not an accident?" "oh, ay!" he replied, "reg'lar accident. powder got into my little forge, and when i started her wi' some hot coal from t'other one she blew up." "but you are not hurt?" "nay, lad, i weer stooping down, and were half behind the forge, so i didn't ketch it that time." the smoke was by this time pretty well cleared away, and we walked into the smithy to see what mischief had befallen us. fortunately no harm had been done to the structure of the building, and there being no glass in the windows there was of course none to blow out. the coal ashes and cinders had been scattered far and wide, and the iron funnel-shaped chimney knocked out of place, while some of the smiths' tools, and the rods of steel upon which pannell had been working, were thrown upon the floor. the walls, forge, and pieces of iron about told tales for themselves without the odour of the explosive, for everything had been covered with a film of a greyish-white, such as gunpowder gives to iron or brickwork when it is fired. "where was the powder?" cried uncle jack, after satisfying himself that pannell had not the slightest burn even upon his beard. "in little forge all ready for me when i fired up," growled pannell sourly, as he scowled round at the little crowd of men; "but they missed me that time." uncle jack had a good look round the place, and the workmen stared at us as if in full expectation of being taken to task as the cause of the explosion. i watched their faces cautiously in search of a look of regret, but the only peculiar expression i could see was on the countenance of stevens, who stood softly rolling up his shirt-sleeves closer and closer to his shoulders, and there was such a curious smile in his eyes that he inspired me with a thought. "oh, if i have been deceived in him!" that was my thought. for i seemed to see at a glance that he had known the explosion would take place, and that the talk about the dog was an excuse to get me away and save me from the consequences. just then uncle jack turned round to me and laid his hand on my shoulder. "look here," he said quietly, as if he were showing me a curiosity, but loud enough for all the men to hear--"down in the south of england, my boy, when a workman is disliked it generally comes to a settlement with fists, and there is a fair, honest, stand-up fight. down here in arrowfield, jacob, when another workman does something to offend his fellows--" "traade," shouted a voice. "to offend his fellow-workmen," repeated uncle jack. "traade," shouted the voice again, and there was a murmur of assent. "well, have it your own way," said uncle jack. "to offend the trade, they try to blind him for life by filling his forge with powder, so that it may explode in his face. jacob, my lad, next time i go anywhere, and hear people talk about what brave strong manly fellows the englishmen are, i shall recommend them to come down and stay in arrowfield for a month and see what is done." there was a low murmur among the men; but we did not stop to listen, and they all returned to their work except pannell, who went down to the dam and bathed his eyes, after which he went as coolly as could be back to his smithy, took a shovel and borrowed some glowing fire from the next forge, lit up his own, and was soon after hammering his funnel chimney back in its place, and working up rods of steel as if nothing whatever had been amiss. about the middle of the afternoon, though, he came up through the workshop straight to the office, with his hammer in his hand, and gave a loud thump at the door. i opened it and admitted him; for i was in the big office with my uncles, who were talking about this last trouble. "well, my man, what is it?" said uncle jack. pannell began to lift up his hammer-head slowly and let it fall back again into his left hand, staring straight before him with his dark eyes, which were surrounded with the black marks of the gunpowder which clung still to the skin. "what do you want, pannell?" i said, giving him a touch on the arm; but the hammer rose and fell still by the contraction of his right hand, and went on tap--tap--falling into his left. "why don't you speak?" i said again, quite impatiently. "i know," he growled. "i want to speak." "we are listening," said uncle dick. "what have you to say?" "look here," cried pannell, giving his hammer a flourish round his head as if he were about to attack us. "i'm a man--i am." "and a good big one, pannell," said uncle bob smiling. "wish i were twyste as big, mester! theer!" cried pannell. "i wish you were if it would be any comfort to you," said uncle bob to himself. "i've been a-thinking o' this out while i've been hammering yonder, and i want to speak." "yes," said uncle jack. "go on." "look ye here, then," cried pannell, flourishing his hammer round as if he were a modern edition or an angry thor; "does anyone say i telled on 'em? did i tell on 'em, mesters? answer me that." "what! about the outrages?" said uncle dick firmly. "outrages, mester!" "well, the attempts to blow us up." "ay!--the trade business. did i ivver come and say word to anny of you?" "never." "or to yow, youngster?" "never, pannell. you always went against us," i said, "when a word from you would--" "theer, that'll do. tell me this--did i ivver tell on anny on 'em?" "no; you have always been true to your party, pannell--if that is what you mean." "and that is what i mean," said the great fellow, throwing his head about and jerking out his words, each with a menacing flourish of the hammer or a mock blow, as if they were steel words that he wanted to strike into shape. "nobody accused you of tale-bearing to us," said uncle dick. "didn't they, mester?" he roared. "what's this, then, and this, and this?" he touched the scars upon his head and brow, and the sticking-plaster left on. "don't you call that saying i telled on 'em, wi'out the poother in my forge this morning?" "a cowardly brutal thing to have done, my man." "ay, so 'twas. i'd done nowt but be civil to young mester here. say," he cried fiercely, "yow telled 'em i forged that trap!" and he turned on me. "oh, pannell!" i cried, flushing indignantly. that was all i said, but it was enough. "beg pardon, young gentleman!--yow didn't, i can see that. nay, it was the altogetherishness o' the whole thing. they set me down--me, a mate in the union--as hevvin' telled on 'em and gone agen 'em, and being friends wi' the mesters; and yow see what they've done." "indeed we do, pannell--" "howd hard, mester," said the big smith, flourishing about his hammer. "i hevn't had my spell yet. i want to speak." uncle dick nodded, as much as to say, "go on." "look here, then, mesters--i've thowt this out. it's cowards' business, ivvery bit on it, 'cept matt stivvins this morning coming and fetching young mester out of the way." "yes," i said, "he did." "and they'll knobstick 'im for it if they know--see if they don't!" "then they mustn't know," i cried eagerly. "i don't like stevens, but he did save me this morning." "ay, he did, 'cause he said once yow weer a trump, my lad; but he didn't give me a word. i sha'n't tell on him, but i sha'n't hev nought more to do wi' anny on 'em. i've been union man all these years and paid, and here's what i've got for it. i says to mysen, i says: if this here's what comes o' sticking to union through all their games i've done wi' 'em, and i'm a master's man--that's all." he turned short round to go, but uncle dick stopped him. "i don't quite understand what you mean, pannell." "what i mean! why, what i said--that's what i mean." "that you have done with the trades-union, pannell," i cried, "and mean to be on our side?" "that's so, mester. now i mun go or my fire'll be out." he strode out of the place and banged the door after him; and as he went along the shop i could see him in imagination staring defiantly from side to side, in answer to the savage murmur that greeted him from the men whom he had made up his mind to defy. "what do you think of that?" said uncle dick, as soon as we heard the farther door close with a crash. "it's the beginning of the end," said uncle jack with an eager look in his eyes. "keep firm, boys, and we shall have them all honestly on our side, and we can laugh at all trades-unions in arrowfield that fight with cowardly weapons. the men do not do what their own feelings prompt, but obey the law of a secret society which forces them to do these cruel wrongs." it must have been intentional on his part, for as i went down into the furnace house about half an hour after, at my usual time, to take down an account of work done, i met stevens coming towards me. we were in the big empty building, the furnace being cold, and no work going on that day, and he slouched towards me as if he were going by, but i stopped him and held out my hand. "thank you, stevens," i said. "i didn't understand it then, but you saved me from something terrible to-day." he gave a quick glance or two about, and then regularly snatched my hand, gave it a squeeze, and threw it away. "all right, my lad!" he said in a hoarse whisper. "you're on'y one o' the mesters, but i couldn't abear to see thee in for it too." he went on his away and i went mine, feeling that uncle jack was right, and that though it might be a long journey first, it was the beginning of the end. chapter twenty three. i start for a walk. "who's for a walk?" said uncle dick one morning. "i'm going up the hills to the millstone-grit quarry." i started, and my heart gave a throb, but i did not look up. "i can't go," said uncle jack. "and i'm busy," said uncle bob. "then i shall have to put up with cob," said uncle dick gloomily. "will you come, my lad?" "will i come!" i cried, jumping and feeling as if i should like to shout for joy, so delightful seemed the idea of getting away into the hills, and having one of our old walks. "well, it must be at mid-day, and you will have to meet me out at ranflitt." "two miles on the road?" i said. "yes; you be there, and if i'm not waiting i sha'n't be long, and we'll go on together." "what time shall i start?" i asked. "when the men go to their dinner will do. i have some business at the far end of the town, and it will not be worth while for me to come back. i'll take the other road." so it was settled, and i took my big stick down to the office, and a net satchel that was handy for anything when slung from the right shoulder and under my left arm. before now it had carried fish, partridges, fruits, herbs, roots of plants, and oftener than anything else, lunch. that seemed to be a long morning, although i wrote hard all the time so as to get a good day's work over first; but at last the dinner-bell rang, and, saying good-bye to the others, i slipped the satchel into my pocket, took my stick, and started. we had not thought of those who would be loitering about during their dinner-hour, but i soon found that they were thinking of me, for not only were our own men about the streets, but the men of the many other works around; and to my dismay i soon found that they all knew me by sight, and that they were ready to take notice of me in a very unpleasant way. i was walking steadily on when a stone hit me in the leg, and instead of making haste and getting out of range, i stopped short and looked round angrily for my assailant. i could see a dozen grinning faces, but it was of course impossible to tell who threw, and before i turned back an oyster-shell struck me in the back. i turned round angrily and found myself the object of a tremendous shout of laughter. almost at the same moment i was struck by an old cabbage-stump and by a potato, while stones in plenty flew by my head. "the cowards!" i said to myself as i strode on, looking to right and left, and seeing that on both sides of the way a number of rough boys were collecting, encouraged by the laughter and cheers of their elders. we had not a single boy at our works, but i could see several of our men were joining in the sport, to them, of having me hunted. to have a good hunt, though, it is necessary to have a good quarry, that is to say, the object hunted must be something that will run. now, in imagination i saw myself rushing away pursued by a mob of lads, hooting, yelling, and pelting me; but i felt not the slightest inclination to be hunted in this fashion, and hence it was that i walked steadily and watchfully on, stick in hand, and prepared to use it too, if the necessity arose. unfortunately i was in a road where missiles were plentiful, and these came flying about me, one every now and then giving me such a stinging blow that i winced with pain. the boys danced round me, too, coming nearer as they grew bolder from my non-resistance, and before long they began to make rushes, hooting and yelling to startle me, no doubt, into running away. but so far they did not succeed; and as i continued my walking they changed their tactics, keeping out of reach of my stout stick, and taking to stones and anything that came to hand. i could do nothing. to have turned round would only have been to receive the objects thrown in my face; and when at last, stung into action by a harder blow than usual, i did turn and make a rush at the boy i believed to have thrown, he gave way and the others opened out to let me pass, and then closed up and followed. it was a foolish movement on my part, and i found i had lost ground, for to get on my way again i had to pass through a body of about a dozen lads, and the only way to do this as they gathered themselves ready to receive me, was by making a bold rush through them. they were already whispering together, and one of them cried "now!" when i made a rush at them, stick in hand, running as fast as i could. they made a show of stopping me, but opened out directly, and as soon as i had passed yelled to their companions to come on, with the result that i found i could not stop unless i stood at bay, and that i was doing the very thing i had determined not to do--racing away from my pursuers, who, in a pack of about forty, were yelling, crying, and in full chase. to stop now was impossible: all that was open to me was to run hard and get into the more open suburb, leaving them behind, while i had the satisfaction of knowing that before long the bells at the different works would be ringing, and the young vagabonds obliged to hurry back to their places, leaving me free to maintain my course. so that, now i was involuntarily started, i determined to leave my pursuers behind, and i ran. i don't think i ever ran so fast before, but fast as i ran i soon found that several of the lightly clothed old-looking lads were more than my equals, and they kept so close that some half a dozen were ready to rush in on me at any moment and seize me and drag me back. i was determined, though, that they should not do that, and, grasping my stick, i ran on, more blindly, though, each moment. 'tis true, i thought of making for the outskirts and tiring the boys out; but to my dismay i found that fresh lads kept joining in the chase, all eager and delighted to have something to run down and buffet, while my breath was coming thickly, my heart beat faster and faster, and there was a terrible burning sensation in my chest. i looked to right for some means of escape, but there was none; to left was the same; behind me the tolling pack; while before me stretched the lanes, and mill after mill with great dams beyond them similar to ours. i should have stopped at bay, hoping by facing the lads to keep them off; but i was streaming with perspiration, and so weak that i knew, in spite of my excitement, that i should hardly be able to lift my arm. on and on, more and more blindly, feeling moment by moment as if my aching legs would give way beneath me. i gazed wildly at my pursuers to ask for a little mercy, but unfortunately for me they, excited and hot with their chase, were as cruel as boys can be, and men too at such a time. there was nothing for it but to rush on at a pace that was fast degenerating into a staggering trot, and in imagination, as the boys pushed me and buffeted me with their caps, i saw myself tripped up, thrown down, kicked, and rolled in the dust, and so much exhausted that i could not help myself. one chance gave me a little more energy. it must be nearly time for the bells to ring, and then they would be bound to give up the pursuit; but as i struggled i caught sight of a clock, and saw that it wanted a quarter of an hour yet. there were some men lounging against a wall, and i cried out to them, but they hardly turned their heads, and as i was hurried and driven by i saw that they only laughed as if this were excellent sport. next we passed a couple of well-dressed ladies, but they fled into a gateway to avoid my pursuers, and the next minute i was hustled round a corner, the centre of the whooping, laughing crowd, and, to my horror, i found that we were in a narrow path with a row of stone cottages on one side, the wall of a dam like our own, and only a few inches above the water on the other. i had felt dazed and confused before. now i saw my danger clearly enough and the object of the lads. i was streaming with perspiration, and so weak that i could hardly stand, but, to avoid being thrust in, and perhaps held under water and ducked and buffeted over and over again, i felt that i must make a plunge and try and swim to the other side. but i dared not attempt it, even if i could have got clear; and blindly struggling on i had about reached the middle of the dam path when a foot was thrust out, and i fell. sobbing for my breath, beaten with fists, buffeted and blinded with the blows of the young savages' caps, i struggled to my feet once more, but only to be tripped and to fall again on the rough stony path. i could do no more. i had no strength to move, but i could think acutely, and feel, as i longed for the strength of uncle jack, and to hold in my hand a good stout but limber cane. yes, i could feel plainly enough the young ruffians dragging at me, and in their eagerness and number fighting one against the other. "in wi' him!" "dook him, lads!" "now, then, all together!" i heard all these cries mingled together, and mixed up with the busy hands and faces, i seemed to see the row of houses, the clear sky, the waters of the dam, and gentles the grinder leaning against a door and looking on. i was being lifted amidst shouts and laughter, and i knew that the next moment i should be in the dam, when there was a tremendous splash, and some drops of water sprinkled my face. then there was the rattle of the handle of a bucket, and another splash heard above all the yelling and shouting of the boys. there was the hollow sound of a pail banged against something hard, and mingled with cries, shouts, laughter, and ejaculations of pain i felt myself fall upon the path, to be kicked and trampled on by someone contending, for there were slaps, and thuds, and blows, the panting and hissing of breath; and then the clanging of bells near and bells far, buzzing in ears, the rush and scuffling of feet, with shouts of derision, defiance, and laughter, and then, last of all, a curious cloud of mist seemed to close me in like the fog on the dome tor, and out of this a shrill angry voice cried: "ah, ye may shout, but some on ye got it. go and dry yourselves at the furnace, you cowardly young shacks. hey, bud i wish i'd hed holt o' yon stick!" "yon stick!" i felt must be mine; but my head was aching, and i seemed to go to sleep. "i wish you'd be quiet," i remember saying. "let me be." "fetch some more watter, mester," said a pleasant voice, and a rough hand was laid upon my forehead, but only to be taken away again, and that which had vexed and irritated we went on again, and in a dreamy way i knew it was a sponge that was being passed over my face. "i fetched mester tom one wi' bottom o' the boocket, and i got one kick at tom, and when the two boys come home to-night they'll get such a leathering as they never hed before." "nay, let 'em be," said a familiar voice. "let 'em be! d'ye think i'm going to hev my bairns grow up such shacks? nay, that i wean't, so yo' may like it or no. i'd be shamed o' my sen to stand by and let that pack o' boys half kill the young gentleman like that." "i warn't going to stop 'em." "not you, mester. yow'd sooner set 'em on, like you do your mates, and nice things come on it wi' your strikes and powder, and your wife and bairns wi' empty cupboard. yow on'y let me know o' next meeting, and if i don't come and give the men a bit o' my mind, my name arn't jane gentles." "yow'd best keep thy tongue still." "mebbe you think so, my man, but i don't." my senses had come back, and i was staring about at the clean kitchen i was in, with carefully blackleaded grate and red-brick floor. against the open door, looking out upon the dam, and smoking his pipe, stood-- there was no mistaking him--our late man, gentles; while over me with a sponge in her hand, and a basin of water by her on a chair, was a big broad-shouldered woman with great bare arms and a pleasant homely face, whose dark hair was neatly kept and streaked with grey. she saw that i was coming to, and smiled down at me, showing a set of very white teeth, and her plump face looked motherly and pleasant as she bent down and laid her hand upon my forehead. "that's bonny," she said, nodding her head at me. "you lie still a bit and i'll mak you a cup o' tea, and yo'll be aw reight again. i'm glad i caught 'em at it. some on 'em's going to hev sore bones for that job, and so i tell 'em." i took her hand and held it in mine, feeling very weak and dreamy still, and i saw gentles shift round and give me a hasty glance, and then twist himself more round with his back to me. "howd up a minute," she said, passing one strong arm under me and lifting me as if i had been a baby; and almost before i had realised it she slipped off my jacket and placed a cushion beneath my head. "there, now, lie still," she said, dabbing my wet hair with a towel. "go to sleep if you can." by this time she was at the other end of the common print-covered couch on which i lay and unlacing my boots, which she drew off. "there, now thou'lt be easy, my lad. what would thy poor moother say if she saw thee this how?" i wanted to thank her, but i was too dreamy and exhausted to speak; but i had a strange feeling of dread, and that was, that if i were left alone with gentles he would, out of revenge, lay hold of me and throw me into the dam, and to strengthen my fancy i saw him keep turning his head in a furtive way to glance at me. "here," exclaimed the woman sharply, "take these here boots out to the back, mester, and clean 'em while i brush his coat." "eh?" said gentles. "tak them boots out and brush 'em. are yo' deaf?" "nay, i'm not going to clean his boots," growled gentles. "not going to clean the bairn's boots!" said the woman sharply; "but i think thou art." she left me, went to the door, took gentles' pipe from his mouth, and then thrust the boots under his arm, laying a great hand upon his shoulder directly after, and seeming to lead him to a door behind me, through which she pushed him, with an order to make haste. "yes," she said, tightening her lips, and smiling, as she nodded to me, "i'm mester here, and they hev to mind. was it thou as set the big trap ketched my mester by the leg?" i never felt more taken aback in my life; but i spoke out boldly, and said that it was i. "and sarve him right. be a lesson to him. mixing himself up wi' such business. i towd him if he crep into people's places o' neets, when he owt to hev been fast asleep i' bed wi' his wife and bairns, he must reckon on being ketched like a rat. i'd like to knock some o' their heads together, i would. they're allus feitin' agen the mesters, and generally for nowt, and it's ooz as has to suffer." mrs gentles had told me to try and sleep, and she meant well; but there were two things which, had i been so disposed, would thoroughly have prevented it, and they were the dread of gentles doing something to be revenged upon me, and his wife's tongue. for she went on chattering away to me in the most confidential manner, busying herself all the time in brushing my dusty jacket on a very white three-legged table, after giving the cloth a preliminary beating outside. "there," she said, hanging it on a chair; "by and by you shall get up and brush your hair, and i'll give you a brush down, and then with clean boots you will not be so very much the worse." she then sat down to some needlework, stitching away busily, and giving me all sorts of information about her family--how she had two boys out at work at bandy's, taking it for granted that i knew who bandy's were; that she had her eldest girl in service, and the next helping her aunt betsey, and the other four were at school. all of which was, no doubt, very interesting to her; but the only part that took my attention was about her two boys, who had, i knew, from what i overheard, been in the pack that had so cruelly hunted me down. and all this while i could hear the slow _brush, brush_ at my boots, evidently outside the back-door, and i half expected to have them brought back ripped, or with something sharp inside to injure me when i put them on. at last, after mrs gentles had made several allusions to how long "the mester" was "wi' they boots," he came in, limping slightly, and after closing the door dropped them on the brick floor. "why, sam!" exclaimed mrs gentles, "i'd be ashamed o' mysen--that i would!" but gentles did not seem to be in the slightest degree ashamed of himself, but took his pipe from the shelf, where his wife had laid it, struck a match, relit it, and went off with his hands in his pockets. mrs gentles rose and followed him to the door, and then returned, with her lips tightened and an angry look in her face. "now he's gone off to booblic," she said angrily, "to hatch up and mess about and contrive all sorts o' mischief wi' them as leads him on. oh the times i've telled him as they might make up all the differ by spending the time in work that they do in striking again' a sixpence took off or to get one putt on! ay, but we missuses have but a sorry time!" the absence of gentles' furtive look sent back at me from the door seemed to change the effect of his wife's voice, which by degrees grew soothing and soft, and soon after i dropped off asleep, and dreamed of a curious clinking going on, from which dream i awoke, with my head cooler, and mrs gentles bending over me and fanning my face with what looked like an old copy-book. i looked at her wonderingly. "that's better," she said. "now set up and i'll help thee dress; and here's a nice cup of tea ready." "oh, thank you!" i said. "what time is it?" "close upon five, and i thowt you'd be better now after some tea." she helped me on with my jacket, and i winced with pain, i was so stiff and sore. after this she insisted upon putting on my boots. "just as if i heven't done such things hundreds of times," she said cheerfully. "why, i used to put on the mester's and tak 'em off all the time his leg was bad." "i'm sorry i set that trap," i said, looking up at her rough, pleasant face, and wondering how such a sneaking, malignant fellow could have won so good a wife. "i'm not," she said laughing. "it sarved him right, so say no more about it." that tea was like nectar, and seemed to clear my head, so that i felt nearly recovered save when i tried to rise, and then i was in a good deal of pain. but i deemed myself equal to going, and was about to start when i missed my cap. "hey, but that'll be gone," she said. "oh, they boys! well, yow must hev dick's." before i could protest she went upstairs, and returned with a decent-looking cap, which i promised to return, and then, bidding my samaritan-like hostess good-bye, i walked firmly out of her sight, and then literally began to hobble, and was glad as soon as i could get into the main road to hail one of the town cabs and be driven home, not feeling strong enough to go to the works and tell of my mishap. mr tomplin came in that evening after uncle dick had heard all my narrative and uncle bob had walked up and down the room, driving his fist into his hand every now and then with a loud _pat_. we had had a long conversation, in which i had taken part with a terribly aching head, and i should have gone to bed only i would not show the white feather. for they all three made this a reason why i should give up to them, and after all go back. "you see the men are dead against us, cob, and the boys follow suit, and are against you." so said uncle dick. "all the men are not against you," i said. "look at pannell! he has come round, and," i added, with a laugh that hurt me horribly, "i shall have some of the boys come round and help me." "the young scoundrels!" cried uncle bob. _pat_--that was his fist coming down into his hand. "the young scoundrels!" "well, you've said that twenty times at least, bob," said uncle jack. "enough to make me!" said uncle bob sharply. "the young scoundrels!" _pat_. "i only wish i'd been there with a good handy riding-whip," said uncle jack. "there would have been some wailing among them." "yes; and summonses for assault, and all that bother," said uncle dick. "we don't want to come to blows, jack, if we can help it." "they are beyond bearing," cried uncle bob, keeping up his walk; "the young scoundrels!" _pat_. "my dear bob," cried uncle dick, who was very much out of temper; "if you would be kind enough to leave off that trot up and down." "like a hungry lion," said uncle jack. "in the zoo," cried uncle dick, "you would very much oblige me." "i can't sit down," said uncle bob, thumping his hand. "i feel too much excited." "then bottle it up for future use," said uncle dick. "you really must." "to attack and hurt the boy in that way! it's scandalous. the young ruffians--the young savages!" just then mr tomplin came in, looked sharply round, and saw there was something wrong. "i beg your pardon," he said quickly; "i'll look in another time." "no, no," said uncle bob. "pray sit down. we want your advice. a cruel assault upon our nephew here"--and he related the whole affair. "humph!" ejaculated mr tomplin, looking hard at me. "what should you advise--warrants against the ringleaders?" "summonses, mr robert, i presume," said mr tomplin. "but you don't know who they were?" "yes; oh, yes!" cried uncle bob eagerly. "two young gentles." "but you said the mother saved our young friend here from the lads, dowsed them and trounced them with a pail, and made her husband clean his boots, while she nursed him and made him tea." "ye-es," said uncle bob. "well, my dear sir, when you get summonses out against boys--a practice to which i have a very great objection--it is the parents who suffer more than their offspring." "and serve them right, sir, for bringing their boys up so badly." "yes, i suppose so; but boys will be boys," said mr tomplin. "i don't mind their being boys," said uncle bob angrily; "what i do object to is their being young savages. why, sir, they half-killed my nephew." "but he has escaped, my dear sir, and, as i understand it, the mother has threatened to--er--er--leather the boys well, that was, i think, her term--" "yes," i said, rather gleefully, "leather them." "and judging from the description i have heard of this amazon-like lady, who makes her husband obey her like a sheep, the young gentlemen's skins will undergo rather a severe tanning process. now, don't you think you had better let the matter stand as it is? and, speaking on the _lex talionis_ principle, our young friend jacob here ought to be able to handle his fists, and on the first occasion when he met one of his enemies he might perhaps give him a thrashing. i don't advise it, for it is illegal, but he might perhaps by accident. it would have a good effect." "but you are always for letting things drop, mr tomplin," said uncle bob peevishly. "yes; i don't like my friends to go to law--or appeal to the law, as one may say. i am a lawyer, and i lose by giving such advice, i know." "mr tomplin's right, bob," said uncle jack. "you think of that boy as if he were sugar. i'm sure he does not want to take any steps; do you, cob?" "no," i said; "if i may--" i stopped short. "may what?" "have a few lessons in boxing. i hate fighting; but i should like to thrash that big boy who kept hitting me most." chapter twenty four. uncle jack and i have a run. i did not have any lessons in boxing, in spite of my earnest desire. "we do not want to be aggressors, cob," said my uncle dick. "but we want to defend ourselves, uncle." "to be sure we do, my lad," he said; "and we'll be ready as we can when we are attacked; but i don't see the necessity for training ourselves to fight." so i did not meet and thrash my enemy, but went steadily on with my duties at the works. in fact i was very little the worse for my adventure, thanks to mrs gentles, to whom i returned the cap she had lent me and thanked her warmly for her goodness. she seemed very pleased to see me, and told me that her "mester" was quite well, only his leg was a little stiff, and that he was at work now with her boys. the matters seemed now to have taken a sudden turn, as mr tomplin said they would: the men were evidently getting over their dislike to us and the new steel, making it up and grinding it in an ill-used, half contemptuous sort of way, and at last the necessity for watching by night seemed so slight that we gave it up. but it was felt that it would not be wise to give up the air of keeping the place looked after by night, so old dunning the gate-keeper was consulted, and he knew of the very man--one who had been a night watchman all his life and was now out of work through the failure of the firm by whom he had been employed. in due time the man came--a tall, very stout fellow, of about sixty, with a fierce look and a presence that was enough to keep away mischief by the fact of its being known that he was there. he came twice, and was engaged to be on duty every night at nine; and in the conversation that ensued in the office he took rather a gruff, independent tone, which was mingled with contempt as he was told of the attempts that had been made. "yes," he said coolly; "it's a way the hands have wherever new folk come and don't hev a reg'lar watchman. there wouldn't hev been none of that sort o' thing if i had been here." "then you don't expect any more troubles of this kind?" "more! not likely, mester. we've ways of our own down here; and as soon as the lads know that tom searby's on as watchman there'll be no more trouble." "i hope there will not," said uncle dick as soon as the man had gone. "it will be worth all his wages to be able to sleep in peace." about this time there had been some talk of my father and mother coming down to arrowfield, but once more difficulties arose in town which necessitated my father's stay, and as my mother was rather delicate, it was decided that she should not be brought up into the cold north till the springtime came again. "all work and no play makes--you know the rest," said uncle jack one morning at breakfast. "i won't say it, because it sounds egotistic. cob, what do you say? let's ask for a holiday." "why not all four go?" i said eagerly; for though the works were very interesting and i enjoyed seeing the work go oil, i was ready enough to get away, and so sure as the sun shone brightly i felt a great longing to be off from the soot and noise to where the great hills were a-bloom with heather and gorse, and tramp where i pleased. uncle dick shook his head. "no," he said; "two of us stay--two go. you fellows have a run to-day, and we'll take our turn another time." we were too busy to waste time, and in high glee away we went, with no special aim in view, only to get out of the town as soon as possible, and off to the hills. uncle jack was a stern, hard man in the works, but as soon as he went out for a holiday he used to take off twenty years, as he said, and leave them at home, so that i seemed to have a big lad of my own age for companion. it was a glorious morning, and our way lay by the works and then on past a series of "wheels" up the valley, in fact the same route i had taken that day when i was hunted by the boys. but i had uncle jack by my side, and in addition it was past breakfast time, and the boys were at work. we had nearly reached the dam into which i had so narrowly escaped a ducking, and i was wondering whether uncle jack would mind my just running to speak to the big honest woman in the row of houses we were about to pass, when he stood still. "what is it?" i said. "cob, my lad," he cried, "i want a new head or a new set of brains, or something. i've totally forgotten to ask your uncle dick to write to the engineer about the boiler." "let me run back," i said. "won't do, my boy; must see him myself. there, you keep steadily on along the road as if we were bound for leadshire, and i'll overtake you in less than half an hour." "but," i said, "i was going this way to meet uncle dick that day when he went to buy the stones, and what a holiday that turned out!" "i don't think history will repeat itself this time, cob," he replied. "but will you be able to find me again?" "i can't help it if you keep to the road. if you jump over the first hedge you come to, and go rambling over the hills, of course i shall not find you." "then there is no fear," i said; and he walked sharply back, while i strode on slowly and stopped by the open window of one factory, where a couple of men were spinning teapots. "spinning teapots!" i fancy i hear some one say; "how's that done?" well, it has always struck me as being so ingenious and such an example of what can be done by working on metal whirled round at a great speed, that i may interest some one in telling all i saw. the works opposite which i stopped found their motive power in a great wheel just as ours did, but instead of steel being the metal used, the firm worked in what is called britannia metal, which is an alloy of tin, antimony, zinc, and copper, which being mixed in certain proportions form a metal having the whiteness of tin, but a solidity and firmness given by the three latter metals, that make it very durable, which tin is not. "oh, but," says somebody, "tin is hard enough! look at the tin saucepans and kettles in every kitchen." i beg pardon; those are all made of plates of iron rolled out very thin and then dipped in a bath of tin, to come out white and silvery and clean and ready to keep off rust from attacking the iron. what people call tin plates are really _tinned_ plates. tin itself is a soft metal that melts and runs like lead. as i looked through into these works, one man was busy with sheets of rolled-out britannia metal, thrusting them beneath a stamping press, and at every clang with which this came down a piece of metal like a perfectly flat spoon was cut out and fell aside, while at a corresponding press another man was holding a sheet, and as close as possible out of this he was stamping out flat forks, which, like the spoons, were borne to other presses with dies, and as the flat spoon or fork was thrust in it received a tremendous blow, which shaped the bowl and curved the handle, while men at vices and benches finished them off with files. i had seen all this before, and how out of a flat sheet of metal what seemed like beautiful silver spoons were made; but i had never yet seen a man spin a teapot, so being holiday-time, and having to wait for uncle jack, i stood looking on. i presume that most boys know a lathe when they see it, and how, out of a block of wood, ivory, or metal, a beautifully round handle, chess-man, or even a perfect ball can be turned. well, it is just such a lathe as this that the teapot spinner stands before at his work, which is to make a handsome tea or coffee-pot service. but he uses no sharp tools, and he does not turn his teapot out of a solid block of metal. his tool is a hard piece of wood, something like a child's hoop-stick, and fixed to the spinning-round part of the lathe, the "chuck," as a workman would call it, is a solid block of smooth wood shaped like a deep slop-basin. up against the bottom of this wooden sugar-basin the workman places a flat round disc or plate of britannia metal--plate is a good term, for it is about the size or a little larger than an ordinary dinner plate. a part of the lathe is screwed up against this so as to hold the plate flat up against the bottom of the wooden sugar-basin; the lathe is set in motion and the glistening white disc of metal spins round at an inconceivable rate, and becomes nearly invisible. then the man begins to press his wooden stick up against the centre of the plate as near as he can go, and gradually draws the wooden tool from the centre towards the edge, pressing it over the wooden block of basin shape. this he does again and again, and in spite of the metal being cold, the heat of the friction, the speed at which it goes, and the ductility of the metal make it behave as if it were so much clay or putty, and in a very short time the wooden tool has moulded it from a flat disc into a metal bowl which covers the wooden block. then the lathe is stopped, the mechanism unscrewed, and the metal bowl taken off the moulding block, which is dispensed with now, for if the spinner were to attempt to contract the edges of his bowl, as a potter does when making a jug, the wooden mould could not be taken out. so without the wooden block the metal bowl is again fixed in the lathe, sent spinning-round, the stick applied, and in a very short time the bowl, instead of being large-mouthed, is made to contract in a beautiful curve, growing smaller and smaller, till it is about one-third of its original diameter, and the metal has seemed to be plastic, and yielded to the moulding tool till a gracefully formed tall vessel is the result, with quite a narrow mouth where the lid is to be. here the spinner's task is at an end. he has turned a flat plate of metal into a large-bodied narrow-mouthed metal pot as easily as if the hard cold metal had been clay, and all with the lathe and a piece of wood. there are no chips, no scrapings. all the metal is in the pot, and that is now passed on to have four legs soldered on, a hole cut for the spout to be fitted; a handle placed where the handle should be, and finally hinges and a lid and polish to make it perfect and ready for someone's tray. i stopped and saw the workman spin a couple of pots, and then thinking i should like to have a try at one of our lathes, i went on past this dam and on to the next, where i meant to have a friendly word with mrs gentles if her lord and master were not smoking by the door. i did not expect to see him after hearing that he was away at work; but as it happened he was there. for as i reached the path along by the side of the dam i found myself in the midst of a crowd of women and crying children, all in a state of great excitement concerning something in the dam. i hurried on to see what was the matter, and to my astonishment there was gentles on the edge of the dam, armed with an ordinary long broom, with which he was trying to hook something out of the water--what, i could not see, for there was nothing visible. "farther in--farther in," a shrill voice cried, making itself heard over the gabble of fifty others. "my jenny says he went in theer." i was still some distance off, but i could see gentles the unmistakable splash the broom in again, and then over and over again, while women were wringing their hands, and giving bits of advice which seemed to have no effect upon gentles, who kept splashing away with the broom. just then a tall figure in bonnet and shawl came hurrying from the other end of the path, and joined the group about the same time as i did. there was no mistaking mrs gentles without her voice, which she soon made heard. "whose bairn is it?" she cried loudly, and throwing off her bonnet and shawl as she spoke. "thine--it's thy little esau--playing on the edge--got shoved in," was babbled out by a dozen women; while gentles did not speak, but went on pushing in the broom, giving it a mow round like a scythe, and pulling it out. "wheer? oh, my gracious!" panted mrs gentles, "wheer did he go in?" poor woman! a dozen hands pointed to different parts of the bank many yards apart, and i saw her turn quite white as she rushed at her husband and tore the broom from his hands. "what's the good o' that, thou maulkin," [scarecrow] she cried, giving him a push that sent him staggering away; and without a moment's hesitation she stooped, tightened her garments round her, and jumped right into the dam, which was deeper than she thought, for she went under in the great splash she made, losing her footing, and a dread fell upon all till they saw the great stalwart woman rise and shake the water from her face, and stand chest deep, and then shoulder deep, as, sobbing hysterically, she reached out in all directions with the broom, trying to find the child. "was it anywheers about here--anywheers about here?" she cried, as she waded to and fro in a state of frantic excitement, and a storm of affirmations responded, while her husband, who seemed quite out of place among so many women, stood rubbing his head in a stolid way. "quiet, bairns!" shrieked one of the women, stamping her foot fiercely at the group of children who had been playing about after childhood's fashion in the most dangerous place they could find. her voice was magical, for it quelled a perfect babel of sobs and cries. and all the while poor mrs gentles was reaching out, so reckless of herself that she was where the water reached her chin, and could hardly keep her footing. "call thysen a man!" shouted the woman who had silenced the children. "go in or thou'llt lose thy wife and bairn too." but gentles paid no heed to the admonition. he stood rubbing his ear softly, though he gave a satisfied grunt as he saw the fierce virago of a woman who had spoken, leap in after mrs gentles, and wade out so as to hold her left hand. where had the child tumbled in? no one knew, for the frightened little ones who had spread the news, running away home as soon as their playmate had toppled in with a splash, were too scared to remember the exact spot. i had not been idle all this time, but as the above scene was in progress i had taken off jacket, vest, and cap, handing them to a woman to hold, and had just finished kicking off my boots and socks, carefully watching the surface of the water the while, under the impression that the poor child would rise to the surface. all at once i caught sight of something far to the right of us, and evidently being taken by the current towards the sluice where the big wheel was in motion. it might be the child, or it might only be a piece of paper floating there, but i had no time to investigate that, and, running along the path till i was opposite the place, i plunged head-first in, rose, shook the water from my eyes, and swam as rapidly as my clothes would allow towards the spot. the women set up a cry and the children shrieked, and as i swam steadily on i could hear away to my left the two women come splashing and wading through the water till they were opposite to where i was swimming. "oh, quick! quick, my lad!" cried mrs gentles; and her agonised voice sent a thrill through me far more than did the shrieking chorus of the women as they shouted words of encouragement to me to proceed. i did not need the encouragement, for i was swimming my best, not making rapid strokes, but, as uncle jack had often shown me in river and sea, taking a long, slow, vigorous stroke, well to the end, one that is more effective, and which can be long sustained. but though i tried my best, i was still some feet from the spot where i had seen the floating object, when it seemed to fade away, and there was nothing visible when i reached the place. "there! there!" shrieked mrs gentles; "can't you see him--there?" she could not see any more than i could, as i raised myself as high as possible, treading water, and then paddling round like a dog in search of something thrown in which has sunk. the little fellow had gone, and there was nothing for it but to dive, and as i had often done before, i turned over and went down into the black water to try and find the drowning child. i stayed down as long as i could, came up, and looked round amidst a tremendous chorus of cries, and then dived again like a duck. pray, don't think i was doing anything brave or heroic, for it seemed to me nothing of the kind. i had been so drilled by my uncles in leaping off banks, and out of a boat, and in diving after eggs thrown down in the clear water, that, save the being dressed, it was a very ordinary task to me; in fact, i believe i could have swum steadily on for an hour if there had been any need, and gone on diving as often as i liked. so i went under again and again, with the current always taking me on toward the sluice, and giving way to it; for, of course, the child would, i felt, be carried that way too. every time i rose there was the shrieking and crying of the women and the prayerful words of the mother bidding me try; and had not her woman friend clung to her arm, i believe she would have struggled into deep water and been drowned. i caught glimpses of her, and of gentles standing on the bank rubbing his ear as i dived down again in quite a hopeless way now, and, stopping down a much shorter time, i had given a kick or two, and was rising, when my hands touched something which glided away. this encouraged me, and i just took my breath above water, heard the cries, and dived again, to have the water thundering in my ears. for a few moments i could feel nothing; then my left hand touched a bundle of clothes, and in another moment i was at the surface with the child's head above water, and swimming with all my might for the side. there was a wild shriek of excitement to greet me, and then there was very nearly a terrible catastrophe for finale to the scene, for, as soon as she saw that i had hold of her child, the frantic mother shook off her companion, and with a mingling of the tragic and ludicrous reached out with the broom to drag us both in. her excitement was too much for her; she took a step forward to reach us, slipped into deep water, went under, and the next minute she had risen, snatched at me, and we were struggling together. i was quite paralysed, while the poor woman had lost her head completely, and was blind by trying to save herself--holding on to me with all her might. under the circumstances it is no wonder that i became helpless and confused, and that we sank together in the deep water close now to the dam head, and then all was black confusion, for my sensations were very different to what they were when i made my voluntary dives. it was matter of moments, though, and then a strong hand gripped me by the arm, we were dragged to the side, and a dozen hands were ready to help us out on to the bank. "give me the child," said a strange voice. "which is the house? here-- the mother and one woman, come. keep the crowd away." in a confused way i saw a tall man in black take the child in his arms, and i thought how wet he would make himself; while mrs gentles, panting and gasping for breath, seized me by the hand; and then they passed on in the middle of the crowd, augmented by a number of workmen, and disappeared into the cottage i knew so well. "what! was it you, uncle jack?" i said, looking up in his grave big eyes. "yes, my boy; and i only just came in time. how are you?" "horribly wet," i said grimly and with a shiver. then forcing a laugh as he held my hands tightly in his. "why, you're just as bad." "yes, but you--are you all right?" "oh, yes, uncle! there's nothing the matter with me." "then come along and let's run home. never mind appearances; let's get into some dry clothes. but i should like to hear about the child." it was an easy thing to say, but not to do. we wanted to go to gentles' house, but we were surrounded by a dense crowd; and the next minute a lot of rough men were shaking both uncle jack's hands and fighting one with the other to get hold of them, while i-- just fancy being in the middle of a crowd of women, and all of them wanting to throw their arms round me and kiss me at once. that was my fate then; and regardless of my resistance one motherly body after another seized me, kissing my cheeks roundly, straining me to her bosom, and calling me her "brave lad!" or her "bonny bairn!" or "my mahn!" i had to be kissed and hand-shaken till i would gladly have escaped for very shame; and at last uncle jack rescued me, coming to my side smiling and looking round. "if he's thy bairn, mester," cried the virago-like woman who had helped mrs gentles, "thou ought to be proud of him." "and so i am," cried uncle jack, laying his hand upon my shoulder. here there was a loud "hurrah!" set up by the men, and the women joined in shrilly, while a couple of men with big mugs elbowed their way towards us. "here, lay holt, mester," said one to uncle jack; "drink that--it'll keep out the cold." at the same moment a mug was forced into my hand, and in response to a nod from uncle jack i took a hearty draught of some strong mixture which i believe was gin and beer. "how is the child?" said uncle jack. "doctor says he can't tell yet, but hopes he'll pull bairn through." "now, my lads," said uncle jack, "you don't want us to catch cold?" "no.--hurray!" "nor you neither, my good women?" "nay, god bless thee, no!" was chorused. "then good-bye! and if one of you will run down to our place and tell us how the little child is by and by, i'll be glad." "nay, thou'llt shake han's wi' me first," said the big virago-like woman, whose drenched clothes clung to her from top to toe. "that i will," cried uncle jack, suiting the action to the word by holding out his; but to his surprise the woman laid her hands upon his shoulders, the tears streaming down her cheeks, and kissed him in simple north-country fashion. "god bless thee, my mahn!" she said with a sob. "thou may'st be a lunnoner, but thou'rt a true un, and thou'st saved to-day as good a wife and mother as ever stepped." here there was another tremendous cheer; and to avoid fresh demonstrations i snatched my clothes from the woman who held them, and we hurried off to get back to mrs stephenson's as quickly and quietly as we could. quickly! quietly! we were mad to expect it; for we had to go home in the midst of a rapidly-increasing crowd, who kept up volley after volley of cheers, and pressed to our sides to shake hands. that latter display of friendliness we escaped during the finish of our journey; for in spite of all uncle jack could do to prevent it, big as he was, they hoisted him on the shoulders of a couple of great furnacemen, a couple more carrying me, and so we were taken home. i never felt so much ashamed in my life, but there was nothing for it but to be patient; and, like most of such scenes, it came to an end by our reaching mrs stephenson's and nearly frightening her to death. "bless my heart!" she cried, "i thought there'd been some accident, and you was both brought home half-killed. just hark at 'em! the street's full, and the carts can hardly get by." and so it was; for whenever, as i towelled myself into a glow, i peeped round the blind, there was the great crowd shouting and hurrahing with all their might. for the greater part they were workmen and boys, all in their shirt-sleeves and without caps; but there was a large sprinkling of big motherly women there; and the more i looked the more abashed i felt, for first one and then another seemed to be telling the story to a listening knot, as i could see by the motion of her hands imitating swimming. two hours after we were cheered by the news that my efforts had not been in vain, for after a long fight the doctor had brought the child to; and that night, when we thought all the fuss was over, there came six great booms from a big drum, and a powerful brass band struck up, "see, the conquering hero comes!" then the mob that had gathered cheered and shouted till we went to the window and thanked them; and then they cheered again, growing quite mad with excitement as a big strapping woman, in a black silk bonnet and a scarlet shawl, came up to the door and was admitted and brought into the parlour. i was horrified, for it was big mrs gentles, and i had a dread of another scene. i need not have been alarmed, for there was a sweet natural quietness in the woman that surprised us all, as she said with the tears running down her cheeks: "i'm only a poor common sort of woman, gentlemen, but i think a deal o' my bairns, and i've come to say i'll never forget a prayer for the bonny boy who saved my little laddie, nor for the true brave gentleman who saved me to keep them still." uncle jack shook hands with her, insisting upon her having a glass of wine, but she would not sit down, and after she had drunk her wine she turned to me. i put out my hand, but she threw her arms round my neck, kissed me quickly on each cheek, and ran sobbing out of the room, and nearly oversetting mr tomplin, who was coming up. "hallo, my hero!" he cried, shaking hands with me. "please, please don't, mr tomplin," i cried. "i feel as if i'd never do such a thing again as long as i live." "don't say that, my boy," he cried. "say it if you like, though. you don't mean it. i say, though, you folks have done it now." we had done more than we thought, for the next morning when we walked down to the office and uncle jack was saying that we must not be done out of our holiday, who should be waiting at the gate but gentles. "ugh!" said uncle jack; "there's that scoundrel. i hate that man. i wish it had been someone else's child you had saved, cob. well, my man," he cried roughly, "what is it?" gentles had taken off his cap, a piece of politeness very rare among his set, and he looked down on the ground for a minute or two, and then ended a painful silence by saying: "i've been a reg'lar bad un to you and yours, mester; but it was the traade as made me do it." "well, that's all over now, gentles, and you've come to apologise?" "yes, mester, that's it. i'm down sorry, i am, and if you'll tek me on again i'll sarve you like a man--ay, and i'll feight for thee like a man agen the traade." "are you out of work?" "nay, mester, i can always get plenty if i like to wuck." "do you mean what you say, gentles?" "why, mester, wouldn't i hev been going to club to-day for money to bury a bairn and best wife a man ivver hed if it hadn't been for you two. mester, i'd do owt for you now." "i believe you, gentles," said uncle jack in his firm way. "go back to your stone." gentles smiled all over his face, and ran in before us whistling loudly with his fingers, and the men all turned out and cheered us over and over again, looking as delighted as so many boys. "mr tomplin's right," said uncle dick; "we've done it at last." "no, not yet," said uncle jack; "we've won the men to our side and all who know us will take our part, but there is that ugly demon to exorcise yet that they call the traade." that night i was going back alone when my heart gave a sort of leap, for just before me, and apparently waylaying me, were two of the boys who had been foremost in hunting me that day. my temper rose and my cheeks flushed; but they had come upon no inimical errand, for they both laughed in a tone that bespoke them the sons of gentles, and the bigger one spoke in a bashful sort of way. "moother said we was to come and ax your pardon, mester. it were on'y meant for a game, and she leathered us both for it." "and will you hev this?" said the other, holding out something in a piece of brown-paper. "i sha'n't take any more notice of it," i said quietly; "but i don't want any present." "there, moother said he'd be over proud to tak it," said the younger lad resentfully to his brother. "no, i am not too proud," i said; "give it to me. what is it?" "best knife they maks at our wucks," said the boy eagerly. "it's rare stoof. i say, we're going to learn to swim like thou." they both nodded and went away, leaving me thinking that i was after this to be friends with the arrowfield boys as well as the men. they need not have put it in the newspaper, but there it was, a long account headed "gallant rescue by a boy." it was dressed up in a way that made my cheeks tingle, and a few days later the tears came into my eyes as i read a letter from my mother telling me she had read in the newspaper what i had done, and-- there, i will not set that down. it was what my mother said, and every british boy knows what his mother would say of an accident like that. it was wonderful how the works progressed after this, and how differently the men met us. it was not only our own, but the men at all the works about us. instead of a scowl or a stare there was a nod, and a gruff "good morning." in fact, we seemed to have lived down the prejudice against the "chaps fro' lunnon, and their contrapshions;" but my uncles knew only too well that they had not mastered the invisible enemy called the trade. chapter twenty five. a terrible risk. "what are you staring at, cob?" it was uncle jack who spoke, and uncle dick had just come up with him, to find me in the yard, looking up at the building. it was dinner-hour, and all the men had gone but pannell, who was sitting on a piece of iron out in the yard calmly cutting his bread and meat into squares and then masticating them as if it were so much tilt-hammer work that he had to do by the piece. "i was thinking, uncle, suppose they were to set fire to us some night, what should we do?" "hah! yes: not a bad thought," said uncle dick sharply. "pannell!" "hillo!" said that gentleman, rising slowly. "finish eating your bread and meat as you go, will you, and buy us twenty-four buckets." "fower-and-twenty boockets," said pannell, speaking with his mouth full. "what do yow want wi fower-and-twenty boockets?" "i'll show you this evening," replied my uncle; and, handing the man a couple of sovereigns, pannell went off, and both uncle jack and i laughed at the quick way in which uncle dick had determined to be provided for an emergency. the buckets came, and were run by their handles upon a pole which was supported upon two great hooks in one of the outhouses against the wall of the yard, and some of the men noticed them, but the greater part seemed to pay not the slightest heed to this addition to our defences. but at leaving time, after a few words from uncle dick to uncle jack, the latter stood in the yard as the men came out, and said sharply: "four-and-twenty men for a window wash. who'll help?" a few months before, such a demand would have been met with a scowl; but quite a little crowd of the men now stopped, and pannell said with a grin: "wonder whether there'll be a boocket o' beer efter?" "why, of course there will, my lad," cried uncle jack, who ranged the men in order. "why, 'tis like being drilled for milishy, mester," said one man, and there was a roar of laughter as the buckets were passed out of the shed, and the men were placed in two rows, with uncle jack at one end, uncle dick at the other; the two ends resting, as a soldier would say, on the dam, and on the works. it was wonderful how a little management and discipline made easy such a business as this, and i could not help smiling as i saw how my idea had been acted upon. there were a few sharp words of command given, and then uncle jack dipped his bucket into the dam from the stone edge where we had bathed poor piter, filled it, passed it on to number of the first row, and took a bucket from the last man of the second row, to fill. meanwhile the first bucket was being passed on from hand to hand through a dozen pairs when it reached uncle dick, who seized it, hurled it up against the grimy windows of the works, and then passed it to the first man of the second row. in a minute or two the men were working like a great machine, the pails being dipped and running, or rather being swung, from hand to hand till they reached uncle dick, who dashed the water over the windows, and here and there, while the empty buckets ran back to uncle jack. the men thoroughly enjoyed it, and pannell shouted that this would be the way to put out a fire. but my uncles did not take up the idea, working steadily on, and shifting the line till the whole of the glazed windows had been sluiced, and a lot of the grit and rubbish washed away from the sills and places, after which the buckets were again slung in a row and the men had their beer, said "good-night!" quite cheerily, and went away. "there," said uncle dick, "i call that business. how well the lads worked!" "yes," said uncle jack with a sigh of content as he wiped his streaming brow; "we could not have got on with them like that three months ago." "no," said uncle bob, who had been looking on with me, and keeping dry; "the medicine is working faster and faster; they are beginning to find us out." "yes," said uncle dick. "i think we may say it is peace now." "don't be in too great a hurry, my boys," said uncle jack. "there is a good deal more to do yet." it is one of the terrible misfortunes of a town like arrowfield that accidents among the work-people are so common. there was an excellent hospital there, and it was too often called into use by some horror or another. it would be a terrible tale to tell of the mishaps that we heard of from week to week: men burned by hot twining rods; by the falling of masses of iron or steel that were being forged; by blows of hammers; and above all in the casting-shops, when glowing fluid metal was poured into some mould which had not been examined to see whether it was free from water. do you know what happens then? some perhaps do not. the fluid metal runs into the mould, and in an instant the water is turned into steam, by whose mighty power the metal is sent flying like a shower, the mould rent to pieces, and all who are within range are horribly burned. that steam is a wonderful slave, but what a master! it is kept bound in strong fetters by those who force its obedience; but woe to those who give it the opportunity to escape by some neglect of the proper precautions. one accident occurred at arrowfield during the winter which seemed to give the final touch to my uncles' increasing popularity with the work-people, and we should have had peace, if it had not been for the act of a few malicious wretches that took place a month or too later. it was one evening when we had left the works early with the intention of having a good long fireside evening, and perhaps a walk out in the frosty winter night after supper, that as we were going down one of the busy lanes with its works on either side, we were suddenly arrested by a deafening report followed by the noise of falling beams and brickwork. as far as we could judge it was not many hundred yards away, and it seemed to be succeeded by a terrible silence. then there was the rushing of feet, the shouting of men, and a peculiar odour smote upon our nostrils. "gunpowder!" i exclaimed as i thought of our escapes. "no," said uncle dick. "steam." "yes," said uncle jack. "some great boiler has burst. heaven help the poor men!" following the stream of people we were not long in reaching the gateway of one of the greatest works in arrowfield. everything was in such a state of confusion that our entrance was not opposed; and in a few minutes we saw by the light of flaring gas-jets, and of a fire that had begun to blaze, one of the most terrible scenes of disaster i had ever witnessed. the explosion had taken place in the huge boiler-house of the great iron-works, a wall had been hurled down, part of the iron-beamed roof was hanging, one great barrel-shaped boiler had been blown yards away as if it had been a straw, and its fellow, about twenty feet long, was ripped open and torn at the rivets, just as if the huge plates of iron of which it was composed were so many postage-stamps torn off and roughly crumpled in the hand. there was a great crowd collecting, and voices shouted warning to beware of the falling roof and walls that were in a crumbling condition. but these shouts were very little heeded in the presence of the cries and moans that could be heard amongst the piled-up brickwork. injured men were there, and my uncles were among the first to rush in and begin bearing them out--poor creatures horribly scalded and crushed. then there was a cry for picks and shovels--some one was buried; and on these being brought the men plied them bravely till there was a warning shout, and the rescue party had only just time to save themselves from a falling wall which toppled over with a tremendous crash, and sent up a cloud of dust. the men rushed in again, though, and in an incredibly short space of time they had dug and torn away a heap of broken rubbish, beneath which moans could be heard. i stood close beside my uncles, as, blackened and covered with dust and sweat, they toiled away, uncle jack being the first to chase away the horrible feeling of fear that was upon me lest they should be too late. "here he is," he cried; and in a few minutes more, standing right down in a hole, he lifted the poor maimed creature who had been crying for our help. there was a tremendous cheer raised here, and the poor fellow was carried out, while uncle dick, who, somehow, seemed to be taking the lead, held up his hand. "hark!" he said. but there was no sound. "if there is no living creature here," he said, "we must get out. it is not safe to work till the roof has been blown down or fallen. if there is anyone alive, my lads, we must have him out at all risks." there was a cheer at this, and then, as soon as he could get silence, uncle jack shouted: "is anyone here?" there was a low wailing cry for help far back beyond the ripped-up boiler, and in what, with tottering wall and hanging roof, was a place too dangerous to approach. "come, lads, we must have him out," cried uncle dick; but a gentleman, who was evidently one of the managers, exclaimed: "no, it is too dangerous." "volunteers!" cried uncle dick. uncle jack, uncle bob, pannell, stevens, and four more men went to his side, and in the midst of a deathly silence we saw them go softly in and disappear in the gloom of the great wrecked boiler-house. then there was utter silence, out of which uncle dick's voice came loud and clear, but ominously followed by the rattling down of some fragments of brick. "where are you? try and speak." a low piteous moan was the reply. "all right, my lads, down here!" we heard uncle jack cry. "no picks-- hands, hands." "and work gently," cried uncle dick. then, in the midst of the gloom we could hear the rattling of bricks and stones, and though we could see nothing we could realise that these brave men were digging down with their hands to try and get out the buried stoker. the flames burned up brightly, casting curious shadows, and though we could see nothing, lighting the men over their gallant task, while i, as i gazed in, trying to penetrate the gloom, felt as if i ought to be there by my uncles' side. this feeling grew so strong that at last i took a few steps forward, but only to be seized by a pair of strong arms and brought back. "nay, nay, lad," said a voice that i started to hear, for it was gentles'; "there's plenty risking their lives theer. yow stay." just then there was a hoarse shriek of terror, a wild yell from the crowd, for a curious rushing rumble was heard, a dull thud, and another cloud of dust came rolling out, looking like smoke as it mingled with the fire. in the midst of this the men who had been digging in the ruins came rushing out. "part of the roof," cried uncle dick, panting, "and the rest's falling. are you all here, lads?" "ay, all," was answered as they looked from one to the other in the flickering light. "nay, not all," shouted stevens. "owd lad pannell's buried alive. i see 'un fall." there was a murmur of horror and a burst of wailing, for now a number of women had joined the throng. "are you hurt?" i cried anxiously. "only a few cuts and bruises, cob," said uncle dick. "now, my lads, quick. we must have them out." the men stopped short, and there was a low angry murmur like the muttering of a coming storm. "quick, my lads, quick!" there was a hoarse cry for help from out of the ruins, and i knew it must be our poor smith. "no, sir, stop," cried the gentleman who had before spoken. "i'd dare anything, but we have sacrificed one life in trying to save others. i have just been round, and i say that at the least movement of the ruins the left wall must come down." there was a loud cry of assent to this, and amongst shouts and a confused murmur of voices there came out of the gloom that fearful cry again: "help!" "the wall must fall, men," cried uncle dick loudly. "i can't stand and hear that cry and not go. once more volunteers." half a dozen men started out of the crowd; but the peril was too great. they shrank back, and i saw my three uncles standing together in the bright light of the burning building, blackened, bleeding, and in rags. then uncle dick put out his two hands, and uncle jack and uncle bob took them. they stood together for a short minute, and then went towards the tottering wall. "stop!" cried the gentleman. "you must not risk your lives." for answer uncle jack turned his great manly face towards us and waved his hand. then they disappeared in the gloom, and a curious murmur ran along the great crowd. it was neither sigh, groan, nor cry, but a low hushed murmur of all these; and once more, as a dead silence fell, we heard that piteous cry, followed by a hoarse cheer, as if the sufferer had seen help come. then, as we listened in dead silence, the rattling of brickwork came again, mingled with the fluttering of the flames and the crackle and roar of burning as the fire leaped up higher and higher from what had been one of the furnace-holes, and across which a number of rafters and beams had fallen, and were blazing brightly, to light up the horrible scene of ruin. battle and crash of bricks and beams, and we all knew that my uncles must be working like giants. "i daren't go, mester jacob," whispered gentles. "i'd do owt for the brave lads, but it's death to go. it's death, and i daren't." all at once, as everyone was listening for the fall of the tottering wall, some one caught sight of the moving figures, and a deafening cheer rose up as uncle dick appeared carrying the legs and uncles jack and bob the arms of a man. they came towards where i was standing, so that i was by when poor pannell was laid down, and i went on one knee by his side. "much hurt?" i panted. "nay, more scared than hurt, lad," he said. "i was buried up to my neck, and feeling's gone out of my legs." "stop now, gentlemen, for heaven's sake!" cried the manager. "what! and leave a poor fellow we have promised to come back and help!" cried uncle dick with a laugh. "but it is certain death to go in, gentlemen," cried the manager passionately. "at the least vibration the roof will fall. i should feel answerable for your lives. i tell you it is death to go." "it is moral death to stay away," cried uncle dick. "what would you do, cob?" "go!" i cried proudly, and then i started up panting, almost sobbing, to try and stop them. "no, no," i cried; "the danger is too great." i saw them wave their hands in answer to the cheer that rose, and i saw pannell wave his with a hoarse "hooroar!" and then the gloom had swallowed them up again. "i lay close to the poor lad," whispered pannell. "reg'lar buried alive. asked me to kill him out of his misery, he did, as i lay there; but i said, `howd on, my lad. them three mesters 'll fetch us out,' and so they will." "if the roof don't fall," said a low voice close by me, and the same voice said, "lift this poor fellow up and take him to the infirmary." "nay, i weant go," cried pannell, "aw want to stay here and see them mesters come out." "let him rest," said the manager, and upon his asking me i raised pannell's head, and let him rest against my chest. then amidst the painful silence, and the fluttering and crackling of the fire, we heard again the rattling of bricks and stones; but it was mingled with the falling of pieces from the roof. then there was a crash and a shriek from the women as a cloud of dust rose, and my heart seemed to stand still, for i felt that my uncles must have been buried; but no, the sound of the bricks and stones being dragged out still went on, and the men gave another cheer. the manager went round again to the back of the place, and came tearing back with three or four men shouting loudly: "come out! come out! she's going!" then there was a horrible cry, for with a noise like thunder the left side and part of the roof of the building fell. the dust was tremendous, and it was some minutes before the crowd could rush in armed with shovels and picks to dig out the bodies of the brave men buried. the murmur was like that of the sea, for every man seemed to be talking excitedly, and as i knelt there by pannell i held the poor fellow's hand, clinging to him now, and too much shocked and unnerved to speak. "they're killed--they're killed," i groaned. but as i spoke the words the people seemed to have gone mad; they burst into such a tremendous cheer, backing away from the ruins, and dividing as they reached us to make way for my uncles to bear to the side of pannell the insensible figure of the man they had saved. that brave act performed for an utter stranger made the arrowfield men talk of my uncles afterwards as being of what they called real grit; and all through the winter and during the cold spring months everything prospered wonderfully at the works. we could have had any number of men, and for some time it was dangerous for my uncles--and let me modestly say i seemed to share their glory--to go anywhere near a gathering of the workmen, they were so cheered and hero-worshipped. but in spite of this good feeling there was no concealing the fact that a kind of ill-will was fostered against our works on account of the new inventions and contrivances we had. from whence this ill-will originated it was impossible to say, but there it was like a smouldering fire, ready to break forth when the time should come. "another threatening letter," uncle jack would say, for he generally attended to post matters. "give it to me," said uncle bob. "those letters make the best pipe-lights, they are so incendiary." "shall we take any notice--appeal to the men--advertise a reward for the sender?" "no," said uncle dick. "with patience we have got the majority of the workmen with us. we'll show them we trust to them for our defence. give me that letter." uncle jack passed the insulting threat, and uncle dick gummed it and stuck it on a sheet of foolscap, and taking four wafers, moistened them and stuck the foolscap on the office door with, written above it to order by me in a bold text hand: "_cowards' work_." and beneath it: "_to be treated with the contempt it deserves_." but as time went on the threats received about what would be done if such and such processes were not given up grew so serious that when mr tomplin was told he said that we ought to put ourselves under the care of the police. "no," said uncle dick firmly; "we began on the principle of being just to our workmen, and of showing them that we studied their interests as well as our own, that we are their friends as well as masters, and that we want them to be our friends." "but they will not be," said mr tomplin, shaking his head. "but they are," said uncle dick. "what took place when i stuck that last threat on the door?" "the men hooted and yelled and spat upon it." "but was that an honest demonstration?" "i believe it was." "well," said mr tomplin, "we shall see. you gentlemen quite upset my calculations, but i must congratulate you upon the manner in which you have made your way with the men." "i wish we could get hold of the scoundrels who send these letters." "yes," said mr tomplin; "the wire-pullers who make use of the men for their own ends, and will not let the poor fellows be frank and honest when they would. they're a fine race of fellows if they are led right, but too often they are led wrong." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the days glided on, and as there were no results from these threats we began to laugh at them when they came, especially as tom searby the watchman also said they were good for pipe-lights, and that was all. but one night uncle dick took it into his head to go down to the works and see that all was right. nothing of the kind had been done before since the watchman came, for everything went on all right; the place was as it should be, no bands were touched, and there seemed to be no reason for showing any doubt of the man; and so uncle jack said when uncle dick talked of going. "no, there is no reason," said uncle dick; "but i cannot help feeling that we have been lulling ourselves too much into a feeling of security about the place. i shall wait till about one o'clock, and then walk down." "no, no," said uncle jack; "i'm tired. had a very heavy day, and of course you cannot go alone." "why not?" "because we should not let you. even cob would insist upon going." "of course!" i said. "i had made up my mind to go." "it's quite right," said uncle bob. "we've been remiss. when sentries are set the superior officers always make a point of going their rounds to see if they are all right. go, dick, and we'll come with you." uncle dick protested, but we had our own way, and about a quarter to one on a bitter march night we let ourselves out and walked down to the works. for my part i would far rather have gone to bed, but after a few minutes the excitement of the proceeding began to assert itself, and i was bright and wakeful enough. we walked quickly and briskly on till we came to the lane by the factory wall; but instead of turning down we all walked on along the edge of the dam, which gleamed coldly beneath the frosty stars. it was very full, for there had been a good deal of rain; and though the air was frosty there was a suggestion of change and more rain before long. when we reached the top of the dam we turned and looked back. everything was as quiet as could be, and here and there the glow from the lowered furnace-fires made a faint halo about the dark building, so quiet and still after the hurry and buzz of the day. as we went back along the dam the wavelets lapped the stone edge, and down below on the other side, as well as by the waste sluice, we could hear the water rushing along towards the lower part of the town, and onward to the big river that would finally carry it to the sea. we were very silent, for every one was watching the works, till, as uncle dick and i reached the lane, we stopped short, for i caught his arm. i had certainly heard whispering. there were half a dozen persons down near the gate, but whoever they were they came towards us, said "good-night!" roughly, turned the corner, and went away. it looked suspicious for half a dozen men to be down there in the middle of the night, but their manner was inoffensive and civil, and we could see nothing wrong. uncle dick slipped his key into the lock, and as he opened the little door in the gate there was a low growl and the rush of feet. "piter's on the watch," i said quietly, and the growl turned to a whine of welcome. "be on the look-out," said uncle dick; "we must speak or searby may attack us." "right," said uncle jack; "but he had better not." the dog did not bark, but trotted on before us, and we could just see him as we took a look round the yard before going into the buildings. everything was quite right as far as we could tell. nothing unusual to be seen anywhere, and we went at last to the main entrance. "nothing could be better," said uncle dick. "only there is no watchman. i say, was i right in coming?" "right enough," replied uncle jack; "but look out now for squalls. men in the dark have a suspicious look." we entered, peered in at the great grinding-shop, and then began to ascend the stairs to the upper works. "all right!" said uncle dick. "i wish we had a light. can you hear him?" he had stopped short on the landing, and we could hear a low, muttering noise, like a bass saw cutting hard leather. _score! score! score_! slowly and regularly; the heavy breathing of a deep sleeper. "i'm glad we've got a good watcher," said uncle jack drily. "here, piter, dog, fetch him out. wake him then." the dog understood him, for he burst into a furious fit of barking and charged up into the big workshop, and then there was a worrying noise as if he were dragging at the watchman's jacket. "get out! be off! do you hear!" "hi, searby!" roared uncle jack. there was a plunge, and a rush to the door, and searby's big voice cried: "stand back, lads, or i'll blow out thee brains." "what with?" said uncle bob; "the forge blast? there, come down." searby came down quickly. "lucky for yow that one of yo' spoke," he said. "i heard you coming, and was lying wait for you. don't do it agen, mesters. i might hev half-killed yo'." "next time you lie in wait," said uncle dick, "don't breathe so loudly, my man, or you will never trap the visitors. they may think you are asleep." "give him another chance," said uncle jack as we went home. "yes," said uncle bob; "it is partly our fault. if we had visited him once or twice he would have been always on the watch." "well," said uncle dick, "i don't want to be unmerciful, and it will be a lesson. he'll work hard to regain our confidence." next morning there were two letters in strange hands, which uncle jack read and then handed round. one was a threat such as had often been received before; but the other was of a very different class. it was as follows: "_mesters_,--_there's somewhat up. we don't kno wat, but game o' some kind's going to be played. owd tommy searby gos sleep ivvery night, and he's no good. some on us gives a look now an' then o' nights but yowd beter wetch im place yoursens_.--_some frends_." "that's genuine," said uncle dick emphatically. "what's to be done?" "go and do as they advise," said uncle jack. "you see we have won the fellows over, and they actually act as a sort of police for us." the consequence of this letter was that sometimes all four, sometimes only two of us went and kept watch there of a night, very much to old searby's disgust, but we could not afford to heed him, and night after night we lost our rest for nothing. "are we being laughed at?" said uncle bob wearily one night; "i'm getting very tired of this." "so we all are, my dear fellow," said uncle jack: "but i can't help thinking that it is serious." uncle jack was right, for serious it proved. chapter twenty six. fire and water. one dark night at the end of march we went down to the works all four, meaning to watch two and two through the dark hours. the wind blew hard and the rain fell, and as we reached the lane we could hear the water lapping and beating against the sluice and the stones that formed the head of the dam, while the waste rushed away with a hollow roar. "pity to lose so much good power," said uncle jack. "sun and wind will bring it back to the hills," said uncle dick gravely. "there is no waste in nature." i half expected to see a group of men, friends or enemies, waiting about; but not a soul was in sight, and as we reached the gates i shivered involuntarily and thought that people must have very serious spite against us if they left their snug firesides to attack us on a night like that. uncle dick opened the little door in the gate and we stepped in, but to our surprise there was no low growl and then whine of recognition from piter. "that's strange," said uncle jack suspiciously, and he walked on quickly to the door of the building and listened. there was no dog there, and his chain and collar did not hang over the kennel as if they had been taken from the dog's neck. they were gone. this seemed very strange, and what was more strange still, though we went from grinding-shop to smithy after smithy, furnace house and shed, there was no sign of the dog, and everything seemed to point to the fact that he had been led away by his chain, and was a prisoner somewhere. "looks like mischief," whispered uncle bob. "where's that scoundrel lying asleep?" we went upstairs to see, and expected to find our careful watchman carefully curled up somewhere, but there was no snoring this time, and uncle bob's threat of a bucket of water to wake him did not assume substance and action. for though we searched everywhere it soon became evident that searby was not present, and that we had come to find the works deserted. "then there is going to be some attack made," said uncle dick. "i'm glad we came." "shall you warn the police?" i whispered. "no," said uncle jack sharply. "if we warn the police the scoundrels will get to know, and no attack will be made." "so much the better," i said. "isn't it?" "no, my lad. if they did not come to-night they would be here some other time when we had not been warned. we are prepared now, so let them come and we may give them such a lesson as shall induce them to leave us in peace for the future." "do you mean to fight, then?" i asked. "most decidedly, boy. for our rights, for our place where we win our livelihood. we should be cowards if we did not. you must play the dog's part for us with your sharp eyes and ears. recollect we have right on our side and they have wrong." "let's put the fort in a state of defence," said uncle dick merrily. "perhaps it will turn out to be all nonsense, but we must be prepared. what do you say--divide in two watches as we proposed, and take turn and turn?" "no: we'll all watch together to-night in case anything serious should be meant." it did seem so vexatious that a small party of men should be able to keep up this system of warfare in the great manufacturing town. here had my uncles brought a certain amount of prosperity to the place by establishing these works; the men had found out their worth and respected them, and everything was going on in the most prosperous way, and yet we were being assailed with threats, and it was quite possible that at any moment some cruel blow might be struck. i felt very nervous that night, but i drew courage from my uncles, who seemed to take everything in the coolest and most matter-of-fact way. they went round to the buildings where the fires were banked up and glowing or smouldering, ready to be brought under the influence of the blast next day and fanned to white heat. here every precaution was taken to guard against danger by fire, one of the most probable ways of attack, either by ordinary combustion or the swift explosion of gunpowder. "there," said uncle jack after a careful inspection, "we can do no more. if the ruffians come and blow us up it will be pretty well ruin." "while if they burn us we are handsomely insured," said uncle dick. "by all means then let us be burned," said uncle bob laughing. "there, don't let's make mountains of molehills. we shall not be hurt." "well," said uncle dick, "i feel as if we ought to take every possible precaution; but, that done, i do not feel much fear of anything taking place. if the scoundrels had really meant mischief they would have done something before now." "don't halloa till you are out of the wood," said uncle jack. "i smell danger." "where, uncle?" i cried. "in the air, boy. how the wind blows! quite a gale. brings the smell of naphtha from those works half a mile away. shows how a scent like that will travel." "i say, boys," said uncle bob, "what a trade that would be to carry on-- that or powder-mills. the scoundrels would regularly hold one at their mercy." "wind's rising, and the water seems pretty lively," said uncle dick as we sat together in the office, listening to the noises of the night. we were quite in the dark, and from time to time we had a look round about the yard and wall and that side of the building, the broad dam on the other side being our protection. "what a curious gurgling the water makes!" said uncle bob as we sat listening; "anyone might think that half a dozen bottles were being poured out at once." "the water plays in and out of the crevices amongst the stones, driving the air forth. i've often listened to it and thought it was someone whispering out there beneath the windows," said uncle dick. then came a loud gust of wind that shook the windows, and directly after there was the strong sour scent of naphtha. "they must have had an accident--upset a tank or something of the kind," said uncle jack. "how strong it is!" "yes; quite stinging. it comes each time with the puffs of wind. i suppose," continued uncle dick, "you would consider that which we smell to be a gas." "certainly," said uncle bob, who was, we considered, a pretty good chemist. "it is the evaporation of the spirit; it is so volatile that it turns of itself into vapour or gas and it makes itself evident to our nostrils as it is borne upon the air." "there must be great loss in the manufacture of such a spirit as that." "oh, they charge accordingly!" said uncle bob; "but a great deal does undoubtedly pass off into--" he stopped short, for uncle jack laid his hand upon his knee and we all listened. "nothing," said the latter; but i felt sure i heard a noise below. "i heard the gurgling sound very plainly," said uncle dick. "there it is again. one might almost think there was water trickling into the building." "or naphtha, judging by the smell," said uncle bob. "it's very curious. i have it!" he cried. "what do you mean?" said uncle jack sharply. "there has been an accident, as we supposed, at the naphtha works, and a quantity of it has floated down the stream and into our dam." "it has been very clever then," said uncle jack gruffly, "for it has floated up stream a hundred yards to get into our dam, and--good heavens!" he sprang to the window and threw it open, for at that moment a heavy dull explosion shook the room where we were, and in place of the darkness we could see each other distinctly, for the place seemed to have been filled with reflected light, which went out and then blazed up again. "ah!" ejaculated uncle jack, "the cowards! if i had a gun!" i ran to his side, and in the middle of the dam, paddling towards the outer side, there was a sort of raft with three men upon it, and now they were distinctly seen, for the black water of the dam seemed to have suddenly become tawny gold, lit by a building burning furiously on our right. that building was our furnace-house and the set of smithies and sheds that connected it with the grinding-shops and offices. uncle jack banged to the window and took the command. "cob," he cried, "run to the big bell and keep it going. our lads will come. dick, throw open the gate; bob, follow me. fire drill. we may nip the blaze in the bud." the fire-bell was not rung, the gate was not thrown open; for as we ran out of the office and down the stairs it was to step into a pool of naphtha, and in a few instants we found that a quantity had been poured in at the lower windows--to what extent we could not tell--but it was evident that this had been done all along the basement by the scoundrels on the raft, and that they had contrived that some should reach one of the furnaces, with the result that in an instant the furnace-house had leaped into a mass of roaring flame, which the brisk gale was fanning and making the fire run along the naphtha-soaked buildings like a wave. "stop, stop!" roared uncle jack; "we can do nothing to stay this. back to the offices and secure all books and papers." so swiftly was the fire borne along by the gale that we had hardly time to reach the staircase before it came running along, licking up the naphtha, of which a large quantity had been spilled, and as it caught there were dozens of little explosions. i do not think either of us gave a thought to how we were to get away again, for the valuable books and plans had to be saved at all hazards; so following uncle jack we rushed into the big office, the safe was opened, and as rapidly as possible a couple of tin boxes were filled with account-books, and a number of papers were bound round with string. "you must look sharp," said uncle bob. "but we must take my books, and odds and ends, and fishing-tackle," i cried. "better try and save our lives," said uncle bob. "are you ready?" "no; there are some plans we must take," said uncle dick. "you must leave them," shouted uncle bob. "there, you are too late!" he cried, banging to the door at the end of the workshop; "the flame's coming up the stairs." "we can get out of the windows," said uncle jack coolly. "the place beneath is all on fire," cried uncle bob, flinging himself on his knees. "the floor's quite hot." we should have been suffocated only that there was a perfect rush of cold air through the place, but moment by moment this was becoming hot and poisonous with the gases of combustion. the flames were rushing out of the grinding-shop windows beneath us, and the yard on one side, the dam on the other, were light as day. in one glance over the fire and smoke i saw our wall covered with workmen and boys, some watching, some dropping over into the yard. while in a similar rapid glance on the other side i saw through the flame and smoke that on one side the dam bank was covered with spectators, on the other there were three men just climbing off a rough raft and descending towards the stream just below. "now," said uncle jack, seizing one box, "i can do no more. each of you take your lot and let's go." "but where?--how?" i panted. "phew!" uncle jack gave vent to a long whistle that was heard above the crackling wood, the roar of flames carried along by the wind, and the shouts and cries of the excited crowd in the yard. "it's worse than i thought," said uncle jack. "we can't get down. keep cool, boys. we must save our papers. here, there is less fire at that window than at either of the others--let's throw the boxes out there. they'll take care of them." we ran to the far corner window, but as we reached it a puff of flame and smoke curved in and drove us back. it was so with every window towards the yard, and escape was entirely cut off. the men were trying to do something to save us, for there was a tremendous noise and excitement below; but they could do absolutely nothing, so rapidly had the grinding-shop beneath us been turned into a fiery furnace. and now the flames had mastered the end door, which fell inward, and flame and black and gold clouds of smoke rolled in. "quick, cob!--into the office!" roared uncle dick; and i darted in with some of the papers, followed by the rest, uncle jack banging to the door. "keep cool, all of you," he cried. "i must save these books and papers." "but we must save our lives, jack," said uncle dick. "the floor's smoking. our only chance is to jump into the dam." "through that blaze of flame!" said uncle bob gloomily. "it is our only chance," said uncle jack; "but let's try to save our boxes as well. they will float if we take care." "now, then, who's first?" the window was open, the tin boxes and the packets on the table, the dam beneath but invisible; for the flame and smoke that rose from the window below came like a fiery curtain between us and the water; and it was through this curtain that we should have to plunge. certainly it would be a momentary affair, and then we should be in the clear cold water; but the idea of taking such a leap made even my stout uncles shrink and vainly look round for some other means of escape. but there were none that we could see. above the roar and crackling of the flames we could hear the shouting of the mob and voices shrieking out more than crying, "jump! jump!" everything, though, was one whirl of confusion; and i felt half-stifled with the terrible heat and the choking fumes that came up between the boards and beneath the door. it was rapidly blinding as well as confusing us; and in those exciting moments leadership seemed to have gone, and if even i had made a bold start the others would have followed. at last after what seemed to have been a long space of time, though it was doubtless only moments, uncle jack cried fiercely: "look: the floor's beginning to burn. you, dick, out first, cob shall follow; and we'll drop the two tin boxes to you. you must save them. now! are you ready?" "yes," cried uncle dick, climbing on a chair, and thrusting his arm out of the window. as he did so, there was a puff like some gigantic firework, and a large cloud of fiery smoke rose up full of tiny sparks; and he shrank back with an ejaculation of pain. "hot, dick?" cried uncle jack almost savagely. "go on, lad; it will be hotter here. in five minutes the floor will be burned through." "follow quickly, cob," cried uncle dick; and then he paused, for there was a curious rushing noise, the people yelled, and there were shrieks and cries, and above all, a great trampling of feet. we could see nothing for the flame and smoke that rose before the window; and just then the roar of the flames seemed to increase, and our position became unendurable. but still that was a curious rushing noise in the air, a roar as of thunder and pouring, hissing rain, and a railway train rushing by and coming nearer and nearer every moment; and then, as uncle dick was about to step forth into the blaze and leap into the dam, uncle jack caught him and held him back. almost at the same moment the rush and roar increased a hundred-fold, confusing and startling us, and then, as if by magic, there was a tremendous thud against the walls that shook the foundations; a fierce hissing noise, and one moment we were standing in the midst of glowing light, the next moment we were to our waists in water dashed against the opposite wall, and all was black darkness. as we struggled to our feet the water was sinking, but the horrible crashing, rushing noise was still going on--water, a huge river of water was rushing right through our factory threatening to sweep it away, and then the flood seemed to sink as quickly as it had come, and we stood holding hands, listening to the gurgling rush that was rapidly dying away. "what is it?" panted uncle bob. "life. thank heaven, we are saved!" said uncle dick fervently. "amen!" exclaimed uncle jack. "why, dick," he cried, "that great dam up in the hills must have burst and come sweeping down the vale!" uncle jack was right, for almost as he spoke we could hear voices shouting "rezzyvoyer;" and for the moment we forgot our own troubles in the thought of the horrors that must have taken place up the vale. but we could not stay where we were, half suffocated by the steam that rose, and, opening the door, which broke away half-burned through, we stood once more in the long workshop, which seemed little changed, save that here and there a black chasm yawned in the floor, among which we had to thread our way to where the stout door had been. that and the staircase were gone, so that our only chance was to descend by lowering ourselves and dropping to the ground. just then we heard the splashing of feet in the yard, and a voice we recognised as pannell cried: "mebbe they've got away. ahoy there, mesters! mester jacob!" "ahoy!" i shouted; and a ringing cheer went up from twenty throats. "we're all right," i cried, only nearly smothered. "can you get a short ladder?" "ay, lad," cried another familiar voice; and another shouted, "owd jones has got one;" and i was sure it was gentles who spoke. "how's the place, pannell?" cried uncle dick, leaning out of one of the windows. "so dark, mester, i can hardly see, but fire's put right out, and these here buildings be aw reight, but wheer the smithies and furnace was is nobbut ground." "swept away?" "pretty well burned through first, mester, and then the watter came and washed it all clear. hey but theer's a sight of mischief done, i fear." a short ladder was soon brought, and the boxes and papers were placed in safety in a neighbouring house, after which in the darkness we tramped through the yard, to find that it was inches deep in mud, and that the flood had found our mill stout enough to resist its force; but the half-burned furnace-house, the smithies, and about sixty feet of tall stone wall had been taken so cleanly away that even the stones were gone, while the mill next to ours was cut right in two. there was not a vestige of fire left, so, leaving our further inspection to be continued in daylight, we left a couple of men as watchers, and were going to join the hurrying crowd, when i caught uncle dick's arm. "well?" he exclaimed. "did you see where those men went as they got off the raft?" "they seemed to be climbing down into the hollow beside the river," he said: "yes," i whispered with a curious catching of the breath, "and then the flood came." he gripped my hand, and stood thinking for a few moments. "it is impossible to say," he cried at last. "but come along, we may be of some service to those in trouble." in that spirit we went on down to the lower part of the town, following the course of the flood, and finding fresh horrors at every turn. chapter twenty seven. eight years later. fancy the horrors of that night! the great dam about which one of my uncles had expressed his doubts when we visited it the previous year, and of which he had spoken as our engine, had given way in the centre of the vast earthen wall like a railway embankment. a little crack had grown and grown--the trickling water that came through had run into a stream, then into a river, and then a vast breach in the embankment was made, and a wall of water had rushed down the valley swiftly as a fast train, carrying destruction before it. the ruin of that night is historical, and when after a few hours we made our way up the valley, it was to see at every turn the devastation that had been caused. mills and houses had been swept away as if they had been corks, strongly-built works with massive stone walls had crumbled away like cardboard, and their machinery had been carried down by the great wave of water, stones, gravel, and mud. trees had been lifted up by their roots; rows of cottages cut in half; banks of the valley carved out, and for miles and miles, down in the bottom by the course of the little river, the face of the country was changed. here where a beautiful garden had stretched down to the stream was a bed of gravel and sand; there where verdant meadows had lain were sheets of mud; and in hundreds of places trees, plants, and the very earth had been swept clear away down to where there was only solid rock. when we reached the great embankment the main part of the water was gone, and in the middle there was the huge gap through which it had escaped. "too much water for so frail a dam," said uncle jack sententiously. "boys, we must not bemoan our loss in the face of such a catastrophe as this." we had no right, for to us the flood, exhausted and spread by its eight-mile race, had been our saving, the greater part of our destruction being by fire, for which we should have recompense; while for the poor creatures who had been in an instant robbed of home and in many cases of relatives, what recompense could there be! the loss of life was frightful, and the scenes witnessed as first one poor creature and then another was discovered buried in sand and mud after being borne miles by the flood, are too painful to record. suffice it that the flood had swept down those eight miles of valley, doing incalculable damage, and leaving traces that remained for years. the whole of the loss was never known, and till then people were to a great extent in ignorance of the power that water could exercise. in many cases we stood appalled at the changes made high up the valley, and the manner in which masses of stonework had been swept along. stone was plentiful in the neighbourhood and much used in building, and wherever the flood had come in contact with a building it was taken away bodily, to crumble up as it was borne along, and augment the power of the water, which became a wave charged with stones, masses of rock, and beams of wood, ready to batter into nothingness every obstacle that stood in its way. "it seems impossible that all this could be done in a few minutes," said uncle dick. "no, not when you think of the power of water," said uncle jack quietly. "think of how helpless one is when bathing, against an ordinary wave. then think of that wave a million times the size, and tearing along a valley charged with _debris_, and racing at you as fast as a horse could gallop." we came back from the scene of desolation ready to make light of our own trouble, and the way in which my uncles worked to help the sufferers down in the lower part of the town gave the finishing touches to the work of many months. there was so much trouble in the town and away up the valley, so much suffering to allay, that the firing of our works by the despicable scoundrels who worked in secret over these misdeeds became a very secondary matter, and seemed to cause no excitement at all. "but you must make a stir about this," said mr tomplin. "the villains who did that deed must be brought to justice. the whole affair will have to be investigated, and i'm afraid we shall have to begin by arresting that man of yours--the watcher searby." but all this was not done. searby came and gave a good account of himself--how he had been deluded away, and then so beaten with sticks that he was glad to crawl home; and he needed no words to prove that he had suffered severely in our service. "let's set the prosecution aside for the present," said uncle jack, "and repair damages. we can talk about that when the work is going again." this advice was followed out, and the insurance company proving very liberal, as soon as they were satisfied of the place having been destroyed by fire, better and more available buildings soon occupied the position of the old, the machinery was repaired, and in two months the works were in full swing once more. it might almost have been thought that the flood swept away the foul element that originated the outrages which had disgraced the place. be that as it may, the burning of our works was almost the last of these mad attempts to stop progress and intimidate those who wished to improve upon the old style of doing things. i talked to pannell and stevens about the fire afterwards and about having caught sight of three men landing from a raft and going down towards the river just before the flood came. but they both tightened their lips and shook their heads. they would say nothing to the point. pannell was the more communicative of the two, but his remarks were rather enigmatical. "men jynes in things sometimes as they don't like, my lad. look here," he said, holding a glowing piece of steel upon his anvil and giving it a tremendous thump. "see that? i give that bit o' steel a crack, and it was a bad un, but i can't take that back, can i?" "no, of course not, but you can hammer the steel into shape again." "that's what some on us is trying to do, my lad, and best thing towards doing it is holding one's tongue." that spring my father and mother came down, and that autumn i left arrowfield and went to an engineering school for four years, after which i went out with a celebrated engineer who was going to build some iron railway bridges over one of the great indian rivers. i was out there four years more, and it was with no little pleasure that i returned to the old country, and went down home, to find things very little changed. of course my uncles were eight years older, but it was singular how slightly they were altered. the alteration was somewhere else. "by the way, cob," said uncle dick, "i thought we wouldn't write about it at the time, and then it was forgotten; but just now, seeing you again, all the old struggles came back. you remember the night of the fire?" "is it likely i could forget it?" i said. "no, not very. but you remember going down to the works and finding no watchman--no dog." "what! did you find out what became of poor old jupiter?" "yes, poor fellow! the scoundrels drowned him." "oh!" "yes. we had to drain the dam and have the mud cleaned out three--four years ago, and we found his chain twisted round a great piece of iron and the collar still round some bones." "the cowardly ruffians!" i exclaimed. "yes," said uncle jack; "but that breed of workman seems to be dying out now." "and all those troubles," said uncle bob, "are over." that afternoon i went down to the works, which seemed to have grown smaller in my absence; but they were in full activity; and turning off to the new range of smithies i entered one where a great bald-headed man with a grisly beard was hammering away at a piece of steel. he did not look up as i entered, but growled out: "i shall want noo model for them blades, mester john, and sooner the better." "why, pannell, old fellow!" i said. he raised his head and stared at me. "why, what hev yow been doing to theeself, mester john?" he said. "thou looks--thou looks--" he stopped short, and the thought suddenly came to me that last time he saw me i was a big boy, and that in eight years i had grown into a broad-shouldered man, six feet one high, and had a face bronzed by the indian sun, and a great thick beard. "why, pannell, don't you know me?" he threw down the piece of steel he had been hammering, struck the anvil a clanging blow with all his might, shouted "i'm blest!" and ran out of the smithy shouting: "hey! hi, lads! stivins--gentles! the hull lot on yo'! turn out here! hey! hi! here's mester jacob come back." the men who had known me came running out, and those who had not known me came to see what it all meant, and it meant really that the rough honest fellows were heartily glad to see me. but first they grouped about me and stared; then their lips spread, and they laughed at me, staring the while as if i had been some great wild beast or a curiosity. "on'y to think o' this being him!" cried pannell; and he stamped about, slapping first one knee and then the other, making his leather apron sound again. "yow'll let a mon shek hans wi' thee, lad?" cried pannell. "hey, that's hearty! on'y black steel," he cried in apology for the state of his hand. then i had to shake hands all round, and listen to the remarks made, while gentles evidently looked on, but with his eyes screwed tight. "say a--look at his arms, lads," cried stevens, who was as excited as everybody. "he hev growed a big un. why, he bets the three mesters 'cross the showthers." then pannell started a cheer, and so much fuss was made over me that i was glad to take refuge in the office, feeling quite ashamed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "why, cob, you had quite an ovation," said uncle bob. "yes, just because i have grown as big as my big uncles," i said in a half-vexed way. "no," said uncle dick, "not for that, my lad. the men remember you as being a stout-hearted plucky boy who was always ready to crush down his weakness, and fight in the cause of right." "and who always treated them in a straightforward manly way," said uncle jack. "what! do you mean to say those men remember what i used to do?" "remember!" cried uncle bob; "why it is one of their staple talks about how you stood against the night birds who used to play us such cowards' tricks. why, gentles remains _trappy_ gentles to this day." "and bears no malice?" i said. "malice! not a bit. he's one of our most trusty men." "don't say that, bob," said uncle jack. "we haven't a man who wouldn't fight for us to the end." "not one," said uncle dick. "you worked wonders with them, cob, when you were here." "let's see, uncles," i said; "i've been away eight years." "yes," they said. "well, i haven't learned yet what it is not to be modest, and i hope i never shall." "what do you mean?" said uncle dick. "what do i mean!" i said. "why, what did i do but what you three dear old fellows taught me? eh?" there was a silence in the office for a few minutes. no; only a pause as to words, for wheels were turning, blades shrieking, water splashing, huge hammers thudding, and there was the hiss and whirr of steam-sped machines, added since i went away, for "russell's," as the men called our works, was fast becoming one of the most prosperous of the small businesses in our town. then uncle dick spoke gravely, and said: "cob, there are boys who will be taught, and boys whom people try to teach and never seem to move. now you--" no, i cannot set down what he said, for i profess to be modest still. i must leave off sometime, so it shall be here. the end. none campmates _a story of the plains_ by kirk munroe _author of_ "the flamingo feather," "wakulla," "dorymates," "derrick sterling" etc. _illustrated_ harper & brothers publishers new york and london [illustration: "it was a live baby."] contents. i. a weary ride ii. a rude baptism iii. a boy without a birthday iv. "i just hate to study" v. swimming into a friendship vi. receiving an offer and accepting it vii. across the mississippi viii. glen runs a locomotive ix. kansas city in early days x. at work with the engineer corps xi. almost too good to be true xii. starting across the plains xiii. binney gibbs and his mule xiv. on guard at night xv. the suspicious movements of certain coyotes xvi. in the hands of the cheyennes xvii. attacking a stage ranch xviii. buffalo and their uses xix. glen's escape from the indians xx. a present that would please any boy xxi. lame wolf, the young cheyenne xxii. glen and binney get into trouble xxiii. fighting the finest horsemen in the world xxiv. crossing the quicksands xxv. swept away by a freshet xxvi. running the line xxvii. "covered with mud and glory" xxviii. lost in a mountain snow-storm xxix. plunging into a lake of ice-water xxx. down the lonely caÑon xxxi. kit carson's gold mine xxxii. a new mexican wedding xxxiii. in the valley of the rio grande xxxiv. baiting a wolf-trap xxxv. el moro xxxvi. zuÑi, the home of the aztecs xxxvii. a practical use of trigonometry xxxviii. dying of thirst in the desert xxxix. crossing the sierra nevada xl. a home and two fathers illustrations. "it was a live baby" "two stalwart warriors seized him by the arms and raised him between them as they swept past" "the strange craft was borne slowly down stream" "'head for that dark space, it marks a valley.... if you find water, fire your pistol'" _camp mates._ _a story of the plains._ chapter i. a weary ride. slowly and heavily the train rumbled on through the night. it was called an express; but the year was long ago, in the early days of railroading, and what was then an express would now be considered a very slow and poky sort of a train. on this particular night too, it ran more slowly than usual, because of the condition of the track. the season was such a wet one, that even the oldest traveller on the train declared he could not remember another like it. rain, rain, rain, day after day, for weeks, had been the rule of that spring, until the earth was soaked like a great sponge. all the rivers had overflowed their banks, and all the smaller streams were raging torrents, red, yellow, brown, and sometimes milky white, according to the color of the clays through which they cut their riotous way. the lowlands and meadows were flooded, so that the last year's hay-stacks, rising from them here and there, were veritable islands of refuge for innumerable rabbits, rats, mice, and other small animals, driven by the waters from their homes. and all this water had not helped the railroad one bit. in the cuts the clay or gravel banks were continually sliding down on the track; while on the fills they were as continually sliding out from under it. the section gangs were doubled, and along the whole line they were hard at work, by night as well as by day, only eating and sleeping by snatches, trying to keep the track in repair, and the road open for traffic. in spite of their vigilance and unceasing labor, however, the rains found plenty of chances to work their mischief undetected. many a time only the keen watchfulness of an engine-driver, or his assistant, the fireman, saved a train from dashing into some gravel heap, beneath which the rails were buried, or from plunging into some yawning opening from which a culvert or small bridge had been washed out. nor with all this watchfulness did the trains always get through in safety. sometimes a bit of track, that looked all right, would suddenly sink beneath the weight of a passing train into a quagmire that had been formed beneath it, and then would follow the pitiful scenes of a railroad wreck. so nobody travelled except those who were compelled to do so, and the passenger business of this particular road was lighter than it had been since the opening. it was so light that on this night there were not more than half a dozen persons in the single passenger coach of the express, and only one of these was a woman. another was her baby, a sturdy, wholesome-looking little fellow, who, though he was but a year old, appeared large enough to be nearly, if not quite, two. he had great brown eyes, exactly like those of his mother. she was young and pretty, but just now she looked utterly worn out, and no wonder. the train was twelve hours late; and, instead of being comfortably established in a hotel, at the end of her journey by rail, as she had expected to be before dark that evening, she was wearily trying to sleep in the same stuffy, jolting car she had occupied all day and had no hope of leaving before morning. there were no sleeping-cars in those days, nor vestibuled trains, nor even cars with stuffed easy-chairs in which one could lie back and make himself comfortable. no, indeed; there were no such luxuries as these for those who travelled by rail at that time. the passenger coaches were just long boxes, with low, almost flat roofs, like those of freight cars. their windows were small, and generally stuck fast in their frames, so that they could not be opened. there was no other means of ventilation, except as one of the end doors was flung open, when there came such a rush of smoke and cinders and cold air that everybody was impatient to have it closed again. at night the only light was given by three candles that burned inside of globes to protect them from being extinguished every time a door was opened. there were no electric lights, nor gas, nor even oil-lamps, for the cars of those days, only these feeble candles, placed one at each end, and one in the middle of the coach. but worst of all were the seats, which must have been invented by somebody who wished to discourage railroad riding. they were narrow, hard, straight-backed, and covered with shiny leather. in a car of this description the young mother, with her baby, had travelled a whole day, and nearly a whole night. it is no wonder then that she looked worn out, or that the baby, who had been so jolly and happy as to be voted a remarkably fine child by all the passengers, should have sunk into an exhausted sleep, after a prolonged fit of screaming and crying, that caused the few remaining inmates of the car to look daggers at it, and say many unkind things, some of which even reached the ears of the mother. during the day there had been other women in the car, travelling for shorter or longer distances. to one of these, a lady-like girl who occupied an adjoining seat for some hours, and who was greatly interested in the baby, the young mother had confided the fact that this was his birthday, and also part of her own history. from this it appeared that she was the wife of an army officer, who was stationed with his regiment in the far west. she had not seen him for nearly a year, or just after the baby was born; but at last he had been ordered to a fort on the upper mississippi river, where he hoped to remain for some time. now his young wife, who had only been waiting until he could give her any sort of a home with him, had bravely set forth with her baby to join him. he had written her that, on a certain date in the spring, a detachment of troops was to start from st. louis by steamboat for the fort at which he was stationed. as one of the officers of this detachment was to take his wife with him, he thought it would be a fine opportunity for her to come at the same time. she wrote back that she could not possibly get ready by the date named, but would come by a later boat. after she had sent the letter, she found that she could get ready; and, as the aunt with whom she was living was about to break up her home and go abroad, she decided to start at once for st. louis. there she would join her husband's friends, travel with them to the far-away fort, and give the lonely soldier a joyful surprise. there was no time to send another letter telling him of her change of plan, and she was glad of it, for a surprise would be so much nicer. the early part of her journey had been accomplished quite easily. there had been no rains in the east, such as were deluging the whole ohio valley. if there had been, it is not likely the soldier's wife would have undertaken to travel at that time, and expose her precious baby to such terrible risks, even to carry out the surprise she anticipated so joyfully. from her aunt's house, in new york city, she had travelled by steamer up the hudson to albany. from there she took cars to buffalo, and a lake boat to cleveland. now she was travelling by rail again, across the flooded state of ohio towards cincinnati. there she intended taking a steamboat down the ohio river, and up the mississippi to st. louis, where she expected to join her husband's friends, on the boat that would carry them all to their journey's end. the details of this plan were fully discussed by the occupants of the adjoining seats in the car, and when it came time for the one who was not going through to leave the train, and take another at a small junction, she had become so greatly interested in her new acquaintance that she begged the latter to write to her, and tell her how she got along. she wrote her own name and address on a bit of paper, just before leaving the car, and gave it to the soldier's wife; but, in her hurry, neglected to make a note of the name given her in return, and afterwards, when she tried to recall it, was unable to do so. the tediousness of the weary day had been so much lessened by the making of this pleasant acquaintance, that for some time after her departure the young mother remained light-hearted and cheerful. the baby, too, was bright and happy, and a source of constant amusement, not only to her, but to all those about him. after a while, though, when it grew dark, and the feeble candles were lighted, and most of the passengers had left the car, and the baby at first fretted and then screamed, refusing to be quieted for more than an hour, the exhausted young mother grew nervous and frightened. only the thought of the glad meeting, and the great happiness awaiting her at the end of this tedious journey, enabled her to bear it as bravely as she did. at length the babe cried himself to sleep, and the tired arms that had held him so long gladly laid him down in a nest made of shawls and his own dainty blanket on the opposite seat. this blanket had the initials "g. e." embroidered in one corner, though these did not stand for the baby's name. in fact, he had no first name, nor had he yet been christened. this ceremony having been postponed until both the father and mother could take part in it; the question of a name had also been left undecided until then. the young mother wanted her boy called "gerald," after his father, and she had even embroidered the initial "g." on his blanket to see how it would look. thus far, however, the baby was only called "baby," and had no right to any other name. as the child slept quietly in spite of the jar and jolt and rumble of the train, the fair young head of the mother who watched so fondly and patiently over him gradually drooped lower and lower. the brown eyes, so like the baby's, closed for longer and longer intervals, until at length she, too, was fast asleep, and dreaming of the joy that awaited her journey's end. chapter ii. a rude baptism. there were others on that train equally weary with the young mother, and even more anxious; for they knew better than she the ever-present dangers of that water-soaked road-bed, and they bore the weight of a fearful responsibility. the conductor, looking grave and careworn, started nervously at every lurch of more than ordinary violence, and kept moving uneasily from end to end of his train. he never passed the young mother and her sleeping babe without casting sympathetic glances at them. he had done everything possible for their comfort, but it was little enough that he could do, and for their sake, more than anything else, he wished the trip were ended. all through the long, dark hours, the brake-men stood on the platforms of the swaying cars, ready at a moment's warning to spring to the iron brake-wheels. this crew of train hands had only come on duty at nightfall, and had little knowledge of the through passengers. in the locomotive cab, gazing ahead with strained eyes, were the engine-driver, luke matherson, and his fireman. every now and then the latter found a change of occupation in flinging open the furnace door and tossing chunk after chunk of wood into the glowing interior. as he closed the door he would stand for a moment and look inquiringly at his companion, who sat motionless, with his hand on the throttle, and his eyes fixed steadily on the lines of track gleaming in the light of the powerful headlight. occasionally, without turning his head, he exchanged a few words with the fireman. "it's a nasty night, luke," remarked the latter. "yes. it wouldn't take many more such to make me give up railroading." "what do you think of the beasely cut?" "i'm afraid of it, and wish we were well through it." "well, we'll know all about it in five minutes more, and after that there's nothing serious but glen eddy creek." the silence that followed was broken, a few minutes later, by two piercing blasts from the whistle. the fireman had already seen the danger, and sprung to the brake-wheel on the tender behind him. on every car the brakes were grinding harshly, set up by nervous, lusty young arms. the train did not come to a standstill an instant too soon; for, as it did so, the cow-catcher was already half buried in a slide from one of the treacherous banks of the beasely cut. an hour's hard work by all the train hands, and some of the passengers, with shovels and spades, cleared the track, and once more the express proceeded slowly on its uncertain way. now for the glen eddy bridge. between it and the city that marked the end of the line was the best stretch of road-bed in the state. it was a long one, but it presented no dangers that a railroad man need fear. the gray dawn was breaking as the train approached glen eddy creek. in the summer-time it was a quiet stream, slipping dreamily along between its heavily wooded banks. now it was a furious torrent, swollen beyond all recognition, and clutching spitefully at the wooden piers of heavy crib-work that upheld the single span of the bridge. the train was stopped and the bridge was examined. it seemed all right, and the conductor gave the word to go ahead. it was the last order he ever issued; for, in another minute, the undermined piers had given way, and the train was piled up in the creek a shapeless wreck. from that terrible plunge only two persons escaped unharmed. one was luke matherson, the engine-driver, and the other was the baby. when the former felt his engine dropping from under him, he sprang from it, with desperate energy, far out into the muddy waters, that instantly closed over him. on coming to the surface, the instinct of self-preservation forced him to swim, but it was wildly and without an idea of direction or surroundings. for nearly a minute he swam with all his strength against the current, so that he was still near the wreck, when his senses were again quickened into action by a smothered cry, close at hand. at the same time a dark mass drifted towards him, and he seized hold of it. as the cry seemed to come from this, the man's struggles became directed by a definite purpose. partially supporting himself by the wreckage, he attempted to guide it to the nearest bank; but so swift was the current that he was swept down stream more than a mile before he succeeded in accomplishing his purpose. finally his feet touched bottom, and he drew his prize to shore. it was a car seat, torn from its fastenings. tightly wedged between it and its hinged back was a confused bundle, from which came a smothered wailing. tearing away the wrappings, luke matherson stared for a moment, in a dazed fashion, at what they had held so safely. he could hardly believe that it was a live baby, lying there as rosy and unharmed as though in its cradle. the sun had risen when the engine-driver, haggard, exhausted, with clothing torn and muddy, but holding the babe clasped tightly in his arms, staggered into the nearest farm-house, two miles back from the creek. after his night of intense mental strain, the shock of the disaster, his plunge into the chilling waters, and his subsequent struggle to save the only surviving passenger of the train, it is not surprising that even luke matherson's strong frame yielded, and that for several weeks he was prostrated by a low fever. all this time the baby was kept at the farm-house with him, in order that he might be identified and claimed; but nobody came for him, nor were any inquiries made concerning the child. he was called "the glen eddy baby" by the few settlers of that sparsely populated region, who came to gaze at him curiously and pityingly. thus those who cared for him gradually came to call him "glen" for want of a better name; and, as the initials embroidered on the blanket saved with him were "g. e.," people soon forgot that glen eddy was not his real name. although several bodies were recovered from the wreck of the express, that of the young mother was not among them; and, as there was no one left alive who knew that she had been on the train, of course her death was not reported. thus the mystery surrounding the glen eddy baby was so impenetrable that, after a while, people gave up trying to solve it, and finally it was almost forgotten. when luke matherson recovered from his fever, nothing could induce him to return to his duties as engine-driver on the railroad. "no," he said, "never will i put myself in the way of going through another such night as that last one." he went to cincinnati as soon as he was able to travel, and while there was offered a position in the engine-room of a large mill at brimfield, in western pennsylvania, which he accepted. the people of the farm-house where he had been ill were willing to keep the baby; but luke matherson claimed it, and would not give it up. the babe had been given to him, if ever one had, he said; and, if no one else loved it, he did. of course, if anybody could prove a better claim to it than his, he would be the last one to dispute it; but, if not, he would keep the child and do the very best by him he knew how. he had no folks of his own in the world, and was only too glad to feel that one human being would grow up to care for him. the farm-house people lost track of luke matherson when he left cincinnati. thus when, some four months later, a broken-hearted man, who had with infinite pains traced his wife and child to that line of railroad, reached that part of the country, he could gain no further information except that a baby, who might have been his, was saved from the glen eddy disaster, but what had become of it nobody knew. chapter iii. a boy without a birthday. "it's no use, glen," said the principal of the brimfield high school, kindly, but with real sorrow in his tone. "your marks in everything except history are so far below the average that i cannot, with justice to the others, let you go on with the class any longer. so unless you can catch up during the vacation, i shall be obliged to drop you into the class below, and we'll go all over the same ground again next year. i'm very sorry. it is a bad thing for a boy of your age to lose a whole year; for this is one of the most important periods of your life. still, if you won't study, you can't keep up with those who will, that's certain." the boy to whom these words were spoken was a squarely built, manly-looking chap, with brown curling hair, and big brown eyes. he was supposed to be seventeen years old, but appeared younger. now his cheeks were flushed, and a hard, almost defiant, expression had settled on his face. "i know you are right, mr. meadows," he said, at length. "and you have been very kind to me. it's no use, though. i just hate to study. i'd rather work, and work hard at almost anything else, then i would know what i was doing; but as for grinding away at stupid things like latin and geometry and trigonometry and natural philosophy, that can't ever be of any earthly use to a fellow who doesn't intend to be either a professor or an astronomer, i can't see the good of it at all." "no, i don't suppose you can now," replied the principal, smiling, "but you will find even those things of use some time, no matter what you may become in after-life. i will try and talk with you again on this subject before i go away; but now i must leave you. i hope for your sake, though, that you will think better about studying, and not throw away your chance to do so now, while it is comparatively easy. to win success in life you must study some time, and if you had stood anywhere near as high as binney gibbs i might have managed to offer you--" "excuse me, mr. meadows, but i must speak with you just a moment," here interrupted a voice, and put an end to the conversation between the principal and the boy who had allowed his distaste for study to bring him into disgrace. as he walked away from the school-house, carrying all his books with him, for the term was ended and the long vacation had begun, the flush of mortification, called to his cheeks by mr. meadows's remarks, still reddened them. he felt the disgrace of his position keenly, though he had told the other boys, and had tried to make himself believe, that he did not care whether he passed the examinations or not. now that he had failed to pass, he found that he did care. what was it that mr. meadows might have offered him? it couldn't be _that_, of course; but if it should have been! well, there was no use in crying over it now. binney gibbs had been honored, and he was disgraced. it was bad enough to realize that, without thinking of things to make it worse. he was thankful when he reached home and had closed the front door behind him; for it seemed as though everybody he met must know of his disgrace, and be smiling scornfully at him. he was a sensitive chap, was this glen eddy; for that was his name, and he was the same one who, as a baby, was rescued by luke matherson from the railroad wreck so many years ago. most people called him glen matherson, and on the school register his name was entered as glen eddy matherson; but, ever since his last birthday, when luke had told him that he was not his real father, and had fully explained their relations to each other, the boy had thought of himself only as glen eddy. the master mechanic of the brimfield mills, for such luke matherson now was, had meant to keep the secret of the boy's life to himself, at least for some years longer. glen had, however, heard rumors of it, and had on one occasion been taunted by an angry playmate with the sneer that he was only a nobody who didn't belong to anybody, anyhow. glen had promptly forced this tormentor to acknowledge that he did not know what he was talking about; but the taunt rankled all the same. a few days afterwards, which happened to be the one that was kept as his seventeenth birthday, he told his father of it, and asked what it meant. then luke matherson, greatly troubled, but seeing that the secret could not be kept any longer from the boy, told him what he knew of his history. he ended with, "it is fifteen years ago this very day, glen, that the terrible wreck took place; and, as you were then thought to be about two years old, i have called this your birthday ever since." the boy was amazed and bewildered. no idea that the one whom he had always called "father" was not such in reality had ever entered his head; but now that the truth was told him, it seemed strange that he had not always known it instinctively. he had known that mrs. matherson was not his own mother, for he was five years old when she assumed that position, and of course he had always known that the two children were not his own sisters, though he loved them as dearly as though they were. but now to find out that he did not really belong to anybody was hard. who were his real parents? were they alive? could he find them? were questions that now began to occupy the boy's mind most of the time. one of the strangest things about this state of affairs was to discover that his birthday was not his birthday after all. it seemed as though some foundation on which he had rested in absolute trust of its security had suddenly been swept from under him, and left him struggling in a stormy sea of uncertainty. the idea of a boy without a birthday! who ever heard of such a thing? how the other fellows would stare and smile if they knew it! glen had been so proud of his birthday, too, and it had been made so much of at home. his favorite dishes were always prepared for the meals of that day, his tastes were consulted in everything that was done, and his father always made a point of giving him a more valuable present then than even at christmas. why, on the last one, the very day on which the boy first learned how unreal the whole thing was, his father--no, his adopted father--had given him the dearest little silver watch that ever was seen. many times since learning such a sad lesson in the uncertainties of life, glen had pulled this watch from his pocket, simply to assure himself of its reality, and that it was not a make-believe like his birthday. but for his natural force of character and sweetness of disposition, glen would have been a spoiled boy; for luke matherson had never been able, since the moment he first saw him lying helplessly on the floating car seat, to cross him in anything, or deny him whatever he asked if it lay in his power to grant it. with his own children mr. matherson was rather strict; but with the orphan lad who had shared with him the greatest peril of his life, he could not be. thus glen had grown up to be somewhat impatient of restraint, and very much inclined to have his own way. he was also a brave, generous boy, and an acknowledged leader among his young companions. was he not the best swimmer, the fastest runner, the most daring climber, and expert horseback-rider in brimfield? was he not captain of the baseball nine? and did not all the fellows admire him except one or two, who were so jealous of his popularity that they sought to detract from it? one of those who were most envious of him was binney gibbs, son of the wealthy owner of the brimfield mills. he was taller than glen, but was no match for him in anything that called for muscle or pluck. it was he who had flung the taunt of glen's being a nobody at the boy. binney had never been noted for his studious habits until both he and glen entered the high school at the same time. then, realizing that he could not excel at anything else, he determined to beat the other at his studies. to this end he strained every nerve with such effect that he not only outranked glen in his own class, but, by working all through two long vacations, gained a whole year on him. so now, while poor glen was threatened with being turned back from the second class, binney gibbs had just graduated at the head of the first, and was ready to enter college. and the worst of it all was that everybody believed him to be a whole year younger than glen, too. to be sure, binney was pale and thin, and no stronger than a cat. why, he couldn't even swim; but what of it? had he not beaten the most popular fellow in town away out of sight in this scholarship race? to crown his triumph another thing had happened to make binney gibbs the envy of all the boys in brimfield, but particularly of glen eddy. on that last day of school the diplomas had been awarded, and binney's had been handed to him the first of all. as he was about to return to his seat, amid the loud applause of the spectators, mr. meadows asked him to wait a minute. so binney stood on the platform while the principal told of a wonderful exploring expedition that was being fitted out at that moment, to go across the plains through the almost unknown territories of new mexico and arizona to california. it was to be the most famous expedition of the kind ever sent into the far west; and, as it was to be partly a government enterprise, all sorts of political influence was being used to obtain positions in it. it was to be commanded by a noted general, who was an old friend of mr. meadows. "now," said the principal, "the general writes that he will give a position in this party to the boy who stands highest in my school this year, or, if i cannot recommend him, or he does not choose to accept it, to any other whom i may name." here mr. meadows was interrupted by prolonged applause. when it had subsided, he continued. "there is no question as to which pupil of the school ranks highest this year. he stands before you now, with his well-earned diploma in his hand [applause], and it gives me great pleasure to be able to offer to master binney gibbs a position in the exploring-party that will start from st. louis two weeks from to-day, under command of my friend general lyle. i hope that he may be induced to accept it, and that his parents may permit him to do so; for i cannot imagine a more fascinating or profitable way of spending a year at his time of life." chapter iv. "i just hate to study." mr. meadows's remarks in regard to the famous exploring expedition, about to be sent across the western plains, were received with tremendous applause, and binney gibbs at once became an object of envy to every boy in the school--to say nothing of the girls. what a chance to have offered one just for doing a little hard study! if the other boys had known of it, how they, too, would have studied! binney gibbs would have been obliged to work harder than he had for his position! yes, sir! ten times harder!--only think of it! indians and buffalo and bears, and the rocky mountains, and all the other enchanted marvels of that far-away region. why, just to contemplate it was better than reading a dime novel! while these thoughts were racing through the minds of his companions, and while they were cheering and clapping their hands, the lucky boy himself was talking with mr. meadows, and telling him how much he should like to join that expedition, and how he hoped his father would let him do so. mr. gibbs left his seat in the audience and stepped up to the platform, where he talked for a moment with mr. meadows. then he spoke to binney, and then, as he faced the school, they saw that he had something to say to them. it was that he was proud of his son--proud of the honor shown to the school and to brimfield through him--and that he should certainly allow binney to accept the offered position. so it was settled; and all the boys cheered again. to glen eddy it seemed that he would be willing to forego all the other good things that life held for him if he could only have the prospect of one such year of adventure as was promised to binney gibbs. for the first time in his life he was genuinely envious of another boy. it was that same day, after everybody else had gone, that he had the talk with mr. meadows, in which the latter told him he must go back a whole year on account of not having studied; though, if he had, he might have been offered--and then came the interruption. glen was too heart-sick and miserable to wait and ask what the offer might have been. besides, he thought he knew, and the thought only added to his distress of mind, until it really seemed as though no boy could be much more unhappy than he. mr. matherson knew how the boy stood in school, for the principal had thought it his duty to inform him; and that evening he and glen had a long and serious talk. "it's no use, father; i just hate to study!" exclaimed glen, using the same words that had caused mr. meadows to look grave earlier in the day. "i fancy we all hate a great many things that we have to do in this life," replied the master mechanic, "and you have certainly had a striking example to-day of the value of study." "yes, that's so," admitted glen, reluctantly, "and if i had known that there was anything of that kind to be gained, perhaps i might have tried for it too." "if i had been given your chance to study when i was young," continued the other, "and had made the most of it, i would have a better position to-day than the one i now hold. as it is, i have had to study mighty hard, along with my work, to get even it. i tell you, my boy, the chances come when you least expect them. the only thing to do is to prepare for them, and be ready to seize them as they appear. if one isn't prepared they'll slip right past him--and when once they have done that, he can never catch them again." "but aren't there working chances just as well as studying chances, father?" "of course there are, and the study must always be followed by work--hard work, too--but the first is a mighty big help to the other. now i will gladly do all that i can to help you on with your studies, if you will study; but if you won't, you must go to work, for i can't afford to support you in idleness, and i wouldn't if i could." "well, i'll tell you what, father," said glen, who was more inclined to take his own way than one proposed by somebody else, "if you can help me to the getting of a job, i'll try the work this summer, and when it comes time for school to open again, i'll decide whether it shall be work or study." "all right, my boy, i'll do what i can to get you a place in the mill or in deacon brown's store, whichever you prefer." now that a definite kind of work was proposed, it did not seem so very desirable after all, and glen doubted if he should like either the mill or the store. still he did not say so, but asked for a day longer in which to decide, which was readily granted him. at about the same time that evening, binney gibbs was saying to his father, with a self-satisfied air, "isn't it a good thing that i have stuck to my books as i have, and not wasted my time playing ball, or swimming, or doing the things that glen matherson and the other fellows seem to consider so important?" "well, yes," replied mr. gibbs, a little doubtfully, "i suppose it is. at the same time, binney, i do wish you were a little stronger. i'm afraid you'll find roughing it pretty hard." "oh, yes, i suppose physical strength was the most important thing when you were young, father; but nowadays its brain-work that tells," answered binney, with a slight tone of contempt for his father's old-fashioned ideas. binney was not a bad-hearted fellow--only spoiled. the next day glen did not feel like meeting any of his young companions. he wanted to think over the several problems that had been presented to him. so he wandered down to the river, where a fine new railroad-bridge, in the building of which he had been greatly interested, was now receiving its finishing touches. as he walked out towards the centre of the graceful structure, admiring, as he had a hundred times before, the details of its construction, its evident strength and airy lightness, he saw the engineer who had charge of the work standing, with a roll of plans under his arm, talking with one of the foremen. glen had visited the bridge so often that the engineer knew him by sight, and had even learned his name, though he had never spoken to him. he was, however, especially fond of boys, and had been much pleased with glen's appearance. several times he had been on the point of speaking to him, but had been restrained by the diffidence a man is so apt to feel in the presence of a stranger so much younger than himself. it is a fear that he may do or say something to excite the undisguised mirth or contempt that so often wait upon the ignorance of youth. without suspecting these feelings in him, glen had been strangely attracted towards the engineer, whose profession and position seemed to him alike fascinating and desirable. he wished he could become acquainted with him, but did not know how to set about it. he, too, was diffident and fearful of appearing in an unfavorable light before the other, who was evidently so much older and wiser than he. but he did long to ask this engineer a great many questions. now he stood at a respectful distance and watched the young man, whose name he knew to be hobart, and, wondering whether his position had been reached by study or work, wished he could think of some good excuse for speaking to him. the floor of the bridge on which they were standing was about twenty-five feet above brim river, the deep, swift stream that it spanned. glen had swum and fished in it, and boated on it, until he knew its every current and slack-water pool. he knew it as well as he did the road to the village, and was almost as much at home in the one as on the other. in order to consult a note-book that he drew from his pocket, mr. hobart laid his roll of plans on a floor-beam, at his feet, for a moment. just then a little whirling gust of wind came along, and in an instant the valuable plans were sailing through the air towards the sparkling waters, that seemed to laugh at the prospect of bearing them away far beyond human reach. the engineer tried in vain to clutch them as they rolled off the floor-beam, and uttered an exclamation of vexation as they eluded his grasp. as he looked around to see what could be done towards their recovery, a boyish figure, without hat, jacket, or shoes, sprang past him, poised for an instant on the end of the floor-beam, and then leaped into space. like a flash of light it shot downward, straight and rigid, with feet held tightly together, and hands pressed close against the thighs. a myriad of crystal-drops were flung high in the air and glittered in the bright sunlight as glen, striking the water with the impetus of a twenty-five-foot fall, sank deep beneath its surface. chapter v. swimming into a friendship. although glen found no difficulty in coming to the surface, almost at the spot where the roll of plans floated, and grasping it, he did not find it so easy to bring it safely to shore. to begin with, the roll occupied one hand, so that he had but one for swimming. then the current was strong, and the banks steep. he was very near the middle of the river. any other brimfield boy would have been in despair at finding himself in such a situation. but, then, no other boy in brimfield would have taken that leap. for a moment glen wondered what he should do. then he remembered the "back-set" at the bend, a quarter of a mile below the bridge. it would put him right in to the bank, at a place where it was low, too. the anxious watchers on the bridge wondered to see the boy turn on his back and quietly drift away with the current, at the same time holding the roll of plans, for which he had dared so much, clear of the water. they shouted to him to swim towards one or the other bank and they would fling him a rope; but glen only smiled without wasting any breath in answering. most of the men ran to one end of the bridge, because it looked to them as though the boy were nearer that bank than the other; but mr. hobart, who had studied the river, remembered the bend, and hurried to the other end. when he reached it he ran down along the bank, towards the place where he felt certain the boy would attempt to land. he got there in time to see glen swimming with all his might to get out of the main current and into the "back-set." with two hands he would have done it easily; but with only one it was hard work. then, too, his clothing dragged heavily. mr. hobart shouted to him to let go the roll. "drop it and make sure of your own safety," he cried. "they are not worth taking any risks for." but glen was not the kind of a boy to let go of a thing that he had once made up his mind to hold on to, so long as he had an ounce of strength left. so he struggled on, and at last had the satisfaction of feeling that something stronger than his own efforts was carrying him towards shore. he had gained the "back-set," and, though its direction was rather up along the bank, than in towards it, the swimmer had still strength enough left to overcome this difficulty. a tree, growing straight out from the bank, overhung the stream, so that glen at length drifted under it, and caught hold of a drooping branch. he had not strength enough to pull himself up; but it was not needed. with the activity that comes from a life spent in the open air, the engineer had run out on the horizontal trunk, and now, lying flat on it, he could just reach the boy's hand. in another minute the strong arms had drawn glen up to a secure resting-place, where he might regain his breath and drip to his heart's content. "here are the plans, mr. hobart," he said, shyly, and at the same time proudly. "i hope they are not spoiled by the water. i held them out of it as much as i could." "i hope you are not spoiled by the water, glen matherson," laughed the engineer, as he took the wet roll from the boy's hand. "you have done splendidly, and i am sincerely grateful to you for rescuing my plans, which are indeed of great value. at the same time i wouldn't do such a thing again, if i were you, for anything less important than the saving of life. it was a big risk to take, and i should have suffered a life-long sorrow if anything had gone wrong with you." although it was a warm june day, and glen laughed at the idea of catching cold, he had been in the water long enough to be thoroughly chilled. so, when they regained the bank, mr. hobart insisted that he should take off his clothes, wring them, and let them dry in the hot sun. in the meantime a workman had come down from the bridge with the boy's hat, jacket, and shoes. he lent him his overalls, and, thus comically arrayed, glen sat and talked with the engineer while his clothes were drying. how kindly the brown-bearded face was, and with what interest the man listened to all the boy had to say. how pleasant was his voice, and, in spite of his age (he was about thirty-five) and wisdom, how easy it was to talk to him! it was so easy, and he proved such a sympathetic listener, that before glen knew it he found himself confiding all his troubles and hopes and perplexities to this new friend. it began with his name, which he told the engineer was not matherson, and then he had to explain why it was not. then they wondered together what sort of a man glen's real father could be, provided he were alive; and if, by any strange chance, he and his son would ever meet and know each other. mr. hobart did not think it at all likely they ever would. from this the boy was led to tell of his dislike for study, and into what trouble it had led him. he even told of the decision reached by his adopted father and himself the evening before, and the undesirable choice of work that had been presented to him. "and so you don't think you would fancy either the mill or the store?" asked mr. hobart. "no, sir, i do not. each one, when i think of it, seems worse than the other, and they both seem worse than most anything else." "worse than studying?" "just as bad, because either of them means being shut up, and i hate to stay in the house. i should like some business that would keep me out-of-doors all the time." "ploughing, for instance, or driving a horse-car, or digging clams, or civil-engineering, or something nice and easy, like any of those?" suggested mr. hobart, gravely. "civil-engineering is what i think i should like better than anything else in the world!" exclaimed the boy, eagerly. "that's what you are, isn't it, sir?" "that is what i am trying to be," answered mr. hobart, smiling; "and if, by years of hard work, hard study, and unceasing effort, i can reach a generally recognized position as an engineer, i shall be satisfied with my life's work." "do you have to study?" asked glen, in amazement. "indeed i do," was the answer. "i have to study continually, and fully as hard as any schoolboy of your acquaintance." glen looked incredulous. it is hard for a boy to realize that his school is only the place where he is taught how to study, and that his most important lessons will have to be learned after he leaves it. "i think i should like to be a civil-engineer, anyhow," he remarked, after a thoughtful pause, "because it is an out-of-door business." "yes," admitted the other, "it is to a great extent." then they found that glen's clothing was dry enough to be worn, and also that it was dinnertime. so, after mr. hobart had shaken hands with the boy, and said he hoped to see him again before long, they separated. that afternoon glen, still wearing a perplexed expression on his usually merry face, walked down to the mill and looked in at its open door. it was so hot and dusty and noisy that he did not care to stay there very long. he had been familiar with it all his life; but never before had it struck him as such an unpleasant place to work in, day after day, month after month, and even year after year, as it did now. how hard people did have to work, anyway! he had never realized it before. still, working in a mill must be a little harder than anything else. at any rate, he certainly would not choose to earn his living there. then he walked down to deacon brown's store. the deacon did a large retail business; this was a busy afternoon, and the place was filled with customers. how tired the clerks looked, and what pale faces they had. how people bothered them with questions, and called on them to attend to half a dozen things at once. how close and stuffy the air of the store was. it was almost as bad as that of the mill. then, too, the store was kept open hours after the mill had shut down; for its evening trade was generally very brisk. it did not seem half so attractive a place to glen now as it had at other times, when he had visited it solely with a view of making some small purchase. perhaps going to school, and keeping up with one's class, was not the hardest thing in the world after all. so the poor boy returned home, more perplexed as to what he should do than ever, and he actually dreaded the after-supper talk with his adopted father that he usually enjoyed so much. when the time came, and mr. matherson asked, kindly, "well, my boy, what have you decided to do?" glen was obliged to confess that he was just as far from a decision as he had been the evening before. chapter vi. receiving an offer and accepting it. "well, that is bad," said the master mechanic, when glen told him that he had been unable to arrive at any decision in regard to going to work. "it is bad, for i can't see that there is anything open to you just now, except one of the two things we talked about last evening. at the same time, i hate to compel you, or even persuade you, to do anything that is hard and distasteful. if you were a year younger, i should say, 'spend your vacation as you always have done, and have as good a time as you know how, without worrying about the future.' at seventeen, though, a boy should begin to look ahead, and take some decisive step in the direction of his future career. if he decides to study, he should also decide what he wants to study for. if he decides to work, he should have some object to work for, and should turn all his energies in that direction. i declare, glen, i hardly know how to advise you in this matter. do you think of any particular thing you would rather do, or try to be? if so, and i can help you to it, you know how gladly i will, in every way that lies in my power." "it seems to me i would rather be a civil-engineer than anything else," answered the boy, a little hesitatingly. "a civil-engineer!" exclaimed the other, in surprise; "why, glen, lad, don't you know that it takes the hardest kind of study to be that?" just then their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a visitor, who, to glen's surprise, was none other than mr. hobart, the engineer whose position he had been thinking of as one of the most desirable in the world. after a few moments' pleasant chat the visitor asked mr. matherson if he could have a private business talk with him. so glen left the room, and wandered restlessly about the house, filled with a lively curiosity as to what business the engineer could have with his adopted father. in the meantime mr. hobart was saying, "i have known your son for some time by sight, mr. matherson, and took a fancy to him from the first. we only got acquainted to-day, when he performed an act of daring in my presence, and at the same time rendered me an important service. i find him to be exactly such a boy as i supposed he was; a generous-hearted, manly fellow, who is just now unhappy and discontented because he has no particular aim in life, and does not know what he wants to do." "yes," said mr. matherson, "that is just the trouble; and the worst of it is that i don't know what to advise him." "then, perhaps, i am just in time to help you. my work here is about finished, and in a few days i am to leave for kansas, where i am to take charge of a locating-party on one of the pacific railroads. if you are willing to let glen go with me, i can make a place for him in this party. the pay will only be thirty dollars per month, besides his expenses; but, by the end of the summer, i believe he will have gained more valuable knowledge and experience than he could in a year of home and school life. i believe, too, in that time i can show him the value of an education and the necessity of studying for it. now, without really knowing anything about it, he thinks he would like to become a civil-engineer. after a few months' experience in the unsettled country to which i am going he will have seen the rough side of the life, and can decide intelligently whether he desires to continue in it or not." mr. matherson could hardly restrain his delight at the prospect of such an opening for the boy whom he loved so dearly; but he was too honest to let him start out under false colors; so he said, "i can never tell you how grateful i am for this offer, sir; but i don't want you to think that my boy is any better than he really is. he is not a good scholar, and seems to lack application. even now he is in danger of being turned back a whole year in school because he has failed to keep up with his class." "i know all that," replied mr. hobart, smiling; "and it is one of the reasons why i want him to go with me. i was very much such a boy myself, and think i understand his state of mind perfectly. he has reached the most trying period of his life, and the one where he most needs encouragement and help. he has a sufficiently good education to build on, and is bright enough to comprehend things that are clearly explained to him. as for his having no knowledge of the peculiar studies necessary for an engineer, i am glad that he hasn't. i believe that it is better for all boys to gain some practical knowledge of the business they intend to follow before they really begin to study for it. a few months or a year of practice shows them in what they are deficient and what they need to learn. i could get plenty of young fellows to go out to kansas with me who are crammed with theoretical knowledge of surveying and engineering, but who are ignorant of its practice. such chaps think they know it all, and are impatient of criticism or advice. i can get along better with one who knows little or nothing to begin with, but who is bright and willing to learn. in the end i will guarantee to make such a one the more valuable engineer of the two." "it is a new idea to me," said mr. matherson, reflectively, "but i believe you are right." "there is another reason why i fancy your boy, and think i can make an engineer of him," continued mr. hobart. "his physical condition seems to me to be perfect. as they say of prize animals, he seems to be sound in wind and limb, and without a blemish. now, the life of an engineer, particularly in unsettled countries, is a hard one. he is exposed to all sorts of weather; must often sleep without a shelter of any kind, and must work hard from early dawn until late at night, sometimes on a scanty allowance of food. it is as hard as, and in many cases harder than, active service in the army. it is no life for weaklings, and we do not want them; but, from what i have seen of your boy, i do not believe that even you can point out any physical defect in his make-up." "no, i certainly cannot," replied mr. matherson, heartily, glad of a chance to praise his boy without qualification, in at least one respect. "i believe him to be physically perfect, and i know that there is not a boy of his age in town who is his match in strength, agility, or daring." "so you see," laughed the engineer, "he is exactly the boy i want; and if you will let him go with me i shall consider that you have conferred a favor." "of course i will let him go, sir, and shall feel forever grateful to you for the offer." thus it was all settled, and glen was summoned to hear the result of the few minutes' conversation by which the whole course of his life was to be changed. by it, too, he was to be lifted in a moment from the depths of despondency and uncertainty to such a height of happiness as he had not dared dream of, much less hope for. the moment he entered the room he was assured, by the smiling faces of its occupants, that their topic of conversation had been a pleasant one; but when its nature was explained to him he could hardly credit his senses. would he like to go out to kansas for the summer?--to a land still occupied by wild indians and buffalo? the idea of asking him such a question! there was nothing in the whole world he would like better! why, it was almost as good as the position offered to binney gibbs; and, certainly, no boy could ever hope for anything more splendid than that. in two respects he considered himself even more fortunate than binney. one was that he was to go with mr. hobart, whom he had come to regard with an intense admiration as one of the wisest and kindest of men. the other was that they were to start on the third day from that time, while binney would not go for nearly two weeks yet. what busy days the next two were! how glen did fly around with his preparations! how interested mr. hobart was, and how he laughed at many of the excited boy's questions! ought he to have a buckskin suit and a broad-brimmed hat? should he need any other weapons besides a revolver and a bowie-knife? would it be better to take long-legged leather boots or rubber-boots, or both? how large a trunk ought he to have? his outfit, prepared by mr. hobart's advice, finally consisted of two pairs of double blankets, rolled up in a rubber sheet and securely corded, two pairs of easy, laced walking-shoes, and one pair of leather leggings, three flannel shirts, three suits of under-clothing, and six pairs of socks, one warm coat, two pairs of trousers, a soft, gray felt hat, half a dozen silk handkerchiefs, and the same number of towels. of these he would wear, from the start, the hat, coat, one of the flannel shirts, one of the two pairs of trousers, a suit of under-clothing, one of the silk handkerchiefs knotted about his neck, and one of the pairs of shoes. all the rest could easily be got into a small leathern valise, which would be as much of a trunk as he would be allowed to carry. he would need a stout leather belt, to which should be slung a good revolver in a holster, a common sheath-knife, that need not cost more than thirty cents, and a small tin cup that could be bought for five. besides these things, mrs. matherson, who loved the boy as though he were her own, tucked into the valise a small case of sewing materials, a brush, comb, cake of soap, tooth-brush, hand-glass, and a testament in which his name was written. on the very day of his departure his adopted father presented the delighted boy with a light rifle of the very latest pattern. it was, of course, a breech-loader, and carried six extra cartridges in its magazine. in its neat canvas-case, glen thought it was the very handsomest weapon he had ever seen, and the other boys thought so too. with them he was the hero of the hour, and even binney gibbs's glittering prospects were almost forgotten, for the time being, in this more immediate excitement. of course they all gathered at the railway station to see him start on the morning of the appointed day. it seemed as though almost everybody else in the village was there, too. binney gibbs was among the very few of glen's acquaintances who did not come. so, amid tears and laughter, good wishes and loud cheerings, the train rolled away, bearing glen eddy from the only home he had ever known towards the exciting scenes of the new life that awaited him in the far west. chapter vii. across the mississippi. never before, since he was first carried to brimfield as a baby, had glen been away from there; so, from the very outset, the journey on which he had now started, in company with mr. hobart, was a wonderful one. in school, besides history, he had enjoyed the study of geography, being especially fond of poring over maps and tracing out imaginary journeys. in this way he had gained a fair idea of the route mr. hobart and he were to pursue, as well as of the cities and other places of interest they were to see. there was one place, however, for which he was not prepared. it was early in the first night of the journey, and the boy had just fallen into a doze in his sleeping-car berth. as the night was warm, and there was no dust, the car door was open, and through it came a sudden shout of "glen eddy! glen eddy!" as glen started up, wide awake, and answering "here i am," the train rumbled over a bridge. then it stopped, and the meaning of the shout flashed into the boy's mind. he was at the very place where, so long ago, he had lost a father or mother, or both. all the details of that awful scene, as described by his adopted father, appeared vividly before him, and he seemed to see, through a gray dawn, the mass of splintered wreckage nearly covered by angry waters, the floating car seat with its tiny human burden, and the brave swimmer directing it towards land. the train stopped but a moment, and then moved on. as it did so, glen, who was in an upper berth, heard a deep sigh, that sounded almost like a groan, coming apparently from a lower berth on the opposite side of the car. directly afterwards he heard a low voice ask, respectfully, "what is it, governor? are you in pain? can i do anything?" "nothing, price, thank you. i had a sort of nightmare, that's all," was the reply, and then all was again quiet. glen wished he might catch a glimpse of the person who spoke last, for he had never seen a governor, and wondered in what way he would look different from other men. he would try and see him in the morning. thus thinking, he fell asleep. the next morning he was awakened by mr. hobart, and told to dress as quickly as possible, for they were within a few miles of east st. louis, and would soon cross the mississippi. this news drove all other thoughts from the boy's mind, and he hurried through his toilet, full of excitement at the prospect of seeing the mightiest of american rivers. there was no bridge across the mississippi then, either at st. louis or elsewhere. great four-horse transfer coaches from the several hotels were waiting for passengers beside the train where it stopped, and these were borne to the opposite bank by a steam ferry-boat with a peculiar name and of peculiar construction. the _cahokia_ looked like a regular river steamer, except that she had no visible paddle-wheels, not even one behind, like a wheelbarrow, as some of the very shoal-draught boats had. for some time glen could not discover what made her go, though go she certainly did, moving swiftly and easily across the broad expanse of tawny waters towards the smoky city on its farther bank. he would not ask mr. hobart, for he loved to puzzle things out for himself if he possibly could. at length he discovered that the boat was double-hulled, and that its single paddle-wheel was located between the two hulls. glen was obliged to ask the object of this; but when he was told that it was to protect the wheel from the great ice-cakes that floated down the river in winter, he wondered that he had not thought of that himself. so he forgot to look for his governor, or ask about him until they reached the hotel where they were to get breakfast and spend a few hours. then he was told that the person in whom he was interested was probably general elting, who had just completed a term of office as governor of one of the territories, and who was now acting as treasurer of the very railroad company for which he was to work. glen regretted not having seen the ex-governor, but quickly forgot his slight disappointment in the more novel and interesting things that now attracted his attention. he had never been in a city before, and was very glad of a few hours in which to see the sights of this one; for the train that was to carry them to kansas city would not leave until afternoon. as the offices of the company by whom mr. hobart was employed were in st. louis, he was obliged to spend all his time in them, and could not go about with glen. so, only charging him to be on hand in time for the train, the engineer left the boy to his own devices. glen spent most of his time on the broad levee at the river's edge, where he was fascinated by the great steamboats, with their lofty pilot-houses, tall chimneys, roaring furnaces, and crews of shouting negroes, that continually came and went. this seemed to be their grand meeting-point. on huge placards, swung above their gang-planks, glen read that some of them were bound for new orleans and all intermediate ports. then there were boats for the red, arkansas, yazoo, ohio, illinois, missouri, and a dozen other rivers, tributary to the great father of waters. still others were bound for northern ports, even as far as distant st. paul, in minnesota. two o'clock found the boy at the railway station, standing beside the car in which all his belongings were already safely deposited, waiting anxiously for mr. hobart. just as the train was about to start, that gentleman rushed into the station. "jump aboard, glen," he said, hurriedly, "and go on to kansas city with the baggage. here is your pass and a note to mr. brackett. report to him at the kaw house. i am detained here by business, but will join you to-morrow or next day. good-bye." the train was already in motion, and in another moment the boy had lost sight of his only friend in that part of the world, and was whirling away towards an unknown destination. he felt rather lonely and forlorn at thus being cast upon his own resources, but at the same time he felt proud of the confidence reposed in him, and glad of an opportunity to prove how well he could take care of himself. for several hours he was interested in watching the rapidly changing features of the landscape; but after a while he grew weary of this, and began to study his fellow-passengers. there were not many in the sleeper, and the only ones near him in whom he took an interest were a little girl, five or six years old, who was running up and down the aisle, and a lady, evidently the child's mother, who sat opposite to him. as he watched the little one she tripped and would have fallen had he not sprung forward and caught her. the child smiled at him, the mother thanked him, and in a few minutes he found himself playing with the former and amusing himself in entertaining her. she told him that her name was nettie winn; but that her papa, who lived a long way off, and whom she was going to see, called her "nettle." she was a bright, sunny-haired little thing, who evidently regarded elder people as having been created especially for her amusement and to obey her orders. as, in obedience to one of these, the boy carried her in his arms to the forward end of the car that she might look out of the window in the door, a fine-looking middle-aged gentleman spoke to him, remarking that he seemed very fond of children. "yes, sir, i am," answered glen, "for i have two little sisters at home." they exchanged a few more words, and glen was so attracted by the stranger's appearance and manner that after the tired child had gone to sleep with her head in her mother's lap, he again walked to the end of the car in hopes that the gentleman might be inclined to renew their conversation. nor was he disappointed; for the stranger welcomed him with a smile, made room on the seat beside him, and they were soon engaged in a pleasant chat. it is not hard for a man of tact to win the confidence of a boy, so that, before long, the gentleman knew that this was glen's first journey from home, and that he was going to kansas to learn to be an engineer. "do you mean a civil-engineer?" he asked, "or an engine-driver?" "oh, a civil-engineer, of course!" answered the boy; "for i can run a locomotive now, almost as well as father, and that used to be his business." then he explained that his father, who was now a master mechanic, had given him careful instruction in the art of running a pony switch engine that belonged to the brimfield mills, and that once, when the engine-driver was ill, he had been placed in charge of it for a whole day. "that is a most useful accomplishment," remarked the gentleman, "and one that i should be glad to acquire myself." when the train stopped at an eating station they went in to supper together, and glen began to think that, in his new friend, he had found a second mr. hobart, which was the very nicest thing he could think about anybody. the boy did not forget to carry a cup of tea and a glass of milk into the car for mrs. winn and nettie, for which act of thoughtfulness he was rewarded by a grateful smile and hearty thanks. he wondered somewhat at the several men who every now and then came into the car and exchanged a few words in low tone with his other train acquaintance, and also wondered that the gentleman should leave the car and walk towards the forward end of the train every time it stopped at a station. glen was so tired that he had his berth made up and turned in very early; but for a long time found himself unable to sleep, so busy were his thoughts. at length, however, he fell into a sound, dreamless slumber, that lasted for hours, though he knew nothing of the passage of time. he was suddenly awakened by a loud noise, and found himself sitting bolt upright in his berth, listening, bewildered and half frightened, to a confused sound of pistol-shots, shouts, and screams. the train was motionless. the screams were evidently those of fright, and came from the car he was in, while the other and more terrifying sounds reached his ears from some distance. chapter viii. glen runs a locomotive. springing from his berth, glen began hastily to put on his shoes and the few articles of clothing he had laid aside. several other passengers were doing the same thing, and each was asking the others what had happened; but nobody knew. all the alarming sounds had now ceased, even the women who had screamed being quiet, in the hope of discovering the cause of their terror. glen was the first to leave the car, and, seeing a confused movement of lanterns at the forward end of the train, he began to run in that direction. it was still dark, though there were signs of dawn in the sky. the train was not stopped at a station, but in a thick woods. as the boy reached the baggage-car, he was horrified to see that several men were lifting a limp and apparently lifeless body into it. the sight made him feel sick and faint. he stood for a moment irresolute. then, two men, one of whom carried a lantern, came rapidly towards him. "here he is, now!" exclaimed one of them, as the light from the lantern fell on the boy's face. glen recognized the voice. it was that of his recent acquaintance. now he was coatless and bare-headed. in his hand was a colt's revolver. the other man was the conductor of the train. "this gentleman says you can run a locomotive. is that so?" asked the conductor, holding up his lantern and scanning glen's face keenly. "yes," answered the boy, "i can." "well, it looks like taking an awful risk to trust a boy as young as you; but i don't know what else we can do. our engineer has just been killed, and the fireman is badly wounded. two more men are hurt, and we've got to get them to a doctor as quick as we can. it's fifty miles to kansas city, and there's only one telegraph station between here and there. it's ten miles ahead. we'll stop there, and send a despatch. will you undertake to run us in?" "let me look at the engine first, and then i'll tell you," answered glen, his voice trembling with excitement in spite of his efforts to appear calm. the three went to the panting locomotive and swung themselves up into its cab. glen shuddered as he thought of the tragedy just enacted in that cab, and almost drew back as he entered it. then, controlling himself by a determined effort, he gauged the water, tested the steam, threw the lever over and back, opened the furnace door, glanced at the amount of fuel in the tender, and did it all with such a business-like air and appearance of knowing what he was about as to inspire both the men, who were watching him closely, with confidence. "yes," he said at length, "i'll take her in; but we shall need some more water." "good for you, son!" cried the conductor. "you're a trump! and i for one believe you'll do it." "so do i," said the passenger; "and i'm thankful we've got such a plucky young engine-driver along." "but who will fire?" asked glen, hardly hearing these remarks, though, at the same time, sufficiently conscious of them to feel gratified that he had inspired such confidence. "i will," replied the passenger, promptly. "you, general!" cried the conductor in astonishment. "certainly! why not i as well as another?" "very well," responded the conductor, "i'm only too glad to have you do it, if you will; then let us be off at once." and, springing to the ground, he shouted, "all aboard! hurry up, gentlemen, we are about to move on." but glen would not start until he had taken a flaring torch and the engine-driver's long-nosed oil-can, and walked all around the locomotive, examining every part of the huge machine, pouring on a little oil here and there, and making sure that everything was in perfect working order. then he again swung himself into the cab, pulled the whistle lever for one short, sharp blast, opened the throttle slowly, and the train was once more in motion. it had hardly gone a hundred yards before two rifle-shots rang out of the forest, and one ball crashed through both windows of the cab, but without harming its occupants. glen started; but his hand did not leave the throttle, nor did his gaze swerve for an instant from the line of gleaming track ahead. he had no time then to think of his own safety. he was too busy thinking of the safety of those so suddenly and unexpectedly intrusted to him. the new fireman glanced at him admiringly, and murmured to himself, "that boy is made of clear grit. i would that i had a son like him." this man, who was heaving great chunks of wood into the roaring furnace with the strength and ease of a trained athlete, formed no unpleasant picture to look upon himself. he was tall and straight, with a keen, resolute face, an iron-gray, military moustache, and close-cropped hair. he looked not only like a soldier, but like one well accustomed to command. at the same time he obeyed promptly, and without question, every order issued by the young engine-driver on the opposite side of the cab. as the train dashed along at full speed there was no chance for conversation between the two, even had they felt inclined for it. both were too fully engaged in peering ahead along the unfamiliar line of track to pay attention to aught else. presently the conductor clambered over the tender from the baggage-car, and stood in the cab with them, to post glen as to the grades and crossings. it lacked a few seconds of fifteen minutes from the time of their starting, when they slowed down for the telegraph-station, the lights of which were twinkling just ahead. here, while the conductor roused the operator, and sent his despatch, the locomotive was run up to the tank, and a fresh supply of water was taken aboard. then they were off again--this time for a run of forty miles without a stop or check. daylight was coming on so rapidly now that the track was plainly visible by it, and thus one source of anxiety was removed. up to this time glen had no idea of what had happened, nor of the cause of the shooting that had resulted so disastrously. now, though he did not turn his head, he learned, from the conversation between the conductor and his fireman, whom the former called "general," that an attempt had been made to rob the train of a large sum of money that the latter had placed in a safe in the express-car. he had received secret information that such an attempt would probably be made, and had engaged two detectives in st. louis to guard his treasure. when the train was stopped in the woods by a danger signal waved across the track, the engine-driver had been ordered by the would-be robbers, who had cut the express-car loose from those behind it, to go ahead. his refusal to obey them had cost him his life, and the fireman an ugly wound. the general, who left the sleeper, and ran ahead at the first alarm, had shot and severely injured two of the robbers, and with the aid of his men had driven the rest to the shelter of the forest after a few minutes sharp fighting. the three wounded men, together with the body of the dead engine-driver, were now in the baggage-car; while the train-load of passengers, thanks to the practical knowledge of a sixteen-year-old boy, and the pluck that enabled him to utilize it, were rapidly nearing their journey's end in safety. an anxious crowd was gathered about the kansas city station as the train rolled slowly up to its platform. the general wrung glen's hand warmly as he said, "god bless you, boy, for what you have just done. i will see you again in a few minutes. now i must look after the wounded men." thus saying, he sprang to the platform, leaving glen in the cab of the locomotive; but when he returned, fifteen minutes later, the boy had disappeared, and was nowhere to be found. chapter ix. kansas city in early days. the reason that glen eddy disappeared after running that engine so splendidly, and bringing the night express safely to its destination, was that he was diffident and nervous. now that the strain was relaxed and he had time to think of the terrible risks run by that train while under his inexperienced guidance, he was seized with a sudden fright. queerly enough, he felt almost guilty, as though he had done something wrong, or to be ashamed of. suppose somebody should try to thank him. suppose the crowd, now surging about the door of the baggage-car, should turn their attention to him, and come to gaze at him as a part of the show that had attracted them. what should he do in either case? it would be unbearable. he must make good his escape before either of these things happened. the wounded men were being carefully lifted from one side of the baggage-car. everybody's attention was for the moment directed to that spot. so glen slipped down from the locomotive cab on the opposite side, and ran back to the sleeper in which were his belongings. the car was deserted and empty. its passengers, and everybody connected with it, had either gone up town or joined the curious throng about the baggage-car. thus nobody saw the boy, as, securing his valise and rifle, he slipped from the rear end of the car and walked rapidly away. he plunged into one of the tunnel-like streets running back from the railroad, not knowing, nor caring, where it would lead him. his only idea was to escape, he did not even know from what. it had so taken possession of him, that he almost felt as though he were being pursued, with the danger, at any moment, of being overtaken, and dragged ignominiously back to be--thanked and made a hero of. kansas city, which has since enjoyed such an astonishing growth and prosperity, was at that time very young. it was still burrowing through the high and steep bank of stiff red clay that separated its river front from the main street of the newer portion perched on the bluff. several cross streets, connecting these two parts of the city, had been dug out with infinite labor, to a great depth through the red clay, and it was up one of these that glen now walked. he was so far below the level of the airy building-lots on either side that he could not see whether they were occupied or not. only an occasional long flight of wooden steps, leading up from the street, led him to suppose they might be. he was beginning to wonder where the city was, or if there were any more of it beyond the straggling business street that bordered the railroad, when he came to the main thoroughfare of the new town, and gazed about him with amazement. although it was yet so early that the sun had only just risen, the broad avenue presented a scene of the most lively activity. in brimfield the erection of a new house, or building of any kind, was a matter of general interest that afforded a topic of conversation for weeks. here were dozens, yes, scores of them, springing up in every direction. a few were of brick; but most of those intended for business purposes were long and low, though furnished with pretentious false fronts that towered as high again as the roof itself. everywhere was heard the din of hammer and saw, or the ring of the mason's trowel, and in every direction glen could see the city growing, spreading, and assuming new aspects as he gazed. at length a pang of hunger recalled him to his present situation, and he inquired of a man, who was hurrying past, the way to the kaw house. "up there a piece," answered the man almost without pausing, and pointing vaguely up the street. "there comes the surveyor's wagon from there now," he added, nodding his head towards one, drawn by two mules, that was dashing in their direction at that moment. the surveyor's wagon. then, perhaps, mr. brackett was in it, thought glen. acting on the impulse of the moment, he sprang into the middle of the street, and waved his rifle in the faces of the advancing mules. the driver reined them in sharply, and the team came to a standstill. "hello, young fellow, what do you want now?" he shouted. "i want to know if mr. brackett is in this wagon," answered glen. "yes, he is, and that's my name," said a pleasant-faced young man, dressed in a red-flannel shirt, a pair of army trousers tucked into his boot-legs, and what had once been a stylish cutaway coat, who sat beside the driver. "what can i do for you?" for answer glen handed him mr. hobart's note, which the young man glanced quickly through. "i see by this that you are to be a member of our party," he said, as he finished reading it, "and that the chief will not be here for a day or two yet. i am very glad to make your acquaintance, mr. matherson. boys, this is mr. glen matherson, our new--well, we will see what position he will occupy later. now, matherson, we are off for our day's work. would you rather accompany us into the thick of the fray, or will you wend your weary way to the hotel, and while away the hours until our return, surrounded by its gloomy grandeur?" "i think i would rather go with you, sir," replied glen, who did not know whether to laugh or not at mr. brackett's words and tone. "'tis well, and go with us you shall. so tumble into the chariot, and stow yourself away wherever you can find room. then let us on with speed." "but i left mr. hobart's things and some of my own on board the train," said glen, hesitatingly, "and here are the checks for them." this difficulty was settled by the hailing of a dray, and instructing its driver to get the articles called for by the checks, and carry them, together with glen's valise, to the hotel. the boy could not bear to trust his precious rifle out of his sight, and so carried it with him. they had hardly started, when mr. brackett turned to glen and asked him if he had been to breakfast. this was a question in which the boy was greatly interested just at that moment, and he answered very promptly that he had not. "well, here's a go!" exclaimed the other. "a rule of this party is, matherson, and i hope i shall never be obliged to repeat it to you, that if a man hath not eaten, neither shall he work. it is now too late to return to delmonico's, so we must intrust you to the tender mercies of the princess, and may she have mercy upon your appetite. joe, drive to the palace." the "palace" proved to be a patchwork shanty of the most unique and surprising description. it was constructed of bits of board, pieces of boxes and barrels, stray shingles and clapboards, roofing-paper, and a variety of other odds and ends. its doors and windows had evidently been taken from some wrecked steamboat. it was overrun with roses and honeysuckles; while within and without it was scrupulously neat and clean. as the surveyor's wagon with its noisy load drew up before this queer establishment, its mistress appeared at the door. she was a fat, jolly-looking negress, wearing a gay calico dress, and a still more brilliant turban, and she was immediately greeted with shouts of "how are you, princess?" "good-morning, princess!" "how's her royal nibs to-day?" etc., to all of which she smiled and bowed, and courtesied with the utmost good-nature. the moment he could make himself heard, mr. brackett said, "princess, we have here a fainting wayfarer. can you provide him with a cup of nectar?" "yes, sah." "a dish of peacock's tongues?" "sartin, sah." "and a brace of nightingale's eggs on toast?" "in about free minutes, sah." "very well, hasten the feast and speed our departure; for we must hence, ere many nimble hours be flown." while waiting for his breakfast to be prepared, glen had a chance to examine his new companions somewhat more closely than he had yet done. there were eight of them, besides the driver of the wagon, mostly young men, some of them hardly more than boys; but all strong, healthy looking, and brown from long exposure to sun and wind. their dress was a medley of flannel, buckskin, and relics of high civilization. they were as merry, careless, and good-natured a set of young fellows as could well be found, always ready for hard work in its time, and equally so for a frolic when the chance offered. they all seemed to be on a perfect equality, called each other by their given names, and played practical jokes upon one another with impunity. as their wagon clattered out of town in the morning, or dashed in again at dusk, its occupants generally sang the most rollicking of college or camp songs, at the top of their voices, and everybody had a kindly word or an indulgent smile for the young surveyors. foremost in all their fun was their temporary chief, whom glen only knew as mr. brackett, but who was called "billy" by all the others. he was about twenty-five years old, and his position was that of transit-man; though, until mr. hobart should join the party, he was in charge of it. to glen, who had thus far only seen him off duty, it was incomprehensible that so frivolous a young man as "billy" brackett appeared should hold so responsible a position. the party had recently returned from the front, where they had been locating a line of new road since earliest spring. now, while waiting to be sent out again, they were engaged in running in the side tracks, y's, and switches of what has since become one of the greatest railroad yards in the world. it was on the state line, between kansas and missouri, about an hour's drive from the kaw house, where the surveyors made their headquarters. in less than five minutes glen found himself drinking the most delicious cup of coffee he had ever tasted; while into his hands were thrust a couple of sandwiches of hot corn-pones and crisp bacon. these, with two hard-boiled eggs, furnished a most acceptable meal to the hungry-boy. mr. brackett tossed a quarter to the "princess," and the wagon rolled merrily away with glen eating his breakfast, as best he could, _en route_. chapter x. at work with the engineer corps. the "princess" was a character of those early days, and was celebrated for her _café au lait_, which "billy" brackett said meant "coffee and eggs;" but which was really the best of coffee and the richest of goat's milk. her husband was steward on one of the steamboats that plied up and down the missouri, and her exertions, added to his, enabled them to accumulate a small property, with which they afterwards made some successful investments in real estate. the boys of the engineer corps were quick to discover the "princess" after their arrival in the place, and with her they were prime favorites. glen had hardly finished his breakfast when the party reached the place where they were to begin work. here the boy obtained his first knowledge of the names and uses of the various objects that had attracted his curiosity as they lay in the bottom of the wagon. from their neat wooden boxes were taken two highly polished brass instruments, each of which was provided with a telescope. one of these was a transit, for laying off lines, angles, and curves on the surface of the earth; and the other was a level for measuring the height of elevations or the depth of depressions on this same surface. as these instruments were lifted carefully from their boxes they were screwed firmly to the tops of wooden tripods, that supported them at the height of a man's eyes. then came the long rod, divided into feet and the decimal fractions of a foot, that was to be used with the level, and two slender flag-poles painted red and white, so as to be seen at long distances. at their lower ends these poles were tipped with sharp iron points, and at the other they bore small flags of red flannel. they went with the transit, and were to designate the points at which the sights were to be taken through its telescope. there was a one-hundred-foot steel chain, having links each one foot long, with which to measure distances. with it went ten slender steel pins, each eighteen inches long, to the tops of which bits of red flannel were tied, so that they could be readily seen. the head chainman carried all of these to start with, and stuck one into the ground at the end of each hundred feet. the rear chainman gathered them up as he came to them, and thus, by counting the number of pins in his hand, he always knew just what distance had been measured. the man having charge of or "running" the transit was called the transit-man; the one running the level was called the leveller; while the other members of the party were designated as rodman, front and back flagmen, or "flags," chainmen, and axemen. there were generally two of these last named, and their duty was to clear away timber, brush, or other obstructions on the line, and to make and drive stakes wherever they were needed. as the several members of the party were preparing for their respective duties, mr. brackett put glen through a sort of an examination, to discover for what particular task he was best fitted. "i don't suppose, matherson," he began, "that you care to run the transit to-day?" "no," laughed glen, "i think not to-day." "nor the level?" "no, sir. i'd rather not try it." "well, i guess you'd better not. you might get it out of adjustment. can you read a rod!" no, glen could not read a rod. he proved equally ignorant of the duties of flagman, chainman, and axeman, which mr. brackett said was very fortunate, as all these positions were already so capably filled in his party that he should really hate to discharge anybody to make room for the new arrival. "but," he added, "i have a most important place left, that i believe you will fill capitally. can you reproduce the letters of the alphabet and the arabic numerals on a bit of white pine with a piece of red chalk?" somewhat bewildered by this banter, glen answered rather doubtfully that he believed he could. "good! then you shall stay with the wagon to-day, and mark stakes with this bit of 'kiel'" (red chalk). so glen's first day's duty as a civil-engineer was to mark stakes with figures to denote the distance measured, or with various letters, such as p. t. (point of tangent), p. c. (point of curve), etc., for the transit party, and b. m. (bench mark), c. (cut), f. (fill), g. (grade), etc., for the levellers. mr. brackett explained the meaning of these signs patiently and clearly to the boy, whose quick wit enabled him readily to comprehend all that was told him. by noon he was furnishing stakes, properly marked, for the various purposes required, as well as though he had been engaged in this business for a month. it was not a very important position, to be sure; but he filled it to the very best of his ability, which is the most that can be expected of any boy. one of the things by which the new member was most strongly impressed, during this first day's experience, was the great difference between mr. brackett on duty and the same gentleman during his hours of relaxation. while at work he was grave and dignified, nor did he tolerate any familiarity from those who obeyed his orders. and they did obey them promptly, without question or hesitation. he was no longer "billy;" but was carefully addressed as "mr. brackett" by every member of the party. it was evident that he not only thoroughly understood his business, but as thoroughly understood the temper of his men. it was clear, also, that they were well aware that he was not a man to allow his authority to be questioned or trifled with. with this mutual understanding the work progressed smoothly and satisfactorily. all this was a study in character of which glen was wise enough to learn the lesson; and perhaps it was the most valuable one of that day's schooling. the discipline of a well-drilled engineer corps is very similar to that maintained on board ship; and, while at certain seasons it may be greatly relaxed, it can, and must, be resumed at a moment's notice, if the authority necessary to produce the best results is to be respected. the same merry, rollicking party rode back into kansas city that evening that had left it in the morning; and, though glen was very tired, he had become well enough acquainted with them to enter heartily into the spirit of the fun. thus, whenever they sang a song he knew, his voice was heard among the loudest. at the hotel they learned for the first time of the attempt to rob the train glen had come on, and wondered that he had said nothing of the affair. when they questioned him, he did not know how to talk of it without proclaiming his share in the night's work, and so only said that, as he was asleep when the fight took place, he had seen nothing of it. long after glen had gone to bed that night, mr. brackett, the leveller, and the rodman sat up hard at work on the maps and profiles of the lines they had run that day. if glen had seen this he would have realized what he afterwards learned, that while the work of most men ends with the day, that of an engineer in the field only ends with bedtime, and sometimes a late one at that. for two days longer glen worked with this congenial party, gaining valuable knowledge with each hour, and thoroughly enjoying his new life. on the third day mr. hobart came, and it seemed to glen like seeing one from home to meet him again. after their first greeting, the engineer said, "well, my boy, what other wonderful deeds have you been performing since you and the governor ran the locomotive?" "the governor!" almost gasped glen. "was he a governor?" "certainly he was, or rather had been. didn't you know it? he was general elting, the ex-governor whom you were inquiring about in st. louis, and who is now the treasurer of our road. he returned to st. louis almost immediately from here, and there i heard the whole story from his own lips. he was greatly disappointed at your disappearance, and much pleased to find out that i knew you; for of course i recognized you from his description. he hopes to meet you again some time, and i have promised to see that you do not indulge in any more mysterious disappearances." while they talked of that night, and its tragic incidents, mr. hobart suddenly interrupted himself with, "by the way, glen, i am not going to take charge of this locating-party, after all, and so cannot give you a position in it." glen felt his face growing pale as he repeated slowly and incredulously, "not going to take charge of it?' "no; i have been relieved of my command, and am going to engage in another kind of work," replied the engineer, smiling at the boy's startled and distressed expression. chapter xi. almost too good to be true. if glen had detected that smile on mr. hobart's face, he would have been spared a few moments of very unhappy reflections. he would have known that his brown-bearded friend could not smile while dashing his high hopes, and that there must be something pleasant back of it all. but as the engineer, who could not resist the temptation to try the effects of a disappointment on the boy's temper, turned away his face at that moment, his words were heard, while the smile was not noticed. like a great surging wave, the thought of an ignominious return to brimfield, and a picture of the mill and the store as he had last seen them, swept over the boy's mind. then came the more recent picture of the happy out-of-door life he had been leading for the past three days. how could he give up the one and go back to the other? of course, if mr. hobart said he could no longer have work with the surveying-party, it must be so. there could be no appeal from that decision. and he had tried so hard to do well whatever had been given him to do, and to make himself useful! it was too bad! but surely there must be other work in this big, bustling, wide-awake west, even for a boy. with this thought his clouded face cleared, and a look of settled resolve overspread it. "i'm awfully sorry, sir," he said; but the tone was almost cheerful, and mr. hobart's face was now the one that expressed surprise. if he had been able to examine glen's mind, he would have seen that the boy had simply decided not to go back, at least not until the summer was over, but to stay where he was, and attempt to solve the bread-and-butter problem alone. "my new orders came very unexpectedly," continued the engineer, "and have completely upset my plans. it seems that the company has decided to send me through to the pacific with general lyle's exploring expedition." a lump rose in glen's throat. general lyle's expedition! why, that was the one binney gibbs was to accompany. was all the world going on that wonderful trip except himself? it almost seemed so. "it will be a fine trip, sir," he said, trying to choke down the lump. "yes, i suppose it will; but it will also be a hard and dangerous one, such as a great many people would not care to undertake. i don't suppose you would, for instance?" and mr. hobart looked quizzically at the boy. "wouldn't i! i'd just like to have somebody offer me a chance to go on that expedition, that's all!" "very well," replied the engineer, quietly, "i'll offer you the chance, just to see whether you will accept it or not. will you go with me on this long trip?" for a few seconds glen gazed into the brown-bearded face without answering. was he awake or dreaming? had the words been spoken? "do you really mean it, sir?" he almost gasped, at length, "or are you only making fun of me!" "mean it? of course i do," was the reply. "i generally mean what i say, and if you really care to explore kansas and colorado, new mexico, arizona, and southern california in my company, i shall be most happy to have you do so. i am also authorized to offer you a position, a humble one, to be sure, but one that will pay the same salary that you would have received as a member of the locating-party, in the division i am to command. i don't suppose there will be many chances for you to run locomotives out there; but i have no doubt there will be plenty of swimming to be done, as well as other things in the line of your peculiar abilities. but you have not answered my question yet. will you accept my offer, or do you wish a few days in which to consider it?" "oh, mr. hobart!" cried the boy, who was standing up in his excitement. "it seems almost too good to be true! i can't realize that this splendid chance, that i've been trying so hard not to think about, has really come to me. why, i'd rather go on that trip than do anything else in the whole world, and if you'll only take me along, in any position, i don't care what, i'll be grateful to you all my life." "but what do you think your father will say? do you suppose he will let you go?" inquired the engineer, soberly. glen's face became grave again in an instant. "oh, yes, he's sure to," he replied, "but i'll write this very minute, and ask him. "there won't be time to receive an answer," said mr. hobart, "for we must start from here to-morrow; but perhaps this letter will make things all right. you see," he added, "i thought it was just possible that you might care to accept my offer, and so i took the liberty of writing and asking your father if he were willing to have you do so. i also asked him not to say anything about it in brimfield until after we had started, for fear i should be flooded with applications from other boys, who might imagine i had the power to give them positions. your father's answer reached me here an hour ago, and with it came this letter for you." no own father could have written a kinder or more satisfactory letter to a boy than the one mr. matherson sent to his adopted son. it readily granted the required permission, and congratulated glen upon the splendid opportunity thus opened to him. at the same time it told him how they already missed him, and how they hated the thought of not seeing him for a whole year. it closed with the information that binney gibbs was making extensive preparations for his departure to the far west, and that the famous expedition, of which he was to be a member, was the all-absorbing topic of conversation in brimfield. mr. hobart watched the boy's glowing face as he read this letter with genuine pleasure; for he had taken a real liking to him, and was not only glad of this opportunity for affording him such unalloyed happiness, but also that they were to be companions on the proposed trip. matters being thus happily settled, the engineer told glen that they would start the following evening for the end of the track, nearly two hundred miles west of that point, where the expedition was to rendezvous, and where he was to establish a camp for their reception. the information that interested and pleased glen the most, though, was that mr. brackett was to be assistant engineer of the new division, and that most of the members of the party with whom the boy was already on such friendly terms, were also to join it. being dismissed by mr. hobart, with orders to be on hand bright and early in the morning, for the morrow would be a busy day, the happy lad rushed away to find those who were to be his fellow-explorers, and talk over with them the wonders and delights of the proposed trip. to his surprise not one of them was anywhere about the hotel, and he was told that the entire party had gone down town a few moments before. too excited to do anything else, glen immediately set out to find them. for some time he searched in vain; but at length, attracted by the sound of great shouting and laughter, he joined a throng of people who were gathered about one of the few barber shops of the city, and seemed to be vastly entertained by something taking place inside. recognizing "billy" brackett's voice above all the other sounds that came from the shop, glen pushed himself forward until he finally gained a position inside the door. all the engineers were there. three of them occupied the three chairs that the shop boasted, and were having their hair cut. another, standing on a table, so that he could overlook the crowd, was superintending the operation. but for his voice and his unmistakable costume, glen would never have recognized in him the dignified young engineer under whom he had been at work but an hour before. every spear of hair had disappeared from his head, and he was as bald as a billiard cue. seated on the table, contentedly swinging their legs, were two other bald-headed figures, whom glen with difficulty recognized as the leveller and rodman. when the three victims in the chairs had been reduced to a similar state of baldness, their places were instantly occupied by the remaining members of the party. the whole performance was conducted amid the most uproarious fun, of which the recently promoted assistant engineer was the ruling spirit. as the chairs became empty for the third time, and the nine bald-headed members prepared to depart, each declaring that the others were the most comical-looking objects he had ever seen, they suddenly caught sight of glen, and a rush was made for him. in another moment, despite his struggles, he too was seated in a barber's chair, and was rapidly growing as bald as his fellow-explorers. "you'll look worse than a boiled owl, glen," remarked "billy" brackett, encouragingly. "and be a living terror to injuns," cried another. "it'll be the greatest comfort in the world, old man, to feel that though you may be killed, you can't be scalped," shouted a third. realizing that resistance was useless, glen submitted to the shearing process with as good a grace as possible. a few minutes later, wearing a very loose-fitting hat, he was marching up the street with his jovial comrades, joining with the full strength of his lungs in the popular chorus of "the bald-headed man, who's been always in the van of everything that's going, since the world first began." chapter xii. starting across the plains. transforming themselves into a party of bald-heads was the last of the absurd pranks with which the young engineers entertained the good people of kansas city for many a long day. at the same hour on the following evening they were well on their way towards the far west in a dilapidated passenger-coach attached to a freight train loaded with tents and supplies of every description for their long trip. by the next noon, after a hard, rough ride of nearly two hundred miles, the end of the track was reached. it was on a treeless prairie, sweeping away as far as the eye could see on all sides. here was spread a thick green carpet of short buffalo grass, and into this carpet were woven exquisite patterns of innumerable flowers. the place was at the junction of the kaw river with one of its numerous branches, and where but a few weeks before wild indians had camped and vast herds of buffalo had pastured, a railroad town of several hundred rough frame houses, shanties, and tents had already sprung into existence. here the overland stages took their departure for the distant mining town of denver, and here the long trains of great freight-wagons were loaded for their toilsome journey over the santa fé trail to the far-away valley of the rio grande. here, on side-tracks, were the construction-cars, movable houses on wheels, in which lived the graders, track-layers, and other members of the army of workmen employed in the building of a railroad. railroad men, soldiers, teamsters, traders, indians, and mexicans, horses, mules, and oxen mingled here in picturesque confusion. nearly every man carried a rifle, and it was rare to meet one who did not wear one or more revolvers strapped to his waist. it was by far the most novel and bustling scene glen had ever looked upon; and, as he stepped from the last railroad-car he was to see for many months, and stretched his cramped limbs, he gazed about him in astonishment. but there was no time for idling, and glen had hardly given a glance at his unfamiliar surroundings before mr. hobart's voice, saying, "come, boys, there's plenty to do, and but a few hours to do it in," set the whole party to work in the liveliest possible manner. there was a fine grassy level about a hundred yards from the railroad, on the opposite side from the settlement. it was skirted by a clear but sluggish stream, fringed by a slender growth of cottonwood-trees, and was so evidently the very place for a camp that mr. hobart selected it at once. here the young engineers worked like beavers all through that long, hot afternoon, and by nightfall they had pitched twenty wall-tents, arranged in the form of an open square. one of these was reserved for mr. hobart, while mr. brackett and the leveller were given another, and two more were allowed to the other members of the party. into these they had removed all their personal belongings, while in two other tents, carefully ditched and banked to keep out the water in case of rain, were stored all the instruments, implements, blank-books, and stationery provided for the expedition. heartily tired after this novel but interesting labor, how glen did enjoy his tin-cup of black coffee without milk, the fried bacon and hard-tack, that constituted his supper, when, at sundown, one of the axemen, who had been at work for an hour over a fire, announced that it was ready! he would have scorned such fare at home; but, with his present appetite, and under the circumstances, it seemed as though nothing had ever tasted better. as the darkness came on, how cheerful the tent, that had now become his home, looked in the light of a lantern hung from its ridge-pole! what a pleasant hour he passed listening to the stories and experiences of his three tentmates, as they lay luxuriously outstretched on their blankets, enjoying their well-earned rest! the entire stock of blankets was used to make one wide, comfortable bed for the four. all the rubbers were, of course, placed underneath, next the ground, and glen was greatly pleased at the praise bestowed upon his rubber-sheet, which was twice as large as an ordinary blanket, and which he had followed mr. hobart's advice in procuring. after the others had finished their evening pipes and dropped off to sleep, and after the light had been put out, the novelty of this first night under canvas kept glen awake for some time. what a fortunate fellow he felt himself to be, as he lay there recalling the events of the last ten days, and trying to picture the immediate future! to think that he, the worst scholar in his class, a boy without an own father or mother, so far as he knew, nor even a birthday that he was sure of, should be away out here on the plains, and about to start on an expedition that every boy in the country would be thankful to join if he could. it was simply wonderful; and he resolved that, if hard work and the promptest possible attention to duty could render him worthy of such good-fortune, neither of these things should be lacking. by daylight the camp was astir; but glen was the first to roll out of his blankets, and he had been down to the creek for a plunge in its cool waters before breakfast-time. then followed another hard day's work. the train of twenty heavy canvas-topped army-wagons, each drawn by six mules, the three four-mule ambulances, and the drove of spare animals furnished to the expedition by the government, arrived during the morning. these wagons had to be loaded with the vast quantity of provisions and various supplies brought thus far by rail. then the tents already up had to be ditched, and still others erected for the use of the engineer-in-chief and other officers of the party who were now hourly expected to arrive. a flag-pole was planted in front of the headquarter tents, and that evening, when a train came in bringing general lyle and about half the members of the expedition, an american flag was run to its top. both it and the general were greeted with a volley of rifle-shots and a hearty cheer, while at the same time the encampment was christened "camp lyle." glen's youthful appearance attracted the chief's attention as soon as he caught sight of the lad, and he was inclined to doubt the advisability of allowing such a mere boy to accompany the expedition. a few words from mr. hobart satisfied him, however, that glen would prove a credit to the party, and after that the general watched the boy with interest. with the chief-engineer came a geologist, botanist, surgeon, photographer, private secretary, quartermaster, the two other division commanders, and, what was of more immediate interest to all the young engineers, several good camp-cooks. thus, on the second night of its existence, with this large increase in the number of its occupants, camp lyle presented a most cheerful and animated appearance. early the following morning another train arrived from the east, bringing the remaining members of the expedition. a few minutes after its arrival glen was awakened by hearing a voice that sounded very familiar, calling, "hello! i say! some of you fellows come out here and help me!" as he sat up in his blankets, wondering who could be speaking with such a tone of authority, and whether he ought to answer the summons or not, a head was thrust into the tent-door, and the demand was repeated. it was binney gibbs, who had passed as completely out of glen's mind as though he had never existed. he did not recognize glen's bald head; but, when the latter stepped from the tent with his hat on, saying, "hello, binney, old man, what can i do for you?" the prize scholar of the brimfield high school stood for a moment speechless with amazement. "you here?" he finally stammered. "what on earth does it mean?" "it means," replied glen, laughing at the other's incredulous expression, "that brimfield is to have two representatives on this expedition instead of one, and that i am going through to the pacific with you." binney had always been jealous of glen, but at that moment he felt that he almost hated him. in spite of this, he allowed his former schoolmate and another stout fellow to bring his heavy trunk from the railroad into camp. when the quartermaster saw it he said that, as there would be no room for trunks in the wagons, the owner of this one must take from it what would fill a moderate-sized valise, and either dispose of the trunk with the rest of its contents or send them back home. to this binney angrily replied that he would see general lyle about it. the new arrival gave further offence that morning by turning up his nose at the breakfast prepared by one of the camp-cooks, and declaring it unfit for white men to eat. he also refused, point-blank, to help unload a car when requested to do so by one of the division engineers, saying that it was not the kind of work he had been engaged to perform. he was only brought to a realizing sense of his position by a severe reprimand from general lyle himself, who declared that, upon the next complaint brought to him of the boy's conduct, he should discharge him. he also said that only the fact of binney's having been sent there by his old friend mr. meadows prevented him from doing so at once. the chief closed his remarks by advising binney to take the other brimfield boy of the party as an example worthy of copying. thereupon all the prize scholar's bitterness of feeling was directed against unsuspecting glen, and he vowed he would get even with that young nobody yet. chapter xiii. binney gibbs and his mule. the effect on binney gibbs of general lyle's reprimand was good, inasmuch as it brought him to a realizing sense of his true position in that party, and showed him that, if he wished to remain a member of it, he must obey orders, even when they were issued in the form of polite requests. so, after that, he made a virtue of necessity, and obeyed every order with a scrupulous exactness, though generally with an injured air, and a protesting expression of countenance as though he were being imposed upon. it was a great mortification to him to be obliged to send home his trunk, and more than half his supply of clothing, together with a number of other cherished luxuries, such as a rubber bathtub, a cork mattress, a rubber pillow, half a dozen linen sheets, several china plates, cups, and saucers, besides some silver and plated ware, all of which he relinquished with a heavy heart and many lamentations. the only thing in the shape of a valise, with which to replace his trunk, that he could purchase in the railroad settlement, was one of those cheap affairs made of glazed leather, such as are often seen in the hands of newly landed immigrants. as binney brought this into the camp, it at once attracted universal attention. the boys crowded about him, begging to be allowed to examine his new and elegant "grip-sack;" and, from that day forth, he was known as "grip" by the entire party. for a week longer the expedition remained at camp lyle, waiting for settled weather, and preparing for its great undertaking. it was divided into four divisions, three of which were regularly equipped surveying-parties who were to run transit and level lines from a point near the colorado border to the pacific ocean. the fourth, or headquarter division, was composed of the commander and his immediate staff, together with the scientific men and their assistants. as glen hoped and expected, he was assigned to the second division, of which mr. hobart was engineer in charge, and mr. brackett was assistant. he was a little disappointed that the only position found for him in the division was the very lowest of all in rank and pay. it was that of tapeman, and his duties were to assist the topographer of the party in measuring distances to, or taking the bearings of, prominent objects along the line. neither could glen help wishing that binney gibbs had not been assigned to the same division as himself. on account of his brilliant record for scholarship and skill with figures, binney was made rodman, a position that far outranked glen's and commanded twice his pay. still, glen strove hard not to feel envious of this other brimfield boy. he was altogether too proud of being a member of the expedition on any terms to have room for any other feeling, and he was anxious to be on a friendly footing with binney, as he was with everybody else. so, when the positions were announced, and the prize scholar was found to hold such a fine one, glen was the first to tender his congratulations. binney received them coldly, merely remarking that they could not very well have given him any lower position, and that he should not have accepted anything less if it had been offered. glen only smiled at this, and thought how fortunate it was that he did not feel that way. as a rodman binney was allowed the use of a saddle-animal, and a very small mule was assigned to him as his mount. when he went down to the wagons to inspect his new acquisition, he thought he had never seen a more dangerous-looking animal. it laid back its ears and bit at him when he attempted to pat it on the nose, and manifested every other sign of mulish antipathy towards its new master. in spite of all this, the teamster having it in charge assured binney that it was a perfect lamb, and the rodman, anxious to prove his ability to ride a mule, which some of the boys had doubted, ordered the animal to be saddled. the man who held the beast while binney climbed awkwardly into the saddle winked at some of his fellows who were watching the operation, and thrust his tongue derisively into his cheek. for a few moments the mule did prove a veritable lamb, ambling along so gently that binney's spirits rose, and he began to imagine himself the rider that he claimed to be. elated by his success, he even dared to give the bridle reins a shake, say "get up!" and finally to touch the side of his steed with the spur that, in his pride, he had fastened to one of his boot-heels. the effect was electrical. in an instant binney found himself hatless, with both feet out of the stirrups, clinging for dear life to the pommel of the saddle, and wishing himself anywhere but on the back of a mule dashing madly, at full speed, directly into camp. "help! help!" he shouted, breathlessly. "head him off! stop him somebody!" once inside that square of tents, the mule did not seem to realize the possibility of again passing beyond them, but tore frantically round and round the inner side of the square, as though it were a circus-ring. everybody dropped his work and rushed out to witness the comical spectacle. "freeze to him, grip!" cried one. "give him his head!" "what made you leave barnum's?" "stand up on his back!" "don't abuse the poor mule! it's a shame to make him run so!" these, and a hundred similar cries, mingled with shouts of uproarious laughter, greeted poor binney from all sides; while not the slightest attention was paid to his piteous entreaties that somebody would stop the mule. at length these cries seemed to attract the attention of the animal himself; for he suddenly planted his fore-feet and stopped so abruptly that binney was flung over his head as from a catapult. then the mule lifted high his head and uttered a prolonged ear-splitting bray of defiance. glen had sprung forward and caught the animal's bridle almost the instant he stopped. now leading him to where binney sat, dazed but unhurt, he asked, soberly, "do you want to try him again, binney?" "try him again!" shouted the rodman, angrily. "no, i never want to see him again; but if you think he's easy to ride, why don't you try him yourself?" "yes, try him, young 'un! give him another turn around the ring, glen!" shouted the spectators, anxious to have their fun prolonged, but having no idea that this boy from brimfield could ride, any more than the other. glen borrowed a pair of spurs, soothed the mule for a moment, sinched the girth a trifle tighter, and, with a sudden leap, vaulted into the saddle. for an instant the animal remained motionless with astonishment; then he bounded into the air, and came down with all four legs as stiff as posts. the shock would have been terrible to the boy, had he not lifted himself from the saddle and supported his whole weight in the stirrups. the mule repeated this movement several times, and then began to plunge and kick. but the saddle in which glen sat was a deeply hollowed, high-pommelled, mexican affair, built for just such occasions as this, and so the plunging might have been kept up all day without disturbing the rider in the least. the mule laid down and tried to roll, while the boy, who had jumped from his back, stood quietly by, and allowed him to discover the folly of the attempt. the high pommel of the saddle again interfered; and as the disgusted animal scrambled to his feet, he again found his burr-like rider as firmly seated on his back as ever. for a moment the mule hung his head in a dejected manner, as though thinking out some new plan. suddenly his meditations were interrupted by a yell directly in one of his long ears, and a sharp pain felt in both sides at once. he sprang forward to escape these annoyances; but they clung to him as close as did his new rider. faster and faster he flew, while harder and harder spurred glen, and louder grew his yells. all at once the animal stopped, as short as on the former occasion; but this time the rider did not fly over his head. the fact is, the mule was now so thoroughly frightened and bewildered that he had no idea of stopping until his lower jaw was jerked back so sharply that had it belonged to any other kind of an animal it must have been dislocated. even glen had no idea of the power of that cruel mexican bit, and was almost as greatly surprised as the mule at its sudden effect. then came more yelling, more spurring, and more frantic dashing around that tiresome square. at length the mule spied the opening through which he had entered, and, rushing through it, he sped away over the open prairie, thankful to be rid of those bewildering tents and shouting spectators, even though his rider still clung as close as ever to that mexican saddle. when the two returned to camp, half an hour later, it was evident that the most perfect understanding existed between them; but the mule was so crest-fallen by his humiliation that for a long time even binney gibbs could ride and abuse him with impunity. as for glen, his reputation as a horseman was firmly established, and from that day until he got a horse of his own there was always somebody willing and anxious to place a mount at his disposal. chapter xiv. on guard at night. a few mornings after glen's experience with the mule, the white tents of camp lyle were struck; and at sunrise the long slow-moving trains of wagons had covered the first mile of the many hundreds lying between it and the pacific. the last railroad had been left behind, and the sound of its whistle was heard no more. already our young explorer was learning, from his more experienced comrades, to distinguish an indian pony and lodge-pole trail from that of a buffalo, and a buffalo wallow from an ordinary mud-hole. already he had seen his first prairie-dog town, and had gazed curiously at several bleached skulls of the mighty bison, some of which were still partially covered with shaggy hair. already, too, he was filled with that sense of glorious freedom and boundless possibility that can only be breathed with the air of unlimited space. glen was surprised to find that, instead of being level, as he had always thought them, the plains rolled, in vast undulations, having a general north and south direction, so that, as the wagons were moving west, they were always ascending some long slope, or descending its farther side. he was almost startled, too, by the intense silence brooding over them, and unbroken at a short distance from the train, save by the plaintive song of meadow-larks. but nobody was allowed to stray far from the wagons, even to note the silence of the plains, for fear lest it might be broken by very unpleasant sounds. all the "horse indians" of the country were leagued together, that summer, to fight the whites. north of the platte, sioux, blackfeet, and crows had smoked the peace-pipe, and united to harass the builders of the union pacific. south of that river, cheyennes, kiowas, comanches, and arrapahoes were waging common war against those who were turning the buffalo pastures into farms, and making such alarming inroads into the vast herds upon which they depended for meat. the indians were well armed, well mounted, and determined. custer, with the seventh cavalry, was ranging the platte valley, and the country between it and the republican, so that, in that vicinity, indians were becoming scarce. south of that, however, and particularly along the smoky hill, the valley of which general lyle's expedition was ascending, indians had never been more plentiful or troublesome than now. every day brought its rumors of murdered settlers, captured wagon-trains, besieged stage stations, and of the heavily guarded stages themselves turned back, or only reaching their destinations after fierce running fights, riddled with bullets, and bearing sad loads of dead and wounded passengers. along the entire smoky hill route, from the end of the railroad to denver, a distance of four hundred miles, were only three small forts, with garrisons of three or four companies each; and the strength of these garrisons was constantly weakened by the demand for escorts to stages and emigrant trains. thus the exploring expedition was forced to depend largely on its own resources, and must fight its way through as best it could. arms were therefore supplied to all its members who did not possess them, and, from the outset, a strong camp guard was posted each night. at the end of a day's march the wagon-master, or "wagon-boss," who always rode ahead of the train mounted on a sleek saddle mule, would select a camping-ground, generally where wood, water, and grass were to be had, and, turning from the beaten trail, would lead the way to it. where he halted the first wagon also stopped. then he would move on a short distance, and the second wagon would follow him, until it was ordered to wheel into line with the first. when all thus occupied their designated positions, they either formed a semicircle on the bank of the stream, with their poles pointing inward, were arranged in two parallel lines facing each other, or, if the place was very much exposed, they would form a complete circle, with each tongue overlapping the hind-wheels of the wagon before it. the minute the train halted, all the stock was unharnessed or unsaddled, and, under guard of two mounted teamsters, were allowed to graze on the sweet buffalo grass, within sight of camp, until sunset, when they were watered and driven in. then each team was fastened to its own wagon and given its ration of corn. all the saddle animals and spare stock were securely picketed within the line of wagons, thus leaving the smallest possible chance for an indian to get anywhere near them. while the animals were being thus attended to, the men were hard at work pitching tents, getting out blankets and such baggage as might be needed, collecting fuel for the camp-fires, fetching water for the cooks, and, if the location of the camp was considered especially dangerous, in digging rifle-pits in which the guards for the night would be posted. all this work was performed by regular details, changed each day, and announced each morning at breakfast-time. thus, one day glen would find himself on the detail for pitching headquarter tents, and the next answering the cook's imperative demands for water. or, provided with a gunny-sack, he might be scouring the immediate neighborhood for a supply of dry buffalo chips, with which to eke out the scanty stock of fire-wood. he always performed these tasks cheerfully and faithfully; not that he liked them, but because he realized their necessity, and saw that all the others, below the rank of assistant engineer, were obliged to do the same things. binney gibbs, however, considered such duties irksome and demeaning. he thought it very hard that the son of a wealthy man, a prize scholar, and a rodman, such as he was, should be compelled to act as a cook's assistant. to show his contempt for the work he performed it awkwardly and with much grumbling. the cooks were not slow to discover this; and, as a cook is a power in camp as well as elsewhere, they began to make things as unpleasant as possible for him. it was wonderful how much more water was needed when it was his turn to keep them supplied than it was when any one else was on duty. then, too, while glen's willingness and good-nature were rewarded by many a tidbit, slyly slipped into his tin plate, it chanced that binney always got the toughest pieces of meat, the odds and ends of everything, and, whenever he asked for a second helping, was told that there was none of that particular dish left. he tried to retaliate by complaining of the cooks at headquarters; but, as he could prove nothing against them, the only result of this unwise measure was that he got less to eat than ever, and but for a hard-tack barrel that was always open to everybody would have been on a fair way to starvation. another thing binney hated to do was to stand guard. this duty came to each one in turn, every three or four nights, according to the number of sentinels required, and on a night of duty each one was obliged to keep watch "two hours on and four off." that is, if binney or glen went on duty at six o'clock, he would be relieved at eight, and allowed to sleep until midnight, when he would stand guard again at one of the several posts beyond the camp limits, until two. then he might sleep until six, when, if camp was not already broken, he must again go on duty until it was, and the wagon-train was in motion. binney declared this was all nonsense. it was well enough, he said, to talk about indians attacking a small party, or a stage station here and there; but as for bothering a large, well-armed party like this, they simply wouldn't think of doing such a thing. there was as much danger of their attacking fort riley! the idea of waking a fellow up at midnight, and sending him out on the prairie to listen to coyotes and screech-owls for two hours! it was ridiculous! he might as well be enlisted in the army and have done with it! so he growled and grumbled, and tried, in every way possible, to shirk this guard duty, though generally without success. even glen wondered if it were necessary to keep so many men on guard, and if the disagreeable duty did not come oftener than it need. at length, however, something happened to convince these boys that no guard against the wily foes surrounding them could be too strong or too carefully kept. they had been out a week, and were in the heart of the indian country, far beyond the most advanced settlements, when, one evening, camp was pitched on a level bit of valley, bounded on one side by bluffs that separated it from the higher plains. on the other side flowed a creek bordered by a growth of cottonwoods, red willows, and tall, rank grass. beyond the creek rose still other bluffs, forming the eastern boundary of this pleasant valley. from time immemorial the place had been a favorite resort of indians, as was shown by the abandoned wick-i-ups, lodge-poles, and quantities of bleached buffalo bones found in a grove of great cottonwoods a short distance up the stream. there was, however, nothing to indicate that they had occupied the place recently, and so, though the one topic of conversation about the camp-fires at supper-time was indians, it was rather of those belonging to other times and places than to the present. suddenly, from the top of the bluff behind the camp, came half a dozen shots, and the sentinel who had been posted there rushed in, shouting, "indians! indians!" this time the enemy proved to be two overland stages, loaded with mails and troops, who had fought their way through from denver. these had mistaken the sentinel for an indian, and fired at him, while he, thinking from this that they certainly must be indians, had fired back. late that same night the camp was again alarmed by a shot from one of its sentries. everybody sprang from his tent, rifle in hand, and for a few minutes the excitement was intense. it was succeeded by a feeling of deep disgust when it was discovered that sentry binney gibbs had fired at a coyote that the light of the newly risen moon had disclosed prowling about the camp. when, therefore, at two o'clock in the morning, glen went on duty, and was stationed on the edge of the slope leading down to the stream, mr. brackett, who was officer of the guard, charged him not to fire at anything unless he was absolutely sure it was an indian. glen answered that he certainly would not give an alarm without good cause for so doing; and mr. brackett, promising to visit him again at the end of an hour, went softly away to inspect the next post on his round. when, at the end of an hour, the officer of the guard returned to the post where he had left glen, the boy was not to be found. in vain did mr. brackett call his name, at first in low tones, and then louder. in vain did he question the other sentries. they had neither seen nor heard anything more suspicious than an occasional coyote. in vain was the whole camp aroused and a search made through its tents and wagons. not a trace of the boy, who was so universally liked, was to be found. he had disappeared as absolutely, so far as they were concerned, as though the earth had opened and swallowed him. chapter xv. the suspicious movements of certain coyotes. when glen was left lying on the ground, with his rifle beside him, peering into the black shadows of the undergrowth, he certainly did not anticipate seeing any thing more dangerous to his own safety, or that of the sleeping camp, than coyotes, and he had already learned what cowardly beasts they were. how absurd it was of binney gibbs to fire at one. he might have known what it was. no wonder the fellows were provoked. he would like to know as much as binney did about some things; but he should hate to be as silly as he in others. how many coyotes there were to-night anyhow. he had already heard their short, sharp barks, and long dismal howls from the bluffs behind him, and from those on the opposite side of the stream. now another of the weird sounds came floating down on the damp night air from the direction of the old indian camping-ground. perhaps that fellow was howling because he couldn't find any meat on those bleached buffalo bones. well, no wonder. glen thought he would be inclined to howl, too, over such a disappointment as that. it was not absolutely dark; for, though the moon was in its last quarter, it gave considerable light when the clouds would let it; but they were scurrying across the sky at such a rate that they kept it hidden most of the time. as glen was facing the east, it lighted the spot where he lay whenever it was allowed to light any thing, and made the darkness of the underbrush, at which he gazed, blacker than ever. it was forlorn and lonely enough without the moonlight; but glen thought that perhaps it was better to be in darkness than to be lighted up while enemies might possibly be gazing at him from the safe cover of those impenetrable shadows. how easily a rifle-shot from those bushes could pick him off during one of those uncomfortable little spells of moonlight. all at once glen saw another light, apparently on the edge of the opposite bluffs. it showed yellow and steady for a second, and then disappeared. was it an indian signal, or a newly risen star suddenly obscured by clouds? this was a question calculated to keep even a sleepy boy wide awake. perhaps if he watched closely he would see it again. he had heard a great deal about indian signals lately, and knew that, by flashes of fire at night, smokes, waving blankets, and mirror flashes by day, they could transmit intelligence across the plains almost as readily as white men could do the same thing by telegraph. how he wished he understood their signals, and how he would like to see them using them. glen was very curious concerning indians--real wild ones--and hoped he should at least catch a glimpse of some before the trip was ended. it would be too absurd to return to brimfield, after crossing the plains, and to be obliged to confess that he had not met any. hallo! how near those coyote howls were coming. wasn't that one of the brutes now, skulking in the shadow of those willows? certainly something was moving down there. now there were two of them. with what an ugly snarl they greeted each other. still, that snarl was a comfort; for it proved them to be really coyotes. at least so thought glen. just then the boy sneezed. he couldn't have helped it to save him, and at the same moment the moon shone out. the coyotes had disappeared. perhaps they thought he would fire at them, as binney gibbs had. but they needn't be afraid. he wasn't going to alarm the camp on account of coyotes. another cloud swallowed the moon, and again glen thought he could distinguish a black object moving through the shadows. although he strained his eyes, and watched intently, almost holding his breath in his excitement, he could see only one object, and it certainly was moving towards him. where was the other? if he only dared fire at that one! the boy clutched his rifle nervously. the coyote came sneaking on, very slowly, frequently stopping and remaining motionless for several seconds; but glen never took his eyes from it. if he only had, just long enough to give one look at the human figure creeping noiselessly towards him from behind; but no thought of danger from that direction entered his head. as the indian, gliding up behind the young sentry, reached a point from which he could distinguish the outlines of the recumbent figure before him, he cautiously raised himself on one knee, and fitted a steel-headed arrow to the bow that had been slung on his back. in another instant it would have sped on its fatal mission, and glen's career would have ended as suddenly as the snuffing of a candle-flame. he was saved by a gleam of moonlight, that caused the indian to sink, like a shadow, into the grass. the coyote also remained motionless. then the moon was again obscured, and the indian again rose to a crouching posture. he had evidently changed his plans; for he no longer held the bow in his hand. that gleam of moonlight had showed him that the sentry was only a boy, instead of the man he had supposed, and he determined to try for a captive instead of a scalp. the next instant he sprang forward with the noiseless bound of a panther, and the breath was driven from glen's body as the indian lighted on his back, with one hand over the boy's mouth. the coyote rose on its hind-legs, and leaped forward at the same moment. in a twinkling its skin was flung over glen's head, and so tightly fastened about his neck that he was at once smothered and strangled. he tried to cry out, but could not. he did not even know what had happened, or who these were that, swiftly and with resistless force, were half dragging, half carrying him between them. for a moment he entertained the wild hope that it was a practical joke of some of the boys from camp. that hope was speedily dispelled; for, as his captors gained the shelter of the trees on the bank of the stream, they halted long enough to secure his arms firmly behind him, and to loosen the coyote-skin so that he could breathe a trifle more freely. then he was again hurried forward. after travelling what seemed to the poor boy like an interminable distance, and when he was so faint and dizzy with the heat and suffocation of that horrible wolf-skin that he felt he could not go a step farther, it was suddenly snatched from his head, and the strong grasp of his arms was let go. the boy staggered against the trunk of a tree, and would have fallen but for its support. for a few moments he saw nothing, and was conscious of nothing save the delicious coolness of the air and the delight of breathing it freely once more. the halt was a short one; for already a faint light, different from that of the moon, was stealing over the eastern bluffs, and the indians must have their prisoner far away from there by sunrise. there were three of them now, as well as some ponies and a mule. glen could also see a great many white objects scattered about the ground. they were bleached buffalo bones. as he recognized them, he knew he was at the old indian camping-ground he had visited the evening before, and from which one of those coyote howls had seemed to come. so it had; but it had been uttered by the young cheyenne left there in charge of the animals, in answer to the howls of the two other human coyotes, who, prowling about the engineers' camp, had finally made glen a prisoner. they were cheyenne scouts, belonging to the dog soldier band, at that time the most famous fighters of that warlike tribe. they had been sent out from their village, on the american fork, two days before, to find out what they could concerning general lyle's exploring expedition, rumors of which had already reached the ears of their chiefs. so successfully had they accomplished their mission that they had not only discovered all they wanted to know about these new invaders of their territory, but had actually taken one of their number prisoner. besides this they had stolen three fine saddle ponies, and a powerful white mule, from the corral of a stage station some twenty miles up the trail. now, therefore, as they swung their captive on the back of the mule, and secured him by passing a thong of raw-hide about his ankles and beneath the animal's belly, their hearts were filled with rejoicing over their success. chapter xvi. in the hands of the cheyennes. especially happy was the youngest of the three indians, who was a boy of about glen's age. this was the first scout he had ever been allowed to go on; and, as he reflected upon the glory of their return to the village, with that prisoner, those stolen ponies, and all the valuable information they had acquired, he wondered if there was any happier or prouder boy living than he. he even had a kindly feeling towards the white boy, who, by allowing himself to be captured, had contributed so largely to the honors that would be showered upon him, and he grinned good-humoredly in glen's face as soon as the growing daylight enabled him to see it plainly. up to this time the cheyenne boy had only been known as "blackbird;" but he had set forth on this scout with the firm determination of winning a name more worthy of a young warrior. had he not already done so? his companions had complimented him on his carefully executed imitation of a coyote's howl, and one of them had suggested that he must have a veritable wolf's tongue in his mouth: "wolf-tongue!" there was a fine name for a young dog soldier. what if he should be allowed to keep it for his own? there was not another boy of his age in the village with such a name as that. now he began to make some curious motions with his hands, and poor glen, who, in spite of his own wretchedness, could not keep from watching him with some curiosity, wondered what the young indian was up to. dropping the bridle on his pony's neck, the boy lifted both hands to the level of his shoulders with the first two fingers of each extended upward and forward, while the thumbs and other fingers were tightly closed. at the same time he stuck out his tongue. he was spelling out his new name in the indian sign language, just to see how it would look. the boy only held his hands in this position for an instant, and then dropped them to clutch a gun that was slipping from his knees, across which he had laid it. the movement attracted glen's attention to the gun, and his face flushed angrily as he recognized his own precious rifle, in which he had taken such pride and delight. it was too bad. then the thought flashed into his mind, would he ever again care for a rifle or anything else in this world? what did indians do with prisoners? tortured them, and put them to death, of course. did not all the stories he had ever read agree on that point? could it be possible that he, glen eddy, was to be tortured, perhaps burned at the stake? was that what coming out on the plains meant? had life with all its hopes and joys nearly ended for him? it could not be! there must be some escape from such a horrible fate! the poor boy gazed about him wildly, but saw only the endless sea of grass stretching to the horizon on all sides, and the stern faces of his captors, one of whom held the end of a lariat that was fastened about the mule's neck. they all carried bows and arrows slung to their backs, as well as rifles that lay across their knees. they wore moccasins and leggings of buckskin, but no clothing above their waists. their saddles were simply folded blankets, which would be their covering at night. in place of stirrups they used strips of buffalo hide with a loop at each end. these were thrown across the blanket saddles, and the feet of the riders were supported in the loops. one of them had a pair of field-glasses slung by a strap from his shoulders. until nearly noon they pushed westward across the trackless undulations of the prairie, and glen became so faint from hunger and thirst, and so stiff from his painful position, that he could hardly retain his seat. his mule was a long-limbed, raw-boned animal, whose gait never varied from an excruciatingly hard trot. finally, the boy's sufferings reached such a point that it was all he could do to keep from screaming, and he wondered if any torture could be worse. at length they came to a tiny stream, fringed with a slender growth of willows, and here a long rest was taken. glen could not stand when his ankles were unbound, and he was allowed to slip from the mule's back, but fell heavily to the ground. the indian boy said something to his companions, one of whom replied with a grunt, whereupon the lad unbound the prisoner's arms, and helped him to reach the edge of the stream. he was wonderfully revived by plunging his head into the cool water, and the young indian, who seemed a good-natured sort of a chap, assisted to restore the circulation in his wrists and ankles by rubbing them vigorously. the men smiled scornfully at this; but the boy rubbed away with a hearty good-will, and smiled back at them. he wanted to get this prisoner into the village in as good a condition as possible, and was perfectly willing to be laughed at, if he could only accomplish his object. he even went so far as to kindle a small fire of dry, barkless wood, that would make but little smoke, and heat a strip of dried buffalo-meat over its coals for the prisoner to eat, though wondering at a taste that did not find raw meat just as palatable as cooked. then he tried to converse with glen; but, as the latter did not understand either cheyenne or the sign language, and as the only english word wolf-tongue knew was "how," this attempt proved a failure. how glen wished he could talk with this indian boy. why were not white boys taught the indian language in school, so as to be prepared for such emergencies? it would be so much more valuable than latin. he wondered if he would have studied it any harder than he had other things, if it had been included in the brimfield high school course. how far away brimfield seemed! what wouldn't he give to be there at this moment? how would they feel at home if they could see him now? at length it was time to go on again. the animals, which had been hobbled to prevent them from straying, left the juicy grasses of the bottom-land with reluctance; and, with a heavy heart and still aching body, glen again mounted his mule. his saddle was the coyote-skin that had been thrown over his head when he was captured. now he was given a pair of raw-hide indian stirrups; while, though his hands were again tied behind his back, his feet were left unbound. he therefore rode much more comfortably now than before, and wolf-tongue, who seemed to consider the prisoner as his especial property, was allowed to hold the end of his lariat. all the movements of these scouts were as carefully guarded as though they were surrounded by enemies. they avoided soft places where a trail might be left, and whenever they ascended a swell of the prairie they halted just before reaching the top. one of them, dismounting, would then creep cautiously forward, and, without exposing his body above the crest, would gaze long and searchingly in every direction. not until he was satisfied that no human being was within range of his vision would he show himself on the summit, and beckon his comrades to join him. the afternoon was half gone, when, on one of these occasions, the scout who had just crept to the top of an elevation was seen by the others to gaze long and steadily in a particular direction through his field-glass. at length, apparently satisfied with what he saw, he stood up, and flashed a dazzling ray of sunlight from a small mirror that he held in his hand. again and again did he send that flash over miles of prairie, before he saw the answering flash for which he was watching. then he called the others up; they talked earnestly together for a few minutes, and, having reached some conclusion, they galloped rapidly away, almost at right angles to the course they had been following. glen wondered what this movement meant; but it was not until they had ridden for nearly an hour that his unasked questions were answered. then, as though by magic, so unexpectedly did they appear, a score or more of indians seemed to spring from the ground and surround them. it was a cheyenne war-party. their ponies, under watchful guard, grazed in a slight depression to one side of them, and their scouts kept a keen lookout from a rise of ground beyond. while these warriors were exchanging greetings with the new-comers, and regarding the prisoner with unconcealed satisfaction, two white men, utterly unsuspicious of their presence so near them, were lounging in front of the lost creek stage station, less than a mile away. from this station the scouts had stolen their ponies and the white mule two nights before. the ranch and stable stood side by side, and were low, one-story buildings, with walls of a soft sandstone, quarried near by, and roofs of poles covered with sods. behind them was a corral enclosed by a low stone wall. the ranch and stable were connected by a narrow subterranean passage, and another led from the house to a "dug-out," or square pit, some ten yards from it. this "dug-out" had a roof of poles heavily covered with earth and sods; while, just at the surface of the ground, port-holes opened on all sides. a similar pit, on the other side, could be reached from the stable, and another, in the rear of the station, was connected with the corral. lost creek station had suffered greatly at the hands of indians that summer. its inmates had been killed, and its stock run off. now but two men were left to guard it. this afternoon they were watching anxiously for the stage from the east, which was some hours overdue. suddenly, as they gazed along the distant wagon trail, there came a thunderous rush of hoofs from behind the station. but the men had heard the sound before, and did not need to look to know what it meant. "they're after us again, joe!" exclaimed one, in a disgusted tone, as they sprang into the ranch and barred its heavy door behind them. a moment later they were in the "dug-out" behind the corral, and the gleaming barrels of two rifles were thrust from two of its narrow port-holes. "i swear, joe! if one of them hasn't the cheek to ride old snow-ball, and he's in the lead, too. you drop him, and i'll take the next one." there were two reports. a white mule pitched heavily forward and its rider was flung to the ground. a wounded indian clung to his pony. then the whole band wheeled and dashed back to where they had come from, taking both their wounded warrior and the one who had been flung to the ground with them. "did you notice that the fellow i dropped had a white man's hat on?" asked joe, as the two men watched the retreat of their foes. "yes, and white men's clothes on, too. i wonder who he murdered and robbed to get 'em?" chapter xvii. a cheyenne war-party. the war-party, detected by the wonderful eyesight of the cheyenne scout while they were yet miles away from him, had been for more than a week engaged in attacking stages and wagon-trains on the smoky hill trail. hiding behind some slight elevation, or in a cottonwood thicket near the road, with keen-eyed scouts always on the lookout, they would burst like a whirlwind on their unsuspecting victims, pour in a withering volley of bullets and arrows, and disappear, almost before a return shot could be fired. sometimes they would maintain a running fight for miles with a stage, their fleet ponies easily keeping pace with its frantic mules, and many a one thus fell into their hands. its fate was always the same. if any of its defenders survived the fight they were either killed or reserved for the worse fate of captives. its mail-sacks were ripped open and their contents scattered far and wide. finally it was set on fire and destroyed. sometimes the stages escaped; in which case their passengers had marvellous tales to tell. one of these, that reached the safety of general lyle's wagon-train just in time to avoid capture, had but one living passenger, a woman who was not even wounded during the almost continuous storm of arrows and bullets of a ten-mile running fight. four dead men, one of whom was her husband, were inside the coach, and another was on the box with the driver. the latter was wounded, and the mules fairly bristled with arrows. the stage itself was shivered and splintered in every part by the shower of lead that had been poured into it, and many a blood-stained letter from its mail-sacks afterwards carried a shudder into distant eastern homes. this, then, was the work of the war-party who were gathered about glen eddy; and, even now, they were impatiently awaiting the appearance of the stage from the east that was due that day. for this occasion they had planned a new form of attack. it was not to be made until the stage reached the ranch. there, while its mules were being changed, and its occupants were off their guard, the indians proposed to dash out from the nearest place of concealment and attempt the capture of both it and the station at the same time. it was a well-conceived plan, and might have been successfully carried out, but for the arrival of the three scouts, who were now so proudly exhibiting their prisoner and telling the story of his capture. before they had half finished, a few dazzling flashes of light from the mirrors of the distant lookouts announced that the eastern stage was in sight. a minute later the warriors were mounted and riding cautiously towards a point but a short distance from the ranch, where they could still remain concealed from it until the moment of making their final dash. the three scouts, being on other duty, were not expected to take part in the fight, nor had they any intention of so doing, much as they would have liked to; but they could not resist the temptation to witness it. so they, with their prisoner, followed close behind the others to their new place of concealment. when they reached it, these three, with glen, stood a little apart from the rest, so as not to interfere with their movements. up to this moment, the boy had not the least idea of what was about to take place, nor where he was. there was nothing to indicate that a stage ranch and a well-travelled wagon road lay just beyond the ridge before him. he wondered what these indians were up to; but he wondered still more when they would go into camp, and give him a chance to dismount from the back of that hard-trotting mule; for his aches and pains had again become very hard to bear. in spite of his thoughts being largely centred upon himself, glen could not help noticing the uneasy movements of his steed, and his impatient snuffings of the air, that began as soon as they came to a halt. the scouts noticed them, too, and watched the mule narrowly. suddenly the animal threw up his great head, and in another instant would have announced his presence to all the country thereabout by a sonorous, far-reaching bray. before he could open his mouth, however, one of the scouts sprang from his pony and seized him by the nose. in the struggle that followed, the end of the lariat held by wolf-tongue was jerked from his hand. at the same moment the mule succeeded in shaking off the scout with such violence that he staggered for nearly a rod before recovering his balance. then, so quickly that glen was very nearly flung from his back, the animal sprang to the crest of the little ridge, and dashed, with astonishing speed, towards the corral that had been his home for so long, and which he had scented so plainly the moment he reached its vicinity. of course the entire body of indians was in instant pursuit--not of the mule, but of the prisoner that he was bearing from them. like a thunderclap out of a clear sky, they rushed down that slope, every pony doing his best, and their riders yelling like demons. from the first, wolf-tongue took the lead. it was his prisoner who was escaping, his first one. he must have him again. he would almost rather die than lose him. so he lashed his pony furiously with the quirt, or indian riding-whip of raw-hide fastened to his wrist, and leaned far over on his neck, and yelled, and beat the animal's sides with his moccasined feet, until he had gained a lead of all the others and was almost within reach of the mule. another moment and he would have that trailing lariat in his hand. glen, too, was kicking the sides of his ungainly steed, and yelling at him in a perfect frenzy of excitement. he saw the stage ranch, the winding wagon trail, and the shining river beyond the instant he was borne over the crest of the ridge, and knew what they meant for him. to reach that little clump of buildings first, meant life, liberty, and restoration to his friends. he must do it, and he fully believed he could. he leaned as far as possible over the mule's neck, and shouted encouraging words into his ears. what wonderful speed the long-legged animal was showing! who would have thought it was in him? "well done, mule!" yelled glen. "a few more seconds and we'll be there! they can't catch us now!" then came a burst of flame from the earth in front of him. the white mule gave a convulsive bound and fell dead in his tracks, while poor glen was flung far over his head to the ground, which he struck so heavily as to partially stun him. without checking the speed of their ponies in the least, two stalwart warriors bent over, and, seizing the boy by the arms, raised him between them as they swept past. a moment later the entire band, minus only their white mule, had again reached their place of concealment, and poor glen, breathless, bruised, and heart-broken with disappointment, was more of a prisoner than ever. besides this, wolf-tongue, the only one amid all those stern-featured warriors who had shown the least particle of pity for him, was wounded--a rifle-ball having passed through the calf of one of his legs. [illustration: "two stalwart warriors seized him by the arms and raised him between them as they swept past"] this sudden derangement of his plans caused the leader of the war-party to abandon them altogether, and decide upon a new one. it would be useless to attempt to surprise the stage and station now. besides, it might be just as well to leave the trail in peace for a few days, in order that the large party of white men, of whom the scouts had just brought information, might come on with less caution than they would use if constantly alarmed. he would send runners to the villages of the kiowas, arrapahoes, and comanches, and tell them of the rich prize awaiting their combined action. in the meantime he would return to his own village and raise a war-party that, in point of numbers and equipment, should be a credit to the great cheyenne nation. so the runners were despatched, and the rest of the party set out in a northwesterly direction towards their distant villages on the american fork. shortly before the indians halted for the night, even glen almost forgot his heartache and painful weariness of body in the excitement of seeing his first buffalo, and witnessing an indian buffalo-hunt on a small scale. it was just at sunset, when the scout, who rode ahead, signalled, from the top of an elevation, by waving his blanket in a peculiar manner, that he had discovered buffalo. obeying a command from their leader, half a dozen warriors at once dashed ahead of the party; and, joining the scout, disappeared over the ridge. as the others gained the summit, they saw that the plain beyond it was covered with a vast herd of buffalo, quietly feeding, singly or in groups, and spreading over the country as far as the eye could reach. there were thousands of them, and glen was amazed at the wonderful sight. those nearest to the advancing indians had already taken the alarm, and in less than a minute more the whole vast mass was in motion, with loud bellowings and a lumbering gallop, that, shaking the earth, sounded like the rush and roar of mighty waters. the fleet war-ponies speedily bore the hunters into the thick of the flying mass, so that for a few seconds they were swallowed up and lost to view in it. then they reappeared surrounding, and driving before them, a fat young cow, that they had cut out from the rest of the herd. they did not use their rifles, as the reports might have attracted undesirable attention to their presence. from their powerful bows arrow after arrow was buried in the body of the selected victim, some of them even passing completely through it, until at length the animal fell, and the chase was ended. chapter xviii. buffalo and their uses. if the cheyennes had been on a regular hunt they would have killed scores of the mighty beasts before desisting from their bloody work; but buffalo were too valuable to the plains indian to be wasted, or killed for mere sport. in fact, their very existence, at that time, depended upon these animals. not only did their flesh form the chief and almost the sole article of indian food, but with the skins they covered their lodges, and made boats, ropes, lariats, trunks, or _par fléche_ sacks, saddles, shields, frames for war bonnets, gloves, moccasins, leggings, shirts, gun-covers, whips, quivers, knife-scabbards, cradles, saddle-bags and blankets, beds, bridles, boots, glue, and a score of other necessary articles. from the hair they made ropes and pillows; while the horns provided them with spoons, cups, dishes, powder-flasks, arrow-heads, and even bows. buffalo sinews gave the indians thread and twine for innumerable purposes; while certain of the bones were fashioned into axes, knives, arrow-points, and implements for scraping the hides or dressing robes. the ribs were formed into small dog sledges, and the teeth into necklaces and rattles. buffalo chips were a most important article of fuel on the almost treeless plains, and this is only a partial list of the useful articles furnished to the indians by this animal. at that time buffalo roamed, in countless thousands, from the missouri river to the rocky mountains, and from mexico up into british america. since then they have been ruthlessly slaughtered and exterminated by skin-butchers, emigrants, and an army of so-called sportsmen from all parts of the world. while the hunters were cutting up the cow they had killed, the rest of the party went into camp on the bank of the stream, near which the vast herd had been feeding. here wolf-tongue's wound, that had only been rudely bandaged to check the flow of blood, was carefully dressed and attended to. there was no lack of food in the camp that evening, and the warriors were evidently determined to make up for their days of hard riding and fighting on scanty rations, by indulging in a regular feast. glen was disgusted to see the liver and kidneys of the buffalo eaten raw, as was also a quantity of the meat while it was yet warm. still there was plenty of cooked meat for those who preferred it. over small fires, carefully screened by robes and blankets, so that their light should not attract attention, ribs were roasted and choice bits were broiled. even the prisoner was unbound and allowed to cut and broil for himself until he could eat no more. wolf-tongue's wounded leg was smeared with melted tallow; and, though it was so lame and stiff that he could not use it, his appetite was in no wise impaired by his wound, nor did it dampen his high spirits in the least. it rather added to them; for, as he ate buffalo meat raw or cooked, as it was handed to him, at the same time laughing and chatting with those of the younger warriors who were nearest his own age, he felt that an honorable wound had been the only thing needed to crown the glories of this, his first warpath. now he would indeed be greeted as a hero upon his return to the village. he felt more assured than ever that he would be allowed to keep the fine name of "wolf-tongue." perhaps, but it was only just within the range of possibility, the head men might commemorate at once his success as a scout, and the fact that he had received a wound in battle, by conferring upon him the distinguished name of "lame wolf." such things had been known. why might they not happen to him? when the feasting was ended, and the entire band began to feel that to sleep would be far better than to eat any more, they extinguished their fires and moved noiselessly away, a hundred yards or so, from the place where they had been. here in the tall grass, at the foot of the cottonwood-trees, or in red willow thickets, the tired warriors laid down, each man where he happened to be when he thought he had gone far enough for safety. each drew his blanket over his head, and also over the rifle that was his inseparable bedfellow. the ponies had already been securely fastened, so that they could be had when wanted, and now they were either lying down or standing motionless with drooping heads. the camp was as secure as an indian camp ever is, where every precaution is taken to guard against surprise, except the simple one of keeping awake. wolf-tongue, who was unable to touch his foot to the ground, was carried to his sleeping-place with his arms about the necks of two of his stalwart friends. now, with glen's rifle clasped tightly to him, and with his head completely enveloped in a blanket, he was fast forgetting his pain in sleep. poor glen was forced to lie without any blanket, either over or under him, with his wrists bound together, and with one of his arms fastened, by a short cord, to an arm of one of the scouts who had captured him. the latter fell asleep almost instantly, as was proved by his breathing; but it was impossible for the prisoner, weary as he was, to do so. his mind was too busily engaged in revolving possible means of escape. for a long time he lay with wide-open eyes, dismissing one project after another as they presented themselves. finally he decided that, unless he could first free his hands and then release his arm from the cord that bound him to the scout, he could do nothing. to accomplish the first of these objects, he began to gnaw, very softly, at the raw-hide thong by which his wrists were secured. how tough and hard it was. how his jaws ached after he had worked for an hour or more, without accomplishing his purpose. still he could feel that his efforts were not altogether fruitless. he knew that he could succeed if he were only given time enough. he was obliged to take several rests, and his work was often interrupted by hearing some wakeful indian get up and walk about. twice the scout wakened, and pulled at the cord fastened to his prisoner's arm to assure himself that he was still there. at length the task was concluded, the hateful thong was bitten in two, and glen's hands were free. they were cold, numb, and devoid of feeling; but after a while their circulation was gradually restored, and the boy began to work at the knot that secured the cord about his arm. it was a hard one to untie, but in this, too, he finally succeeded. just as it loosened beneath glen's fingers, the scout woke and gave the cord a pull. fortunately the boy still held it, and the other was satisfied that his prisoner was still beside him. glen hardly dared breathe until he felt certain that the indian again slept. then he fastened the cord to a bit of willow, that grew within reach, in order that there might be some resistance if the scout should pull at it again, and cautiously rose to his feet. which way should he go? how should he avoid stepping on some recumbent form if he moved at all? for a moment he stood irresolute. well, whatever he did he must do quickly, for the short summer night was far advanced. he had not a moment to lose. if he only dared take a pony! if he could drive them all off and leave his pursuers without a horse on which to follow him! it was a thought worthy of a cheyenne scout, and glen realized in a moment that, hazardous as the undertaking would be, it offered the only means of ultimate escape. he thought he knew where the horses were, and began to move with the utmost caution, feeling his way inch by inch, in that direction. twice he just discovered a motionless human form in time to avoid stumbling over it, and each time his heart seemed to leap into his mouth with the narrowness of his escape. several times, too, he changed his course in order to avoid some real or fancied obstacle, until at length he was completely bewildered, and obliged to confess that he had no idea of what direction he was taking. still he kept on, trembling with nervousness, until at length he felt certain that he must be at least well outside the circle of sleeping indians, if not at a considerable distance from them. he began to move more rapidly, when suddenly a human figure rose up before him, so close that he could not avoid it. he sprang at it with a blind fury, hoping to overthrow it, and still effect his escape. then there came a wild cry, a deafening report, and glen found himself engaged in a furious struggle with an unknown antagonist. chapter xix. glen's escape from the indians. as glen struggled desperately, but well-nigh hopelessly, with the assailant who had risen so unexpectedly to bar his escape, there came a crashing volley of shots, a loud cheer, and a rush of trampling feet through the willows and tangled undergrowth. the boy only dimly wondered at these sounds as he was flung to the ground, where he lay breathless, with his arms pinned tightly to the earth, and expecting that each instant would be his last. then he became strangely conscious that his antagonist was talking in a language that he understood, and was saying, "yez would, would ye? an' yez tho't ye could wrastle wid terence o'boyle? ye murtherin' rid villin! bad cess to it i but oi'll tache ye! phat's that ye say? ye're a white man? oh, no, me omadhoon! yez can't fool me into lettin' ye up that way!" "but i am white!" cried glen, half choked though he was. "let me up, and i'll prove it to you. can't you understand english?" very slowly and reluctantly the astonished irishman allowed himself to become convinced that the assailant he had failed to shoot, but whom he had overcome after a violent struggle, was not an indian. it was some minutes before he would permit glen to rise from his uncomfortable position, and even then he held him fast, declaring that nothing short of an order from the captain himself would induce him to release a prisoner. the explanation of this sudden change in our hero's fortunes and prospects is that, while the cheyennes were engaged in their buffalo-hunt the evening before, they had been discovered by a pawnee scout. he was attached to a company of cavalry who were on their way back to fort hayes, on the smoky hill, from an expedition against the arrapahoes. the captain of this company had determined to surprise the indians thus unexpectedly thrown in his way, at daybreak, and had made his arrangements accordingly. their movements had been carefully noted by the scouts, and, having made a start from their own camp at three o'clock that morning, the troops were cautiously surrounding the place where they supposed their sleeping foes to be. the attack would undoubtedly have proved successful, and the cheyennes would have sprung from their grassy couches only to fall beneath the fire from the cavalry carbines, had not glen eddy run into trooper terence o'boyle and been mistaken for an indian by that honest fellow. upon the alarm being thus prematurely given, the soldiers fired a volley and charged the cheyenne camp, only to find it deserted. with one exception, the indians had made good their escape, and it was never known whether any of them were even wounded by the volley that gave them such a rude awakening. the one who failed to escape was the young scout who hoped to be known as "wolf-tongue," and who, on account of his wound, was unable to fly with the rest. he managed to conceal himself in a thicket until daylight. then he was discovered by one of the pawnee scouts, who dragged him out, and would have put him to death but for the interference of glen eddy, who was just then led to the spot by his irish captor. an hour later glen was enjoying the happiest breakfast in his life, in company with captain garrett winn, u.s.a., who was listening with absorbed interest to the boy's account of his recent thrilling experiences. "well, my lad," said the captain, when glen had finished his story, "i consider your several escapes from being killed, when first captured, from the bullets of those fellows at the stage ranch, from the indians, and, finally, from being killed by that wild irishman, as being little short of miraculous." soon afterwards the trumpet sounded "boots and saddles," and glen, mounted on a handsome bay mare--which, with several other ponies, had been left behind by the indians in their hurried flight--trotted happily away with his new friends in the direction of fort hayes. in his hand he grasped his own rifle, which was recovered when wolf-tongue was captured, and behind him, mounted on a pony led by one of the troopers, rode that wounded and crest-fallen young indian himself. the future looked very black to wolf-tongue just now; for, totally ignorant of the ways of white men, he expected nothing less than death as soon as he should reach the fort. he realized that glen had saved him from the knife of the pawnee scout, and wondered if the white boy would interfere in his behalf with the warriors of his own race, or if they would listen to him in case he did. he wished he knew just a little of the white man's language, that he might discover what those soldiers on each side of him were talking about. perhaps they were even discussing him and his fate. but he only knew one word of english, and now he began to think he did not understand the meaning of that; for, though he heard the soldiers say "how" several times in the course of their conversation, they did not seem to use it at all as he would. so the indian lad rode along unhappily enough; but, though his thoughts were very busy, no trace of them was allowed to exhibit itself in his impassive face. in the meantime he was the subject of a conversation between glen and captain winn, as they rode side by side. the former had a very kindly feeling towards the young indian, who had tried to be kind to him when their present positions were reversed, and now he wanted in some way to return this kindness if possible. "what will be done with him do you think, sir?" he asked. "i'm sure i don't know," replied the captain, carelessly. "i suppose he will be kept as a prisoner at some one of the forts until we have whipped his tribe and put it on a reservation, and then he will be sent back to it." "but what will become of him then?" persisted the boy. "oh, he will grow up to be one of the regular reservation beggars, living on government charity, until he finally drinks himself to death or gets killed in some quarrel. that's the way with most of them on the reservations. you see they haven't anything else to do, and so they drink and gamble, and kill each other just to pass away the time." "don't you suppose he could learn to live like white folks if he had the chance?" "yes, i suppose he could. in fact, i know he could, if he had the chance; for these indian boys are about as bright as they make 'em. but i don't know where he'll get the chance. the government would rather pay a thousand dollars to keep him on a reservation, or even to kill him, than a hundred to give him an education, and i don't know of anybody else, that is able to do anything, who will take an interest in him." there the conversation ended; for, after riding some time in silence and trying to think of a solution of this perplexing indian problem, glen all at once found himself nodding so that he almost fell off his horse. he was so thoroughly wearied and sleepy that it did not seem as though he could hold his eyes open another minute. noticing his condition, the captain said, kindly, "you look just about used up, young man; and no wonder, after what you've gone through. the best thing for you to do is to hand your pony over to one of the men, crawl into the wagon back there, and take a nap." glen thought this such good advice that he immediately followed it. two minutes later he was lying, in what looked like a most uncomfortable position, on top of a pile of baggage in the only wagon that accompanied the troops, more soundly asleep than he had ever been before in all his life. he did not even know when the wagon reached the fort, a few hours later, nor did he realize what was happening when he was lifted from it and led by the captain into his own quarters. there the boy was allowed to tumble down on a pile of robes and blankets, and told to have his sleep out. not until the rising sun streamed full in his face the next morning did that sleep come to an end. then he awoke so hungry that he felt as though it would take a whole buffalo to satisfy his appetite, and so bewildered by his surroundings that, for some minutes, he could not recall what had happened. he had no idea of where he was, for he could remember nothing since the act of crawling into the wagon and finding a bed on its load of baggage. chapter xx. a present that would please any boy. through the open window, by which the sunlight was streaming in, glen caught a glimpse of a line of cottonwood-trees, which, as he had long ago learned, denoted the presence of a stream in that country. to a boy who dearly loved to bathe, and had not washed for two whole days, nothing could be more tempting. nor was glen long in jumping from the window, running down to the cottonwoods, throwing off his clothes, and plunging headforemost into the cool waters. with that delicious bath disappeared every trace of his weariness, his aches, and everything else that remained to remind him of his recent trials, except his hunger. when he was at length ready to go in search of something with which to appease that, he walked slowly back towards the house in which he had slept. he now noticed that it was built of logs, and was the last one in a row of half a dozen just like it. he also heard bugle calls, saw soldiers in blue uniforms hurrying in every direction, and wisely concluded that, in some way, he must have been brought to fort hayes. as he stood irresolute near the house, not knowing which way to go or what to do, a door opened and a little girl, followed by a lady, came out. the child stopped and looked at the boy for a moment. then running back to her mother, she exclaimed, "look mamma! look! it's the very same one we knew on the cars!" glen had recognized her at once as his little acquaintance of the railroad between st. louis and kansas city, and now the lady recognized him as the boy who had run the locomotive so splendidly that terrible night, and had then so mysteriously disappeared. it was truly a very happy party that gathered about captain winn's hospitable breakfast-table that morning. they had so much to talk about, and so many questions to ask, and so many experiences to relate, and nettie so bubbled over with delight at again finding her play-fellow, that the meal was prolonged for more than an hour beyond its usual limits. after breakfast glen asked if he might go and see the prisoner, to which the captain replied, "certainly you may." as they walked across the parade-ground in the direction of the guard-house, glen was introduced to several officers, who seemed to take a great interest in him, and shook hands so cordially, and congratulated him so heartily on his escape from the cheyennes, that the boy began to think his rough experience was not without its compensations after all. in the guard-house they found the young indian peering disconsolately out between the gratings of his cell window, and looking very forlorn indeed. he gazed sullenly at the visitors, and wondered why they should come there to stare at him; but when glen stepped up to him with outstretched hand, and said "how?" the boy's face brightened at once. he took the proffered hand, and answered "how" with an evident air of pleasure, for he could comprehend the other's sympathetic expression, if he could not understand his language. pointing to himself, the white boy said, "glen," which the other repeated as though he thoroughly understood what was meant. then glen pointed to him, with an inquiring look, as much as to ask, "what is your name?" the boy understood; but hesitated a moment before drawing himself up proudly and answering in his own tongue; but the name was so long and hard to say that glen could not repeat it. "i wish i could understand what he says, for i should so like to have a talk with him," said glen. "there is an interpreter who speaks cheyenne somewhere about the place," answered captain winn, "and, if you like, i will send for him." when the interpreter came, glen found out that what the boy had said in cheyenne was that his name was "lame wolf;" but when the young indian tried to repeat it in english, after glen, he pronounced it "lem wolf," which is what he was called from that day. after they had held quite a conversation, that greatly increased glen's interest in the boy, he and the captain took their departure, the former promising to come again very soon. then captain winn led glen down to the corral, in which were a number of horses, ponies, and mules, and, pointing to one of them, asked the boy if he recognized it. "of course i do," answered glen. "it's the one i rode yesterday." "and the one i hope you will ride for many days to come," said the captain with a smile; "for i want you to accept that pony as a present from my little girl." "really?" cried the delighted boy; "do you really mean that i am to have it for my very own?" "i really do," laughed the captain, "and," he continued more soberly, "i wish i could offer you something ten times more valuable, as a slight memento of the service you rendered those so dear to me not long ago." "you couldn't give me anything i should value more," exclaimed glen, "unless--" here he hesitated, and his face flushed slightly. "unless what?" asked captain winn. "unless you could give me that indian boy." "what on earth would you do with him?" cried the captain, his eyes opening wide with surprise at such an unheard-of request. then glen unfolded a plan that had formed itself in his mind within a few minutes; and, when he had finished, the captain's look of surprise still remained on his face, but he said, reflectively: "well, i don't know but what it might be done, and if you succeed in carrying out your part of the scheme, i will see what i can do with the rest of it." this matter being disposed of, glen asked if he might try his pony. "but you tried her yesterday," laughed the captain, who enjoyed the boyishness of this boy as much as he admired his manliness. "yes, sir; but she wasn't mine then, and you know everything, even a horse, is very different when it is your own." "so it is, and you may try her to your heart's content, only don't ride far from the post unless you wish for a repetition of your recent experience." with this the captain beckoned to a soldier, who stood near by, and ordered him to saddle the bay mare, and to tell the stable-sergeant that she belonged to this young gentleman, who was to take her whenever he pleased. he also told glen that the whole outfit of saddle, bridle, and picket rope, then being placed on the mare, were included in his present. the mare was so well fed, and so thoroughly rested, that she was in high spirits; and, the moment she found glen on her back, tried her very best to throw him off. she reared, and bucked, and plunged, and sprang sideways, and kicked up her heels, to the great delight of a number of soldiers who were witnesses of the performance; but all to no purpose. her rider clung to the saddle like a burr, and all her efforts to throw him were quite as unsuccessful as those of binney gibbs's mule had been some days before. when glen, with the breath nearly shaken out of his body, but thoroughly master of the situation, reined the mare up beside the captain, and asked his permission to name her "nettle," the latter readily granted it, saying, "i think it will be a most appropriate name; for it is evident that she can only be mastered by a firm and steady hand." then the happy boy rode over to captain winn's quarters, anxious to display his new acquisition to the child after whom she had just been named. as he did so he passed the guard-house, and was moved to pity by the sight of a sad-looking young face pressed against the grating of one of its windows, and gazing wistfully at him. that pony had belonged to lame wolf but the day before. after an hour's riding in the immediate vicinity of the fort, glen was fully satisfied that no horse in the world had ever combined so many admirable qualities as this bay mare, or given an owner such complete cause to be satisfied with his possession. as he was about to return her to the corral, his eye caught the gleam of sunlight on a moving white object, a mile or so distant, along the wagon-trail leading to the east. watching intently, he saw that it was followed by another, and another, until the wagons of a long train were in plain sight, winding slowly along the road towards the fort. when he was certain that he could not be mistaken, the boy uttered a joyous shout, clapped spurs to nettle, and dashed away to meet them. a group of mounted men rode ahead of the train, and they gazed wonderingly at the reckless rider who approached them with such headlong impetuosity. their surprise became incredulous amazement as he reined sharply up within a few paces of them, and, politely lifting his hat, disclosed the shaven head and flushed face of the boy whose mysterious disappearance had caused them such sincere grief and distress. they had devoted half a day to scouring the country near the camp from which he had been lost; and, finding plentiful traces of indians in the creek bottom, had come to the conclusion that, in some way, he had fallen into their hands, and would never again be heard from. now, to meet him here, safe, and evidently in high spirits, was past comprehension. mr. hobart was the first to ride forward and grasp his hand. "is it really you, glen?" he exclaimed, his voice choked with feeling; "and where, in the name of all that is mysterious, have you been?" "it is really i," answered the boy, "and i've been a prisoner in the hands of the cheyennes, and had a glorious time." it really did seem as though he had had a good time, now that it was all over with, and he was the owner of that beautiful mare. besides, he could not fully realize the nature of the fate he had escaped. then the others crowded about him, and general lyle himself shook hands with him, and wanted to hear his story at once. while he was telling it as briefly as possible, the joyful news of his appearance flew back through the train, and the boys came running up to see him, and shake hands with him, and nearly pulled him off his horse in their eagerness to touch him and assure themselves that he was really alive. "hurrah for the baldheads!" shouted the irrepressible brackett; "they don't get left! not much!" even binney gibbs came and shook hands with him. that evening, after the camp was somewhat quieted from its excitement, and after glen had told his story for about the twentieth time, he disappeared for a short while. when he returned he brought with him an indian boy, who limped painfully, and seemed very ill at ease in the presence of so many strange pale-faces. "who's your friend, glen?" "where are the rest of the ten little injuns?" shouted the fellows as they crowded about this new object of interest. when at length a partial quiet was restored, glen begged them to listen to him for a few minutes, as he had something to propose that he was sure would interest them, and they shouted, "fire away, old man, we are all listening!" chapter xxi. lame wolf, the young cheyenne. "look here, fellows," said glen, as he stood with one hand on the shoulder of the young indian, and facing his companions, who, attracted by curiosity, were gathered to hear what he had to say. "this chap is a cheyenne, and is one of the three by whom i was captured; but he was mighty kind, and did everything he could think of to make things easy for me. so you see he is my friend, and now that he is in trouble, i am bound to do what i can to help him. his name is lame wolf--" (here the young indian stood a little straighter, and his eyes flashed. he had succeeded in having that name recognized as belonging to him, at any rate), "and he's the son of a chief, and the only english word he knows is 'how?' captain winn says that if he only had a chance he'd learn as quick as any white boy, and i believe he'd learn a good deal quicker than some--" at this point glen became somewhat confused, and wondered if binney gibbs had told how he had been dropped from his class. "he says, i mean captain winn says, that the only thing for him to do out here is to go on a reservation and become a worthless good-for-nothing, and get killed. now that seems a pretty poor sort of a chance for a fellow that's been as good a friend to me as lame wolf has, and i want you to help me give him a better one. "i want to send him back to my home in brimfield, and let him live with my folks a year or two, and be taught things the same as white boys, and have the same chance they have. captain winn says he thinks he can fix it with the folks at washington about letting him go; but he don't know where the money to pay his expenses is to come from. i didn't tell him, because i thought i'd speak to you first; but i was pretty sure it would come from this very party. i've only got five dollars in cash myself, but i'll give that, and i'll save all i can out of my pay for it, too. now, what do you say, fellows? shall lame wolf have a chance or not?" "yes! yes! of course he shall! hurrah for lame wolf! hurrah for glen's little injun! give him a chance! put me down for half a month's pay! and me! and me!" shouted a dozen voices at once. "billy" brackett jumped up on a box, and, calling the meeting to order, proposed that a committee of three be appointed, with mr. hobart as its chairman, to receive subscriptions to the lame wolf fund. "all-in-favor-say-aye-contrary-mind-it-is-a-vote!" he shouted. then somebody else nominated him and glen to be the other members, and they were elected without a dissenting voice. while all this was going on the fellows were crowding about the young indian, eager to shake hands with him, and say, "how! lame wolf, old boy! how!" all at once glen found that the boy was leaning heavily on him, and reproached himself for having allowed him to stand so long on his wounded leg. he got his charge back to the guard-house as quickly as possible, and then, leaving him to enjoy a quiet night's rest, hurried back to camp. here he found "billy" brackett presiding, with great dignity, over what he was pleased to call the "subscription books." they consisted of a single sheet of paper, fastened with thumb-tacks to a drawing-board that was placed on top of a barrel in one of the tents. mr. hobart, who had consented to serve on the committee, was also in the tent, and to him were being handed the cash contributions to the fund. glen put his name down for five dollars a month, to be paid as long as he should remain a member of the present expedition. then he started for his own tent to get the five dollars in cash that he had promised, out of his valise. as he was hurrying back with it he was stopped by binney gibbs, who thrust a bit of paper into his hand, saying, "i want you to take this check for your indian, glen. father sent it to me to buy a horse with, but i guess a mule is good enough for me, and so the indian chap can have it as well as not. you needn't say anything about it." with this, binney, who had spoken in a confused manner, hurried away without giving glen a chance to thank him. what had come over the boy? glen had never known him to do a generous thing before. he could not understand it. when he reached the tent, and examined the check, his amazement was so great that he gave a long whistle. "what is it, glen? give us a chance to whistle too," shouted "billy" brackett. "our natural curiosity needs to be checked as well as yours." "binney gibbs has contributed a hundred dollars," said glen, slowly, as though he could not quite believe his own words to be true. "good for grip! bravo for binney! who would have thought it? he's a trump, after all!" shouted "billy" brackett and the others who heard this bit of news. far beyond the tent, these shouts reached the ears of a solitary figure that stood motionless and almost invisible in the night shadows. they warmed his heart, and caused his cheeks to glow. it was a new sensation to binney gibbs to be cheered and praised for an act of generosity. it was a very pleasant one as well, and he wondered why he had never experienced it before. the truth is that this rough life, in which every person he met was his equal, if not his superior, was doing this boy more good than any one had dared to predict that it would. although he was a prize scholar, and the son of a wealthy man, there were many in this exploring-party who were far better scholars, and more wealthy than he. yet even these were often outranked in general estimation by fellows who had neither social position, money, nor learning. at first binney could not understand it. things were so different in brimfield; though even there he remembered that he had not been as popular among the other boys as glen eddy. even in this party, where binney had expected to be such a shining light, the other brimfield boy was far better liked than he. for this binney had hated glen, and declared he would get even with him. then he began, furtively, to watch him in the hope of discovering the secret of his popularity. finally it came to him, like a revelation, and he realized for the first time in his life that, in man or boy, such things as unselfishness, honesty, bravery, good-nature, generosity, and cheerfulness, or any one of them, will do more towards securing the regard, liking, and friendship of his fellows than all the wealth or book-learning in the world. perhaps if glen had not been captured by the cheyennes, binney would not have learned this most valuable lesson of his life as quickly as he did. in the general grief over his schoolmate's disappearance, he heard his character praised for one or another lovable trait, until at length the secret of glen's popularity was disclosed to him. then, as he looked back and recalled the incidents of their brimfield life, he realized what a manly, fearless, open-hearted boy this one, whom he had regarded with contempt, because he was not a student, had been. now that he was gone, and, as he supposed, lost to him forever, binney thought there was nothing he would not give for a chance to recall the past and win the friendship he had so contemptuously rejected. for two days these thoughts exercised so strong a sway on binney's mind, that when, on the third, glen eddy appeared before him as one risen from the dead, their influence was not to be shaken off. although he did not know exactly how to begin, he was determined not only to win the friendship of the boy whom he had for so long regarded as his rival, but also to make every member of the party like him, if he possibly could. his first opportunity came that evening; but it was not until after a long struggle with selfishness and envy that he resolved to contribute that one-hundred-dollar check to the lame wolf fund. he knew that he cut an awkward figure on his mule, and imagined that a horse would not only be much more elegant, but easier to ride. then, too, glen had such a beautiful mare; beside her his wretched mule would appear to a greater disadvantage than ever. he could buy as fine a pony as roamed the plains for a hundred dollars. then, too, that was what his father had sent him the money for. had he a right to use it for any other purpose? to be sure, mr. gibbs had not known of the mule, and supposed his son would be obliged to go on foot if he did not buy a horse. so poor binney argued with himself, and his old evil influences strove against the new resolves. it is doubtful if the latter would have conquered, had not the sight of glen coming towards him brought a sudden impulse to the aid of the resolves and decided the struggle in their favor. thus generosity won, but by so narrow a margin that binney could not stand being thanked for it, and so hurried away. but he heard the shouts and cheers coupled with his name, and it seemed to him that he felt even happier at that moment than when he stood on the platform of the brimfield high school and was told of the prize his scholarship had won. so the money was raised to redeem one young cheyenne from the misery and wickedness of a government indian reservation; and, when the grand total of cash and subscriptions was footed up, it was found to be very nearly one thousand dollars. glen was overjoyed at the result, and it is hard to tell which boy was the happier, as he crept into his blankets that night, he or binney gibbs. chapter xxii. glen and binney get into trouble. the next day, when glen announced the successful result of his efforts to captain winn, that officer informed him that he expected to be ordered east very shortly on special duty, when he would be willing to take charge of the indian boy, and deliver him to mr. matherson in brimfield. nothing could have suited glen's plans better; and he at once wrote a long letter to his adopted father, telling him of all that had happened, and begging him to receive the young indian for his sake. he also wrote to mr. meadows and asked him to announce the coming of the stranger to the brimfield boys. then he hunted up the interpreter, and went to the guard-house for a long talk with his captive friend. lame wolf was glad to see him, and at once asked what the white men had talked of in their council of the evening before. glen explained it all as clearly as he knew how. the young indian was greatly comforted to learn that he was not to be put to death, but also seemed to think that it would be nearly as bad to be sent far away from his own country and people, to the land of the pale-faces. in his ignorance he regarded the place of his proposed exile much as we do the interior of africa or the north pole, one only to be reached by a weary journey, that few ever undertook, and fewer still returned from. he was somewhat cheered by glen's promise to join him at the end of a year, and that then, if he chose, he should certainly return to his own people. still, it was a very melancholy and forlorn young indian who shook hands, for the last time, with the white boy at sunrise the next morning, and said, "how, glen," in answer to the other's cheery "good-by, lame wolf. take care of yourself, and i hope you will be able to talk english the next time i see you." then, after bidding good-bye to the winns and his other friends of the post, the boy sprang on nettle's back and dashed after the wagon-train that was just disappearing over a roll of the prairie to the westward. all that morning glen's attention was claimed by mr. hobart, or "billy" brackett, or somebody else, who wished to learn more of the details of his recent experience; but late in the afternoon he found himself riding beside binney gibbs. for the first time in their lives the two boys held a long and earnest conversation. from it each learned of good qualities in the other that he had never before suspected; and by it a long step was taken towards the cementing of a friendship between them. so engaged were they in this talk, that the animals they were riding were allowed insensibly to slacken their pace, until they had fallen a considerable distance behind the train. they even stopped to snatch an occasional mouthful of grass from the wayside, without opposition on the part of their young riders. these knew that, whenever they chose, a sharp gallop of a minute or two would place them alongside of the wagons, and so they carelessly permitted the distance between them and the train to become much greater than it should have been. suddenly a dazzling ray of light flashed, for the fraction of a second, full in glen's eyes, causing him to start, as though a pistol had been fired close beside him. he glanced hurriedly about. not a wagon was in sight; but he knew the train must be just over the rise of ground he and binney were ascending. at that same moment the mule threw up its head and sniffed the air uneasily. glen's second glance was behind him, and it revealed a sight that, for an instant, stopped the beating of his heart. the whole country seemed alive with indians. half a mile in the rear, hundreds of them, in a dense body, were advancing at the full speed of their ponies. a small party, evidently of scouts, were coming down the slope of a divide at one side, in the direction of the mirror-flash that had first attracted his attention. but the worst danger of all lay in two fierce-looking warriors who had advanced upon the boys so silently and rapidly that they were already within bow-shot. fortunately, glen was close beside his companion. with a quick movement he grasped binney by the collar and jerked him to one side, so that he very nearly fell off his mule. at the same instant the two arrows, that he had seen fitted to their bowstrings, whizzed harmlessly over the boys' heads. as nettle and the mule sprang away up the slope, several rifle-balls, from the little party of indians on the right, whistled past them; while from behind them rose a howl of mingled rage and disappointment. the first two indians had used the noiseless arrows, in the hope of killing the boys without betraying their presence to the rest of the party, as the moment for the grand charge, that they hoped would be such a complete and overwhelming surprise, had not yet arrived. now that they had failed in this, there was no longer any need for caution, and they fired shot after shot from their rifles after the fugitives. glen had seen the cheyennes dodge from side to side, as they rode away from the stage-ranch three days before, to disconcert the aim of its defenders; and now he and binney employed the same device. nettle was so much fleeter than the mule that glen could have gained the top of the slope in advance of his companion if he had so chosen; but he rather chose to be a little behind him at this point. so, instead of urging the mare to do her best, he faced about in his saddle and returned the rifle-shots of the two indians who were nearest, until his magazine was emptied. it is not likely that any of his shots took effect; but they certainly weakened the ardor of the pursuit, and gave binney gibbs a chance to cross the ridge in safety, which he probably could not have done had not glen held those indians in momentary check. with his last shot expended, and no chance to reload, it was evidently high time for glen to test the speed of his mare to its utmost. his life depended wholly on her now, and he knew it. there would be no taking of prisoners this time. even at this critical moment he reflected grimly, and with a certain satisfaction, upon the difficulty the indians would find in getting a scalp off of his shaven head. all this riding and shooting and thinking had been done so rapidly that it was not two minutes from the time of that first tell-tale mirror-flash before nettle had borne her rider to the top of the ridge, and he could see the wagon-train, not a quarter of a mile from him. binney gibbs was already half-way to it; and, as glen caught sight of him, he was amazed at a most extraordinary performance. binney suddenly flew from his saddle, not over his mule's head, as though the animal had flung him, but sideways, as though he had jumped. whether he left the saddle of his own accord or was flung from it the effect was the same; and the next instant he was sprawling at full length on the soft grass, while the mule, relieved of his weight, was making better time than ever towards the wagons. glen had left the trail, thinking to cut off a little distance by so doing; and, a few moments after binney's leap into the air, he performed almost the same act. on his part it was entirely involuntary, and was caused by one of nettle's fore-feet sinking into a gopher burrow that was invisible and not to be avoided. as horse and boy rolled over together, a cry of dismay came from one side, and a wild yell of exultation from the other. chapter xxiii. fighting the finest horsemen in the world. it did not take many seconds for both glen and nettle to scramble to their feet after the tremendous header caused by the gopher-hole. badly shaken though he was, the boy managed to regain his saddle more quickly than he had ever done before. but seconds are seconds; and, in so close a race for the most valuable of all earthly prizes, each one might be worth a minute, an hour, or even a lifetime. glen had not more than regained his seat, before the foremost of his pursuers, who had far outstripped the other, was upon him. with an empty rifle, glen had not the faintest hope of escape this time, though nettle sprang bravely forward. he involuntarily cringed from the expected blow, for he had caught a fleeting glimpse of an uplifted tomahawk; but it did not come. instead of it, he heard a crash, and turned in time to see the indian pony and its rider pitch headlong, as he and nettle had done a minute before. they were almost beside him; and, as he dashed away, he was conscious of wondering if they too had fallen victims to an unseen gopher-hole. he had not noticed the figure running to meet him, nor heard one of the shots it was firing so wildly as it ran. if he had he might have realized that his salvation had not depended on a gopher-hole, but on one of those random shots from binney gibbs's rifle. by the merest chance, for it was fired without aim and almost without direction, it had pierced the brain of the indian pony, and decided that race in favor of glen. when, to glen's great surprise, the two boys met, he sprang from nettle's back and insisted that binney should take his place, which the other resolutely refused to do. so glen simply tossed the bridle rein into binney's hand, and started off on a full run. in a moment nettle, with binney on her back, had overtaken him, and the generous dispute might have been resumed had not a party of mounted men from the wagon-train just then dashed up and surrounded the boys. they were headed by "billy" brackett, who cried out, "well, you're a pretty pair of babes in the woods, aren't you? and you've been having lots of fun at the expense of our anxiety! but jump up behind me, glen, quick, for i believe every wild injun of the plains is coming down that hill after us at this moment." just before the first shots were heard, some anxiety had been felt in the train concerning the boys who had lagged behind, and "billy" brackett had already asked if he had not better look them up. then, as the sound of firing came over the ridge, and the boys were known to have got into some sort of trouble, he rode back at full speed, followed by a dozen of the men. all were equally ready to go, but the rest were ordered to remain behind for the protection of the train. then the wagons were quickly drawn up in double line, and the spare stock was driven in between them. these arrangements were hardly completed before "billy" brackett and his party, with the two rescued boys, came flying back, pursued by the entire body of indians. as the former gained the wagons they faced about, and, with a rattling volley, checked for an instant the further advance of the dusky pony riders. but those cheyennes and arrapahoes and kiowas and comanches were not going to let so rich a prize as this wagon-train and all those scalps escape them without at least making a bold try for it. if they could only force the train to go into corral, while it was a mile away from the nearest stream, they would have taken a long step towards its capture. so they divided into two bands; and, circling around, came swooping down on the train from both sides at once. the plains indians are the finest horsemen in the world, and their everyday feats of daring in the saddle would render the performance of the best circus-riders tame by comparison. now, as the two parties swept obliquely on towards the motionless wagons, with well-ordered ranks, tossing arms, waving plumes and fringes, gaudy with vivid colors, yelling like demons, and sitting their steeds like centaurs, they presented a picture of savage warfare at once brilliant and terrible. at the flash of the white men's rifles every indian disappeared as though shot, and the next moment their answering shower of bullets and arrows came from under their horses' necks. the headlong speed was not checked for an instant; but after delivering their volley they circled off beyond rifle-shot for a breathing-spell. as they did so, the wagon-train moved ahead. a few mules had been killed and more wounded by the indian volley; but their places were quickly filled from the spare stock. by the time the indians were ready for their second charge, the train was several hundred yards nearer the coveted water than before. again they halted. again the young engineers, inwardly trembling with excitement, but outwardly as firm as rocks, took their places under and behind the wagons, with their shining rifle-barrels steadily pointed outward. some of them had been soldiers, while others had encountered indians before; but to most of them this was the first battle of any kind they had ever seen. but they all knew what their fate would be if overpowered, and they had no idea of letting these indians get any nearer than within good rifle-shot. "if you can't see an indian, aim at the horses!" shouted general lyle, from his position on horseback midway between the two lines of wagons. "don't a man of you fire until i give the word, and then give them as many shots as possible while they are within range." the chief had not the remotest thought of allowing his train to be captured, nor yet of being compelled to corral it before he was ready to do so. the second charge of the indians was even bolder than the first, and they were allowed to come much nearer before the order to fire was given. the same manoeuvres were repeated as before. one white man, a member of mr. hobart's division, was killed outright, and two others were wounded. more mules were killed than before, and more were injured; but still the train moved ahead, and this time its defenders could see the sparkle of water in the river they longed so ardently to reach. how thirsty they were getting, and what dry work fighting was! the wagon mules sniffed the water eagerly, and could hardly be restrained from rushing towards it. but another charge must be repelled first. this time it was so fierce that the indians rode straight on in the face of the first and second volleys from the engineers' rifles. when the third, delivered at less than two rods' distance, finally shattered their ranks, and sent them flying across the level bottom-land, they left a dozen wagon mules transfixed with their lances. the indians left many a pony behind them when they retreated from that charge; but in every case their riders, killed, wounded, or unhurt, were borne off by the others, so that no estimate of their loss could be formed. before another charge could be made, the wagons had been rushed forward, with their mules on a full gallop, to a point so close to the river-bank that there was no longer any danger of being cut off from it. here they were corralled, and chained together in such a manner as to present an almost impregnable front to the indians. at least it was one that those who viewed it, with feelings of bitter disappointment, from a safe distance, did not care to attack. after they had noted the disposition of the train, and satisfied themselves that it was established in that place for the night, they disappeared so completely that no trace of them was to be seen, and the explorers were left to take an account of the losses they had sustained in this brief but fierce encounter. only one man killed! what a comfort it was that no more had shared his fate, and yet how sad that even this one should be taken from their number! glen had known him well; for he was one of those merry young kansas city surveyors, one of the "bald heads," as they were known in the party. an hour before he had been one of the jolliest among them. he was one of those who had gone out so cheerfully with "billy" brackett to the rescue of the boys. he had been instantly killed while bravely doing his duty, and had suffered no pain. they had that consolation as they talked of him in low, awed tones. his body could not be sent home. it could not be carried with them. so they buried him in a grave dug just inside the line of wagons. the last level beams of the setting sun streamed full on the spot as the chief-engineer read the solemn burial service, and each member of the expedition, stepping forward with uncovered head, dropped a handful of earth into the open grave. then it was filled, and its mound was beaten to the level of the surrounding surface. after that, mules and horses were led back and forth over it, until there was no longer any chance of its recognition, or disturbance by indians or prowling beasts. none of the wounded suffered from severe injuries; and, though the bodies of the wagons were splintered in many places, and their canvas covers gaped with rents, no damage had been sustained that could not be repaired. chapter xxiv. crossing the quicksands. as soon as glen found a chance to talk to binney gibbs he asked him how his mule happened to throw him in such a peculiar fashion. "he didn't throw me," answered binney, with a look of surprise; "i jumped off." "what on earth did you do that for?" "because he was running away, and i couldn't stop him. i saw that your pony couldn't keep up with him, and, of course, i wasn't going to leave you behind to fight all those indians alone. so i got off the only way i could think of, and started back to help you. it was mighty lucky i did, too. don't you think so?" "indeed i do!" answered glen, heartily, though at the same time he could not help smiling at the idea of nettle not being able to keep up with binney's mule. he would not for the world, though, have belittled the other's brave act by saying that he had purposely remained behind to cover his companion's flight. he only said, "indeed i do, and it was one of the finest things i ever heard of, binney. i shall always remember it, and always be grateful for it. you made a splendid shot, too, and i owe my life to it; for that indian was just lifting his hatchet over my head when you rolled him over. i tell you it was a mighty plucky thing for anybody to do, especially--" glen was about to say, "especially for a fellow who has never been considered very brave;" but he checked himself in time, and substituted, "for a fellow who never had any experience with indians before." binney knew well enough, though, that the brimfield boys had always thought him a coward; for they had never hesitated to tell him so. now, to be praised for bravery, and that by the bravest boy he had ever known, was a new and very pleasant sensation. it was even better than to be called generous, and he mentally vowed, then and there, never again to forfeit this newly gained reputation. there is nothing that will so stimulate a boy or girl to renewed efforts as a certain amount of praise where it is really deserved. too much praise is flattery; and praise that is not deserved is as bad as unjust censure. while the boys were thus talking they received word that general lyle wished to see them. they found him sitting, with mr. hobart, in an ambulance; for it had been ordered that no tents should be pitched in that camp. when they stood before the chief-engineer he said, kindly: "boys, i want both to reprimand and thank you. i am surprised that you should have so disobeyed my positive orders as to lose sight of the train when on a march through an indian country. this applies to you, matherson, more than to your companion; for your late experience should have taught you better. i trust that my speaking to you now will prevent any repetition of such disobedience. your carelessness of this afternoon might have cost many precious lives, including your own. that is all of the reprimand. the thanks i wish to express are for your timely warning of the presence of indians, and for the individual bravery displayed by both of you during our encounter with them. that is all i have to say this time, and i hope next time the reprimand may be omitted." as the two boys, feeling both ashamed and pleased, bowed and took their departure, the chief, turning to his companion, said: "they are fine young fellows, hobart, and i congratulate you on having them in your division. now let us decide on our plans for to-night." this last remark referred to the decision general lyle had formed of placing the river between his party and the indians before daylight. he knew that the indians of the plains, like all others of their race, are extremely averse to undertaking anything of importance in the dark. he also knew that their favorite time for making an attack is when they can catch their enemy at a disadvantage, as would be the case while his wagons were crossing the river and his men and animals were struggling with its probable quicksands. another serious consideration was that, during the summer season, all the rivers of the plains are liable to sudden and tremendous freshets, that often render them impassable for days. thus it was unwise to linger on the near bank of one that was fordable a moment longer than necessary. he had, therefore, decided to make the crossing of this stream that night, as quietly as possible, and as soon as darkness had set in. for this reason none of the baggage, except the mess-chests and a sack of corn, had been taken from the wagons, so that a start could be made at a few minutes' notice. with the last of the lingering daylight the chief, accompanied by mr. hobart and the wagon-master, crossed the river on horseback, to discover its depth, the character of its bottom, the nature of the opposite bank, and to locate a camping-ground on its farther side. they found the water to be but a few inches deep, except in one narrow channel, where it had a depth of about three feet. they also found the bottom to be of that most treacherous of quicksands which is so hard that a thousand-pound hammer cannot force a post into it, yet into which that same post would slowly sink of its own weight until lost to sight, and held with such terrible tenacity that nothing short of a steam-engine could pull it out. such a quicksand as this is not dangerous to the man or animal who keeps his feet in constant motion while crossing it, but woe to him if he neglects this precaution for a single minute. in that case, unless help reaches him, he is as surely lost as though clasped in the relentless embrace of a tiger. the only place on the opposite bank where teams could emerge from the water was very narrow, and a team striking below it in the dark would almost certainly be lost. thus the problem of a safe crossing at night became a difficult one. it would be unsafe to build fires or use lanterns, as these would surely draw the attention, and probably the bullets, of the indians. finally the plan was adopted of stretching a rope across the river, from bank to bank, on the lower side of the ford, with a line of men stationed along its entire length, so that no team could get below it. these were charged, as they valued their lives, to keep their feet in constant motion, and on no account to let go of the rope. first the ambulances were put across. then the spare stock and saddle-animals were led over, and securely fastened. six spare mules, harnessed and attached to a loose rope, were held in readiness, on the farther bank, to assist any team that might get stalled in the river. then, one by one, the heavily laden wagons began to cross, with two men leading each team. there was little difficulty except at the channel, where the mules were apt to be frightened at the sudden plunge into deeper water. a mule hates the dark almost as much as an indian; he dislikes to work in water, and above all he dreads miry places or quicksands, for which his small, sharp hoofs are peculiarly unfitted. he is easily panic-stricken, and is then wholly unmanageable. a team of mules, finding themselves stalled in a stream, will become frantic with terror. they utter agonized cries, attempt to clamber on one another's back, and frequently drown themselves before they can be cut loose from the traces and allowed to escape. in spite of all the difficulties to be overcome, the wagons were got safely over, until only one remained, and it had started on its perilous journey. those members of the party who stood in the water holding the rope were becoming thoroughly chilled, as well as wearied by the treadmill exercise necessary to keep their feet from sinking in the quicksand. thus, though they still stuck manfully to their posts, they were thankful enough that this was the last wagon, and noted the sound of its progress with eager interest. they were all volunteers, for nobody had been ordered to remain in the river, and this fact added to the strength of purpose with which they maintained their uncomfortable positions. among them were glen eddy and binney gibbs, who, when volunteers were called for to perform this duty, had rushed into the river among the first. now they stood, side by side, near the middle of the stream, and close to the edge of the channel. they rejoiced to see the dim bulk of the last wagon looming out of the darkness, and to know that their weary task was nearly ended. the mules of this team were unusually nervous, splashing more than any of the others had done, and snorting loudly. the rope had been cast loose from the bank the party had so recently quitted, and all those who had upheld it beyond glen and binney had passed by them on their way to the other side. they, too, would be relieved from duty as soon as the team crossed the channel. but there seemed to be some difficulty about persuading the mules to cross it. as the leaders felt the water growing deeper and the sandy bank giving way beneath them, they sprang back in terror, and threw the whole team into confusion. the wagon came to a standstill, and everybody in the vicinity realized its danger. the driver, feeling that the need for silence and caution was past, began to shout at his mules, and the reports of his blacksnake whip rang out like pistol-shots. in the excitement of the moment nobody noticed or paid any attention to a gleaming line of white froth that came creeping down the river, stretching from bank to bank like a newly formed snow-drift. suddenly a rifle-shot rang out from the bank they had left, then another, and then a dozen at once. the indians had discovered their flight, and were firing angrily in the direction of the sounds in the river. the teamster sprang from his saddle, and, cutting the traces of his mules, started them towards the shore, leaving the wagon to its fate. "it's time we were off, too, old man," said glen, as he started to follow the team. "i can't move, glen! oh, help me! i'm sinking!" screamed binney, in a tone of inexpressible anguish. glen dropped the rope, and sprang to his companion's assistance. at the same instant there came a great shout from the bank, "hurry up, there's a freshet coming! hurry! hurry, or you'll be swept away!" with both arms about binney, glen was straining every nerve of his muscular young body to tear his friend loose from the grasp of the terror that held him. he could not; but a wall of black water four feet high, that came rushing down on them with an angry roar, was mightier even than the quicksand, and, seizing both the boys in its irresistible embrace, it wrenched them loose and overwhelmed them. chapter xxv. swept away by a freshet. the rush of waters that wrenched binney gibbs loose from the grasp of the quicksand which had seized him as he remained motionless for a minute, forgetful of his own danger in the excitement caused by that of the team, also flung the rope they had been holding against glen eddy. he held to it desperately with one hand, while, with the other arm about his companion, he prevented him from being swept away. as the mad waters dashed the boys from their feet and closed over them, it seemed as though glen's arms must be torn from their sockets, and he would have had to let go had not binney also succeeded in grasping the rope so that the great strain was somewhat relieved. gasping for breath, they both rose to the surface. a huge white object was bearing directly down on them. they could not avoid it. glen was the first to recognize its nature. "it's the wagon!" he shouted. "grab hold of it, and hang on for your life!" then it struck them and tore loose their hold of the rope. they both managed to clutch it, though binney's slight strength was so nearly exhausted that, but for glen, he must speedily have let go and sunk again beneath the foam-flecked waters. now the other's sturdy frame and athletic training came splendidly to his aid. obtaining a firm foothold in the flooded wagon, he pulled binney up to him by the sheer strength of his muscular young arms. for a moment they stood together panting for breath, and the weaker boy clinging to the stronger. but the water was still rising; and, as the heavily laden wagon could not float, it seemed likely to be totally submerged. "it's no use, glen. we'll be drowned, anyhow," said binney, despairingly. "oh, no, we won't. not just yet, anyway," answered the other, trying to sustain his companion's spirits by speaking hopefully. "we can get out of the water entirely, by climbing up on top of the cover, and i guess it will bear us." it was a suggestion worth trying; and, though the undertaking was perilous and difficult in the extreme, under the circumstances, they finally succeeded in accomplishing it, and found themselves perched on the slippery, sagging surface of the canvas cover, that, supported by stout ash bows, was stretched above the wagon. all this time their strange craft, though not floating, was borne slowly but steadily down stream by the force of the current. every now and then it seemed as though about to capsize; and, had it been empty, it must certainly have done so; but its heavy load, acting like ballast in a boat, kept it upright. it headed in all directions, and at times, when its wheels could revolve on the bottom of the river, it moved steadily and rapidly. it was when it got turned broadside to the current that the two shivering figures, clutching at their uncertain support, became most apprehensive, and expected it to be overturned by the great pressure brought to bear against it. [illustration: "the strange craft was borne slowly down stream."] how slowly the minutes and hours dragged by! it was about midnight when the freshet struck them and they started on this most extraordinary voyage; but from that time until they saw the first streaks of rosy light in the east seemed an eternity. more than once during the night the wagon brought up against some obstruction, and remained motionless for longer or shorter intervals of time; but it had always been forced ahead again, and made to resume its uncertain wanderings. now, as the welcome daylight crept slowly over the scene, it found the strange ark, with its two occupants, again stranded, and this time immovably so. at length glen exclaimed, joyfully: "there's the western bank, the very one we want to reach, close to us. i believe we can swim to it, as easy as not." "but i can't swim, you know," replied binney, dolefully. "that's so; i forgot," said glen, in a dismayed tone. "but look," he added, and again there was a hopeful ring to his voice, "there are the tops of some bushes between us and it. the water can't be very deep there. perhaps we can touch bottom, and you can wade if you can't swim. i'm going over there and take soundings." binney dreaded being left alone, and was about to beg his companion not to desert him, but the words were checked on his lips by the thought of the reputation he had to sustain. so, as glen pulled off his wet clothing, he said, "all right, only be very careful and don't go too far, for i think i would rather drown with you than be left here all alone." "never fear!" cried glen; "swimming is about the one thing i can do. so, here goes!" he had climbed down, and stood on the edge of the submerged wagon body as he spoke. now he sprang far out in the yellow waters, and the next moment was making his way easily through them towards the bushes. the swift current carried him down-stream; but at length he caught one of them, and, letting his feet sink, touched bottom in water up to his neck. "it's all right!" he shouted back to binney. pulling himself along from one bit of willow to another, he waded towards the bank until the water was not more than up to his waist. then he made his way up-stream until he was some distance above the place where the wagon was stranded, and, two minutes later, he had waded and swum back to it. binney had watched every movement anxiously, and now he said, "that's all well enough for you; but i don't see how i am going to get there." "by resting your hands on my shoulders and letting me swim with you till you can touch bottom, of course," answered glen. he could not realize binney's dread of the water, nor what a struggle against his natural timidity took place in the boy's mind before he answered, "very well, if you say so, glen, i'll trust you." while he was laying aside his water-soaked clothing and preparing for the dreaded undertaking, glen suddenly uttered an exclamation of dismay. he had spied several horsemen riding along the river-bank towards them. were they white men or indians? did their coming mean life or death? "i'm afraid they are indians," said glen; "for our camp must be ten miles off." binney agreed with him that they must have come at least that distance during the night, and the boys watched the oncoming horsemen with heavy hearts. "i'd rather drown than let them get me again," said glen. but binney had not had the other's experience with indians, and to him nothing could be more terrible than water. long and earnestly they watched, filled with alternate hopes and fears. the riders seemed to move very slowly. all at once, glen uttered a shout of joy. "they are white men!" he cried. "i can see their hats;" and, seizing his wet shirt, he began to wave it frantically above his head. that his signal was seen was announced by a distant cheer, and several shots fired in quick succession. a few minutes later, six white men reined in their horses on the bank, just abreast the wagon. they were hardly able to credit their eyes as they recognized, in the two naked figures clinging to it, those whom they had been so certain were long ago drowned, and for whose bodies they were searching. as they hurriedly consulted concerning how best to effect a rescue, they were amazed to see both boys clamber down from their perch, and drop into the turbid waters, one after the other. when they realized that glen and binney were swimming, and trying in this way to reach the shore, they forced their horses down the steep bank and dashed into the shallow overflow of the bottom-land to meet them. at that moment binney gibbs, by trusting himself so implicitly to glen's strength and skill, in an element where he was so utterly helpless, was displaying a greater courage than where, acting under impulse, he sprang from his mule the day before, and ran back to fight indians. the bravest deeds are always those that are performed deliberately and after a careful consideration of their possible consequences. as "billy" brackett, who was the first to reach the boys, relieved glen of his burden, he exclaimed, "well, if i had the luck of you fellows i'd change my name to vanderbilt and run for congress! we were sure you were gone up this time, and the best i hoped for was to find your bodies. instead of that, here you are, hardly out of sight of camp, perched on the top of a wagon, as chipper as a couple of sparrows after a rainstorm." "where is camp?" inquired glen, who was now wading easily along beside the other's horse. "just around that farther bend, up there." "what made it come so far down the river, and off the road?" "it hasn't. it's right at the ford, where we crossed last night." "but i thought that was at least ten miles from here." "ten miles! why, my son, you must have imagined you were travelling on a four-wheeled steamboat all night, instead of an old water-logged prairie schooner. we are not, at this minute, quite a mile from the place where you started on your cruise." it was hard for the boys to realize the truth of this statement; but so it was; and, during those tedious hours of darkness they had only travelled rods instead of miles, as they had fancied. after the short delay necessary to recover the boys' clothing from the wagon, they were triumphantly borne back to camp by the rescuing-party. there the enthusiasm with which they were received was only equalled by the amazement of those who crowded about them and listened to the account of their adventure. by means of a double team of mules, and some stout ropes, even the wagon on which they had made their curious voyage was recovered, and found to be still serviceable, though the greater part of its load was ruined. the river was still an impassable stream, as wide as the mississippi at st. louis, and was many feet deep over the place, on its farther side, where they had camped at sunset. thus there was no danger of another attack from indians. two hours after sunrise the explorers were again wending their way westward, rejoicing over their double escape, and over the recovery of the two members who had been given up as lost. chapter xxvi. running the line. after this day and night, crowded so full of incident, four days of steady travel brought general lyle's expedition to a point close to the boundary-line between kansas and colorado, where their surveys were to begin. the last hundred miles of their journey had been through a region studded with curious masses of sandstone. these were scattered far and wide over the plains, and rose to a height of from one hundred to three hundred feet, resembling towers, monuments, castles, and ruins of every description. it was hard to believe that many of them were not the work of human hands; and to glen and binney they formed an inexhaustible subject for wonder and speculation. they were now more than three thousand feet above the sea-level; the soil became poorer with every mile; there were fewer streams, and along those that did exist timber was almost unknown. the first line of survey was to be a hard one; for it was to run through the very worst of this country--from the smoky hill to the arkansas, a region hitherto unexplored, and known only to the few buffalo hunters who had crossed it at long intervals. the distance was supposed to be about seventy miles, and there was said to be no water along the entire route. but both a transit and a level line must be run over this barren region, and the distance must be carefully measured. a good day's work for a surveying-party, engaged in running a first, or preliminary, line in an open country, is eight or ten miles; and, at this rate, the distance between the smoky hill and the arkansas rivers could be covered in a week. but a week without water was out of the question, and general lyle determined to do it in three days. on the night before beginning this remarkable survey, every canteen and bottle that could be found was filled with water, as were several casks. everybody drank as much as he could in the morning, and all the animals were watered the very last thing. everything was packed and ready for a start by daylight, and long before sunrise the working-party was in the field. the first division was to run the first two miles. its transit was set up over the last stake of the old survey that had been ended at that point, and the telescope was pointed in the direction of the course now to be taken. the division engineer, with his front flagman, had already galloped half a mile away across the plain. there they halted, and the gayly painted staff, with its fluttering red pennon, was held upright. then it was moved to the right or left, as the transit-man, peering through his telescope, waved his right or left arm. finally, he waved both at a time, and the front flag was thrust into the ground. it was on line. now the head chainman starts off on a run, with his eyes fixed on the distant flag, and dragging a hundred feet of glistening steel-links behind him. "stick!" shouts the rear chainman, who stands beside the transit, as he grasps the end of the chain and pulls it taut. "stuck!" answers the man in front, thrusting one of the steel pins that he carries in his hand into the ground. then he runs on, and the rear chainman runs after him, but just a hundred feet behind. two axemen, one with a bundle of marked stakes in his arms, and the other carrying an axe with which to drive them, follow the chain closely. at the end of each five hundred feet they drive a stake. if stakes were not so scarce in this country, they would set one at the end of every hundred feet. it does not make much difference; for these stakes will not remain standing very long anyhow. the buffalo will soon pull them up, by rubbing and scratching their heads against them. at the end of every half-mile, a mound of earth--or stones, if they can be found--is thrown up; and these the indians will level whenever they come across them. perhaps some of them will be left, though. while the chainmen are measuring the distance to that front flag, and the axemen are driving stakes and throwing up mounds, the transit-man, mounted on a steady-going mule, with the transit on his shoulder, is galloping ahead to where the front flag awaits him. only the back flagman is left standing at the place from which the first sight was taken. the front flagman thrust a small stake in the ground, drove a tack in its centre, and held his flag on it before he waved the transit-man up. now the transit is set over this stake so that the centre of the instrument is directly over the tack; and while it is being made ready the front flag is again galloping away over the rolling prairie, far in advance of the rest of the party. the transit-man first looks through his telescope at the back flag, now far behind him, and waves to him to come on. then the telescope is reversed, and he is ready to wave the front flag into line as soon as he stops. the leveller, with two rodmen, all well mounted, follow behind the transit-party, noting, by means of their instruments, the elevation above sea-level of every stake that is driven. so the work goes on with marvellous rapidity--every man and horse and mule on a run until two miles have been chained and it is time for the breathless first division to have a rest. mr. hobart has watched their work carefully. he has also made some changes in his force, and is going to see what sort of a front flagman glen eddy will make. this is because nettle has proved herself the fleetest pony in the whole outfit. "two miles in fifty-two minutes!" shouts mr. hobart to his men, as the stake that marks the end of ten thousand five hundred and sixty feet is driven. "boys, we must do better than that." "ay, ay, sir! we will!" shout the "bald heads," as they spring to the places the first-division men are just leaving. mr. hobart, glen, and a mounted axeman are already galloping to the front. they dash across a shallow valley, lying between two great swells of the prairie, and mount the gentle slope on its farther side, a mile away. it is a long transit sight; but "billy" brackett can take it. the boy who rides beside the division engineer is very proud of his new position, and sits his spirited mare like a young lancer. the slender, steel-shod, red-and-white staff of his flag-pole, bearing its gay pennon, that glen has cut a little longer than the others, and nicked with a swallow-tail, looks not unlike a lance. as the cool morning air whistles past him, the boy's blood tingles, his eyes sparkle, and he wonders if there can be any more fascinating business in the world than surveying and learning to become an engineer. he thinks of the mill and the store with scorn. it beats them away out of sight, anyhow. as they reach the crest of the divide, from which they can see far away on all sides, mr. hobart, using his field-glass to watch the movements of "billy" brackett's arms, directs glen where to place his flag. "right--more--more--away over to the right--there--steady! left, a little--steady--so! drive a stake there! now hold your flag on it! a trifle to the right--that's good! drive the tack! move him up--all right, he's coming!" then, leaving the axeman to point out the stake, just driven, to the transit-man, the engineer and his young flagman again dash forward. "two miles in thirty-eight minutes! that is quick work! i congratulate you and your division, mr. hobart." so said the chief-engineer as the men of the second division, dripping with perspiration, completed their first run, and, turning the work over to those of the third, took their vacant places in the wagon that followed the line. the morning sun was already glowing with heat, and by noon its perpendicular rays were scorching the arid plain with relentless fury. men and animals alike drooped beneath it, but there was no pause in the work. it must be rushed through in spite of everything. about noon they passed a large buffalo wallow, half filled with stagnant water, that the animals drank eagerly. that evening, when it was too dark to distinguish the cross-hairs in the instruments, the weary engineers knocked off work, with a twenty-one-mile survey to their credit. they were too tired to pitch tents that night, but spread their blankets anywhere, and fell asleep almost as soon as they had eaten supper. there was no water, no wood, and only a scanty supply of sun-dried grass. it was a dry camp. the next day was a repetition of the first. the tired animals, suffering from both hunger and thirst, dragged the heavy wagons wearily over the long undulations of the sun-baked plain. occasionally they crossed dry water-courses; but at sunset they had not found a drop of the precious fluid, and another dry camp was promised for that night. as the men of the second division drove the last stake of another twenty-one-mile run, and, leaving the line, moved slowly in the direction of camp, the mule ridden by binney gibbs suddenly threw up its head, sniffed the air, and, without regard to his rider's efforts to control him, started off on a run. "stop us! we are running away!" shouted binney; and, without hesitation, glen gave spurs to nettle and dashed away in pursuit. "what scrape are those young scatter-brains going to get into now?" growled mr. hobart. "i don't know," answered "billy" brackett; "but whatever it is they will come out of it all right, covered with mud and glory. i suppose i might as well begin to organize the rescuing-party, though." chapter xxvii. "covered with mud and glory." as "billy" brackett predicted they would, the two boys did return to camp in about fifteen minutes, covered with mud and glory. at least binney gibbs was covered with mud, and they brought the glorious news that there were several large though shallow pools of water not more than half a mile away. binney's mule having scented it, there was no stopping him until he had rushed to it, and, as usual, flung his rider over his head into the very middle of one of the shallow ponds. glen had reached the place just in time to witness this catastrophe, and to roar with laughter at the comical sight presented by his companion, as the latter waded ruefully from the pond, dripping mud and water from every point. "you take to water as naturally as a young duck, binney!" he shouted, as soon as his laughter gave him a chance for words. "no, indeed, i don't," sputtered poor binney. "but somehow water always seems to take to me, and i can get nearly drowned when nobody else can find a drop to drink. as for that mule, i believe he thinks i wouldn't know how to get off his back if he didn't pitch me off." in less than a minute after the boys got back with their report of water, half the men in camp were hastening towards it, and the entire herd of animals, in charge of a couple of teamsters, was galloping madly in the same direction. the ponds were the result of a heavy local rain of the night before; and, within a couple of days, would disappear in the sandy soil as completely as though they had never existed; but they served an admirable purpose, and the whole party was grateful to binney gibbs's mule for discovering them. so refreshed were the men by their unexpected bath, and so strengthened were the animals by having plenty of water with both their evening and morning meals, that the survey of the following day covered twenty-four miles. it was the biggest day's work of transit and level on record, and could only have been accomplished under extraordinary circumstances. this was the hardest day of the three to bear. the heat of the sun, shining from an unclouded sky, was intolerable. as far as the eye could reach there was no shadow, nor any object to break the terrible monotony of its glare. a hot wind from the south whirled the light soil aloft in suffocating clouds of dust. the men of the three divisions were becoming desperate. they knew that this killing pace could not be maintained much longer, and the twenty-four mile run was the result of a tremendous effort to reach the arkansas river that day. from each eminence, as they crossed it, telescope, field-glasses, and straining eyes swept the sky-line in the hope of sighting the longed-for river. late in the afternoon some far away trees and a ribbon of light were lifted to view against the horizon by the shimmering heat waves; but this was at once pronounced to be only the tantalizing vision of the mirage. so, in a dry camp, the exhausted men and thirsty animals passed the night. the latter, refusing to touch the parched grass or even their rations of corn, made the hours hideous with their cries, and spent their time in vain efforts to break their fastenings that they might escape and seek to quench their burning thirst. but even this night came to an end; and, with the first eastern streaks of pink and gold so exquisitely beautiful through the rarefied atmosphere of this region, the surveyors were once more in the field. there was no merriment now, nor life in the work. it went on amid a dogged silence. the transit and level were lifted slowly, as though they were made of lead. the chain was dragged wearily along at a walk. it was evident that the limit of endurance was nearly reached. scouts were sent out on both sides to search for water. there was no use sending anybody ahead to hunt up that mirage, or at least so thought general lyle. his maps showed the river to be miles away; but they also showed a large creek, not far to the westward; and towards this the hopes of the party were turned. on the maps it was called "sand creek," a name made infamous forever by a massacre of indians, mostly women and children, that took place on its banks in november, . then it had contained water; but now it was true to its name, and the dispirited scouts, returning from it, reported that its bed was but a level expanse of dry, glistening sand. as this report was being made, there came a quick succession of shots from the front, and a thrill of new life instantly pervaded the whole party. what could they indicate, if not good news of some kind. the first division had completed its two miles, and the second was running the line. "billy" brackett was preparing for one of his famous mile sights at the front flag, with which glen eddy, riding beside mr. hobart, was wearily toiling up a distant slope. gazing at them through his fine telescope, the transit-man could not at first understand their extraordinary actions as they reached the top. he saw glen fling up his hat, and mr. hobart fire his pistol into the air. then glen waved his flag, while the division engineer seemed to be pointing to something in front of them. "well, quit your fooling and give me a sight, can't you?" growled "billy" brackett to himself, but directly afterwards he shouted to those near him, "i believe they've found water, and shouldn't wonder if they'd located the arkansas itself." then he got his "sight," waved "all right," mounted his mule, shouldered the transit, and galloped away. he was right; they had located the arkansas, and the alleged mirage of the evening before had been a reality after all. that night of suffering had been spent within five miles of one of the largest rivers that cross the plains. as glen and mr. hobart reached the crest of that long slope they saw its grassy valley outspread before them. they saw the scattered timber lining its banks, and, best of all, they saw the broad, brown flood itself, rolling down to join the distant mississippi. by shots and wavings they tried to communicate the joyful intelligence to those who toiled so wearily behind them, and "billy" brackett, watching them through his transit, had understood. they waited on the ridge until he joined them, and then hastened away towards the tempting river. when the next foresight was taken glen's flag was planted on the edge of that famous old wagon-road of the arkansas valley known to generations of plainsmen as the santa fé trail. glen had hardly waved his "all right" to the transit, before the wagons came tearing down the slope with their mules on the keen run. the perishing animals had seen the life-giving waters, and it was with the greatest difficulty that they were restrained from rushing into the river, wagons and all. the drivers only just succeeded in casting loose the trace-chains, when each team, with outstretched necks and husky brayings, plunged in a body over the bank and into the river, burying their heads up to their eyes in the cooling flood. it seemed as though they would drink themselves to death, and when they finally, consented to leave the river and turn their attention to the rich grasses of its bottom-lands, they were evidently water-logged. it would be hours before they were again fit for work. but nobody wanted them to work. not until the next morning would the wagons move again. the splendid runs of the last three days had earned a rest for men and animals alike. so it was granted them, and no schoolboys ever enjoyed a half-holiday more. what a luxury it was to have plenty of water again, not only to drink, but actually to wash with and bathe in! and to lie in the shade of a tree! could anything be more delicious? at sunrise the line was resumed; and, still working together, the three divisions ran it for fifty miles up the broad valley of the arkansas. a few days after striking the river they passed bent's fort, one of the most famous of the old plains trading-posts built by individuals long before troops were sent out to occupy the land. its usefulness as a trading-station had nearly departed, for already the indians were leaving that part of the country, and those who remained were kept too busy fighting to have any time for trading. its stout log stockade was, however, valuable to its builder as a protection against attacks from indians led by one of his own sons. their mother was a cheyenne squaw, and though they, together with their only sister, had been educated in st. louis, the same as white children, they had preferred to follow the fortunes of their mother's people on returning to the plains. now the cheyennes had no more daring leader than george bent, nor was there a girl in the tribe so beautiful as his sister. the little fort, admirably located on a high bluff overlooking the river, was filled with a curious mixture of old plainsmen, indians, half-breed children, ponies, mules, burros, and pet fawns. it was a place of noise and confusion at once bewildering and interesting. at the end of fifty miles from the point at which they entered the arkansas valley, the explorers caught their first glimpse of the rocky mountains, two white clouds that they knew to be the snow-capped summits of the spanish peaks, a hundred miles away. here the expedition was divided. the first and third divisions were to cross the river and proceed southwesterly, by way of the raton mountains and fort union, to santa fé; while mr. hobart was to take the second still farther up the arkansas valley, and almost due west to the famous sangre de cristo pass through the mountains, just north of the spanish peaks. for two weeks longer they worked their way slowly but steadily across the burning plains, towards the mountains that almost seemed to recede from them as they advanced; though each day disclosed new peaks, while those already familiar loomed up higher and grander with every mile. finally they were so near at hand that the weary toilers, choked with the alkaline dust of the plains, and scorched with their fervent heat, could feast their eyes on the green slopes, cool, dark valleys, and tumbling cascades, rushing down from glittering snow-fields. how they longed to be among them, and with what joy did they at length leave the treeless country of which they were so tired and enter the timbered foot-hills! now, how deliciously cool were the nights, and how they enjoyed the roaring camp-fires. what breathless plunges they took in ice-cold streams of crystal water. how good fresh venison tasted after weeks of salt bacon and dried buffalo meat, and how eagerly they ate raw onions, and even raw potatoes, obtained at the occasional mexican ranches found nestled here and there in the lower valleys. "i tell you," said glen to binney gibbs, who had by this time become his firm friend, "it pays to go without fresh vegetables for a couple of months, just to find out what fine things onions and potatoes are." chapter xxviii. lost in a mountain snow-storm. a week was spent on the eastern slope of the mountains, running lines through the mosca and cuchara passes. finally, a camp was made in a forest of balsam-firs, beside a great spring of ice-water, that bubbled from a granite basin at the summit of the sangre de cristo, nine thousand feet above sea-level. to glen and binney, who had always dwelt in a flat country, and knew nothing of mountains, this was a new and delightful experience. they never tired of gazing off on the superb panorama outspread below them. to the east, the view was so vast and boundless that it seemed as though the distant blue of the horizon must be that of the ocean itself, and that they were spanning half the breadth of a continent in a single sight. at their feet lay the plains they had just crossed, like a great green map on which dark lines of timber and gleams of light marked the arkansas and its tributary streams, whose waters would mingle with those of the mississippi. on the other hand, they could see, across the broad basin of the san luis valley, other ranges of unknown mountains, whose mysteries they were yet to explore. through this western valley, flowing southward, wound the shining ribbon of the rio grande. both north and south of them were mountain-peaks. to climb to the very summit of one of these was glen's present ambition, and his longing eyes were turned more often to the snow-capped dome that rose in solemn majesty on the south side of the pass than in any other direction. he even succeeded in persuading binney gibbs that to climb that mountain would be just a little better fun than anything else that could be suggested. still, he did not see any prospect of their being allowed to make the attempt, and so tried not to think of it. on the first evening, after camp had been pitched on the summit of the pass, he sat on a chunk of moss-covered granite, gazing meditatively into the glowing coals of a glorious fire. he imagined he had succeeded in banishing all thoughts of that desirable mountain-top from his mind, and yet, all of a sudden, he became aware that it was the very thing he was thinking of. he gave himself a petulant shake as he realized this, and was about to move away, when "billy" brackett, who sat on the end of a log near him, spoke up and said, "glen, how would you like to try a bit of mountain climbing with me to-morrow?" "i'd like it better than anything i know of," answered the boy, eagerly. "all right, it's a go, then; you see the chief is going off on an exploration with the topographer; and, as we can't run any lines till he comes back, he asked me if i'd take a couple of fellows and measure the height of that peak." "do you mean to chain from here away up there?" asked glen, in astonishment, glancing dubiously up at the dim form towering above them. "chain! not much, i don't!" laughed brackett. "i mean carry up a barometer, and measure with it." "how?" asked glen, to whom this was a novel idea. "easy enough. we know that, roughly speaking, a barometer varies a little less than one tenth of an inch with every hundred feet of elevation. for instance, if it reads . where we now are, it will read . a hundred feet higher, or . at an elevation of a thousand feet above this. there are carefully prepared tables showing the exact figures." "can't you do it by boiling water, too?" asked binney gibbs, who had approached them unobserved, and was an interested listener of this explanation. "certainly you can," answered "billy" brackett, looking up with some surprise at the young scholar. "by boiling water we have a neat check on the barometer; for, on account of the rarefication of the air, water boils at one degree less of temperature for about every five hundred feet of elevation." "then what is the use of levelling?" asked glen. "because these figures are only approximate, and cannot be relied upon for nice work. but where did you learn about such things, grip?" "at the brimfield high school," answered binney with some confusion; for he was not really so boastful of his scholarship as he had once been. "well, how would you like to join our climbing-party? i'm going to take glen along for his muscle, and i'll take you for your brains if you want to go." "i think i'd like to try it, though perhaps i won't be able to get to the very top," answered binney. the modesty that this boy had learned from his rough plains experience would have surprised his brimfield acquaintances could they have seen it. "very well, then, we will start at sunrise in the morning. we'll each carry a hatchet, a knife, matches in water-tight cases, and a good bit of lunch. i'll carry the barometer, glen shall take charge of the thermometer, and 'grip' shall bring along his brains. now i'd advise you both to turn in, and lay up a supply of rest sufficient to carry you through a harder day's work than any we've done on this trip yet." the sun was just lifting his red face above the distant rim of the plains, and its scant beams were bathing the snow-capped peak in a wonderful rosy glow, as the three mountain climbers left camp the next morning. each one bore the light weight allotted to him, and, in addition, glen carried a raw-hide lariat hung over his shoulders. having noted the compass bearings of their general course, they plunged directly into the dense fir forest with which this flank of the mountain was covered to a height of a thousand feet or so above them. for several hours they struggled through it, sometimes clambering over long lanes of fallen trees, prostrated by fierce wind-storms, and piled in chaotic heaps so thickly that often, for half a mile at a time, their feet did not touch the ground. then they came to a region of enormous granite blocks, ten to thirty feet high, over many of which they were obliged to make their way as best they could. now they began to find patches of snow, and the timber only appeared in scattered clumps. from here their course led up through an enormous gorge, or cleft, that grew narrower as they ascended, until it terminated in a long, steep slope of boulders and loose rocks. here they encountered the first real danger of the ascent. every now and then a boulder, that appeared firmly seated until burdened with the weight of one of them, would give way and go crashing and thundering down with great leaps behind them until lost in the forest below. it was noon when they emerged on a narrow, shelf-like plateau above the gorge. here stood the last clump of stunted trees. above them stretched the glistening snow-fields, pierced by crags of splintered granite. rock, ice, and snow to the very summit. here binney said he could go no farther; and here, after building a fire and eating their lunch, the others left him to await their return. a sheer wall of smooth, seamless rock, hundreds of feet in height, bounded one side of the shelf, and a precipice, almost as sheer, the other. for half a mile or so did glen and his companion follow it, seeking some place at which they might continue their ascent. finally it narrowed almost to a point, that terminated in an immense field of snow sloping down, smooth and spotless, for a thousand feet below them, to a tiny blue-black lake. beyond the snow-field the ascent seemed possible; and, by cutting footholes in it with their hatchets, they managed to cross it in safety. for two hours longer they struggled upward; and then, within a few hundred feet of the summit, they could get no farther. in vain did they try every point that offered the faintest hope of success, and at last were forced to give it up. they noted the reading of the barometer, and with a few shavings and slivers cut from its outside case they made a tiny blaze, and, as glen expressed it, boiled a thermometer in a tin cup. they were now as impatient to descend as they had been to climb upward, and even more so; for the brightness of the day had departed, and ominous clouds were gathering about them. the air was bitterly cold; and, with their few minutes' cessation from violent exercise, they were chilled to the bone. so they hastened to retrace their rugged way, sliding, leaping, hanging by their hands, and dropping from ledge to ledge, taking frightful risks in their eagerness to escape the threatened storm, or at any rate to meet it in some more sheltered spot. if they could only reach the shelf-like ledge, at the farther end of which binney gibbs awaited them, they would feel safe. they had nearly done so, but not quite, when the storm burst upon them in a fierce, blinding, whirling rush of snow, that took away their breath and stung like needles. it seemed to penetrate their clothing. it bewildered them. it was so dense that they could not see a yard ahead of them. they had already started to cross that long, sloping snow-field, beyond which lay the rocky shelf. to go back would be as dangerous as to proceed. they could not stay where they were. the deadly chill of the air would speedily render them incapable of maintaining their foothold. the assistant engineer was leading the way, with his companion a full rod behind him. the former dared not turn his head; but he shouted encouragingly that they were almost across, and with a few more steps would reach a place of safety. then came a swirling, shrieking blast, before which he bowed his head. he thought he heard a cry; but could not tell. it might only have been the howl of the fierce wind. he reached the shelf of rock in safety, and turned to look for his companion; but glen was not to be seen. blinded by that furious blast, the boy had missed his footing. the next instant he was sliding, helplessly, and with frightful velocity, down that smooth slope of unyielding snow, towards the blue lake hidden in the storm-cloud far beneath him. chapter xxix. plunging into a lake of ice-water. as "billy" brackett turned and missed the companion whom he supposed was close behind him, his heart sank like lead. in vain did he shout. not even an echo answered him. his loudest tones were snatched from his lips by the wind, torn into fragments, and indistinguishably mingled with its mocking laughter. it was barely possible that glen might have turned back; and, with the slender hope thus offered, the engineer retraced his perilous way across the snow-field to the place where they last stood together. it was empty and awful in its storm-swept loneliness. a great terror seized hold upon the man's stout heart; and, as he again crossed the treacherous snow, he trembled so that his reaching the rocky shelf beyond was little short of a miracle. then he hastened to the place where binney gibbs anxiously awaited the return of his friends. he had kept up a roaring fire, knowing that it would be a welcome sight to them, especially since the setting-in of the storm. its coming had filled him with anxiety and uneasy forebodings, so that he hailed "billy" brackett's appearance with a glad shout of welcome. it died on his lips as he noted the expression on the engineer's face; and, with a tremble of fear in his voice, he asked, "where is glen?" "i don't know," was the answer. "do you mean that he is lost on the mountain in this storm?" cried binney, aghast at the terrible possibilities thus suggested. "not only that, but i have not the faintest hope that he will ever be found again," replied the other; and then he told all he knew of what had happened. although, for their own safety, they should already be hurrying towards camp, binney insisted on going to the place where his friend had last been seen. the snow-squall had passed when they reached it, but the clouds still hung thick about them; and binney shuddered as he saw the smooth white slide that vanished in the impenetrable mist but a few rods below them. in vain they shouted. in vain they fired every shot contained in the only pistol they had brought with them. there was no answer. and, finally, without a hope that they would ever see glen eddy again, they sadly retraced their steps and reached camp just as the complete darkness, that would have rendered their farther progress impossible, shut in. no one was more loved in that camp than glen, and no loss from the party could have been more keenly felt. it was with heavy hearts that they sought their blankets that night; and, the next evening, when the search-party, that had been out all day without finding the faintest trace of the missing boy, returned, they talked of him in low tones as of one who had gone from them forever. the following morning the camp in the pass was broken, and two days later a line had been run down the western slope of the mountains, to the edge of the san luis valley, near fort garland--one of the most charmingly located military posts of the west. in the meantime glen eddy was not only alive and well, but, at the very minute his companions were approaching fort garland he was actually assisting to prepare the quarters of its commandant for a wedding that was to take place in them that evening. for a moment, after he missed his foothold on the upper edge of the treacherous snow-field, and began to shoot down the smooth surface of its long slope, he imagined that he was about to be dashed in pieces, and resigned all hope of escape from the fearful peril that had so suddenly overtaken him. then the thought of the blue-black lake, with its walls of purple and red-stained granite, that he had seen lying at the foot of this very slope, flashed into his mind. a thrill shot through him as he thought of the icy plunge he was about to take. still, that was better than to be hurled over a precipice. the boy had even sufficient presence of mind to hold his feet close together, and attempt to guide himself so that they should strike the water first. he might have glided down that slope for seconds, or minutes, or even hours, for all that he knew of the passage of time. he seemed to be moving with great speed, and yet, in breathless anticipation of the inevitable plunge that, in fancy, he felt himself to be taking with each instant, his downward flight seemed indefinitely prolonged. at length the suspense was ended. almost with the quickness of thought the boy passed into a region of dazzling sunlight, was launched into space, and found himself sinking down, down, down, as though he would never stop, in water so cold that its chill pierced him like knives, and compressed his head as with a band of iron. looking up through the crystal sheet, he could see an apparently endless line of bubbles rising from where he was to the surface, and, after a while, he began to follow them. with a breathless gasp he again reached the blessed air, and, dashing the water from his eyes, began to consider his situation. he was dazed and bewildered at finding himself still alive and apparently none the worse for his tremendous slide. although he was in bright sunlight, the mountain-side down which he had come was hidden beneath dense folds of cloud, out of which he seemed to have dropped. gently paddling with his hands, just enough to keep himself afloat, glen looked anxiously about for some beach or other place at which he might effect a landing, but could discover none. the upper edge of the snow-field, that bounded the lake on one side, projected far over the water, so that, while he might swim under it, there was no possibility of getting on it. on all other sides sheer walls of rock rose from the water, without a trace of beach, or even of boulders, at their base. in all this solid wall there was but one break. not far from where glen swam, and just beyond the snow-field, a narrow cleft appeared; and from it came an indistinct roar of waters. glen felt himself growing numbed and powerless. he must either give up at once, and tamely allow himself to sink where he was, or he must swim to that cleft, and take his chances of getting out through it. he fully expected to find a waterfall just beyond the gloomy portal, and he clearly realized what his fate would be if it were there. but whatever he did must be done quickly. he knew that, and began to swim towards the cleft. as he approached it, he felt himself impelled onward by a gentle current that grew stronger with each moment. now he could not go back if he would. he passed between two lofty walls of rock, and, instead of dashing over a waterfall, was borne along by a swift, smooth torrent that looked black as ink in the gloom of its mysterious channel. ere the swimmer had traversed more than fifty yards of this dim waterway, the channel turned sharply to the left, and the character of the lower portion of its wall, on that side, changed from a precipice to a slope. in another moment glen's feet touched bottom, and he was slowly dragging his numbed and exhausted body ashore. although the sun was still shining on the mountain-side, far above him, it was already twilight where he was, and he had no desire to explore that stream farther in darkness. it would be bad enough by daylight. in fact, he was so thankful to escape from that icy water that, had the light been increasing instead of waning at that moment, he would probably have lingered long on those blessed rocks before tempting it further. now, as he gazed about him in search of some place in which, or on which, to pass the long hours of darkness, his eye fell on a confused pile of driftwood not far away. here was a prize indeed. he had matches, and, thanks to "billy" brackett, they were still dry. now he could have a fire. he found the driftwood to be a mass of branches and tree-trunks, bleached to the whiteness of bones, and evidently brought down by some much higher water than the present. they were lodged in the mouth of a deep water-worn hollow in the rock, and converted a certain portion of it into a sort of a cave. creeping in behind this wooden wall of gnarled roots, twisted branches, and splintered trunks, the shivering boy felt for his hatchet; but it had disappeared. his knife still remained in its sheath, however, and with it he finally managed, though with great difficulty on account of the numbness of his hands, to cut off a little pile of slivers and shavings from a bit of pine. in another moment the cave was illumined with a bright glow from one of his precious matches, and a tiny flame was creeping up through the handful of kindling. with careful nursing and judicious feeding the little flame rapidly increased in strength and brightness, until it was lighting the whole place with its cheerful glow, and was leaping, with many cracklings, through the entire mass of driftwood. before starting that fire, it seemed to glen that no amount of heat could be unwelcome, or that he could ever be even comfortably warm again. he discovered his mistake, however, when he was finally forced to abandon his cave entirely, and seek refuge in the open air from the intense heat with which it was filled. not until his pile of wood had burned down to a bed of glowing coals could he return. his couch that night was certainly a hard one, but it was as warm and dry as a boy could wish. if he only had something to eat! but he had not; so he went to sleep instead, and slept soundly until daylight--which meant about an hour after sunrise in the world beyond that narrow cañon. if he was hungry the night before, how ravenous he was in the morning. he even cut off a bit of the raw-hide lariat which he still retained, and tried to chew it. it was so very unsatisfactory a morsel that it helped him to realize the necessity of speedily getting out of that place and hunting for some food more nourishing than lariats. chapter xxx. down the lonely caÑon. glen had been conscious, ever since reaching his haven, of a dull, distant roar coming up from the cañon below him; and now, after an hour of scrambling, climbing, slipping, but still managing to keep out of the water, he discovered the fall that he had anticipated, and found himself on its brink. it was a direct plunge of a hundred feet, and the body of water very nearly occupied the whole of a narrow chasm between two cliffs similar to those at the outlet of the lake. a few feet of the rocky dam, where glen stood, were bare of water; but its face fell away as steep and smooth as that over which the stream took its plunge. only, in the angle formed by it and the side of the cañon, a mass of débris had collected that reached about half-way up to where glen stood, or to within fifty feet of the brink. on it grew a few stunted trees, the first vegetation he had seen since taking his slide. below that place the way seemed more open, and as though it might be possible to traverse. but how should he get down? he dared not leap; he could not fly. but he still had the lariat. it was forty feet long. if he could only fasten it where he stood, he might slide down its length and then drop. vainly he searched for some projecting point of rock about which to make his rope fast. there was none. all was smooth and water-worn. there was a crack. if he only had a stout bit of wood to thrust into it he might fasten the lariat to that. but he had not seen the smallest stick since leaving his sleeping-place. some unburned branches were still left there; but the idea of going back over that perilous road, through the gloom of the cañon, was most unpleasant to contemplate. he hated to consider it. still, before long it would be much more unpleasant to remain where he was, for he was already realizing the first pangs of starvation. so he wearily retraced his steps, procured a stout branch, and, after two hours of the most arduous toil, again stood on the brink of the waterfall. forcing the stick as far as possible into the crack, and wedging it firmly with bits of rock, he attached the raw-hide rope to it, and flung the loose end over the precipice. then, hanging over the edge, he grasped the rope firmly and slowly slid down. as he reached the end he hesitated for a moment, and glanced below. his feet dangled on a level with the top of the upmost tree. he dreaded to drop, but there was nothing else to do, and the next moment he was rolling and scrambling in the loose gravel and rounded pebbles of the heap of débris. at last he brought up against a tree-trunk, bruised and shaken, but with unbroken bones. he had now overcome the most difficult part of his hazardous trip; and, though the way was still so rough as to demand the exercise of the utmost care and skill and the use of every ounce of strength he possessed, it presented no obstacles that these could not surmount. finally, some time in the afternoon, he came to a narrow strip of meadow-land, where flowers were blooming amid the grass, and on which warm sunlight was streaming. here, too, he found a few blueberries, which he ate ravenously. what should he do for something more substantial? he was close beside the stream, which here flowed quietly, with pleasant ripplings, when he was startled by a splash in it. it must have been a fish jumping. why had he not thought of fish before? how should he catch them? necessity is the best sharpener of wits, and, in less than half an hour, glen was fishing with a line made of fibres from the inner skin of spruce bark, a hook formed of a bent pin, baited with a grasshopper, and the whole attached to a crooked bit of branch. not only was he fishing, but he was catching the most beautiful brook-trout he had ever seen almost as fast as he could re-bait and cast his rude tackle. there was no art required. nobody had ever fished in these waters before, and the trout were apparently as eager to be caught as he was to catch them. glen had not neglected to light a fire before he began his fishing, and by the time half a dozen of the dainty little fellows were caught a fine bed of hot coals was awaiting them. the boy knew very little of the art of cooking, but what he did know was ample for the occasion. his fish were speedily cleaned, laid on the coals for a minute, turned, left a minute longer, and eaten. when the first half-dozen had disappeared he caught more, and treated them in the same way. he had no salt, no condiments, no accessories of any kind, save the sauce of a hunger closely allied to starvation; but that supplied everything. it rendered that feast of half-cooked brook-trout the most satisfactory meal he had ever eaten. when, at last, his hunger was entirely appeased, the sun had set, and another night without shelter or human companionship was before him; but what did he care? as he lay in front of his fire, on an elastic, sweet-scented bed of small spruce boughs, with a semicircle of larger ones planted in the ground behind him, and their feathery tips drooping gracefully above his head, he was as happy and well-content as ever in his life. he had conquered the wilderness, escaped from one of its most cunningly contrived prison-houses, and won from it the means of satisfying his immediate wants. he enjoyed a glorious feeling of triumph and independence. to be sure, he had no idea of where he was, nor where the stream would lead him; but he had no intention of deserting it. he realized that his safest plan was to follow it. eventually it must lead him to the rio grande, and there he would surely be able to rejoin his party, if he did not find them sooner. he was in no hurry to leave the pleasant strip of flower-strewn meadow the next morning, nor did he, until he had caught and eaten a hearty breakfast, and laid in a supply of trout for at least one more meal. the third night found him still on the bank of his stream, which was flowing happily, with many a laugh and gurgle, through a narrow but wonderfully beautiful valley, carpeted with a luxuriant growth of grass and dotted with clumps of cedars. for this night's camp he constructed a rude hut of slender poles and branches, similar to the indian wick-i-ups he had seen on the plains. in it he slept on a bed high heaped with soft grasses and cedar twigs that was a perfect cradle of luxury. as glen emerged from his hut at sunrise he was almost as startled at seeing a herd of several black-tailed (mule) deer, feeding within a hundred feet of him, as they were to see him. pausing for a good stare at him, for the black-tailed deer is among the most inquisitive animals in the world, they bounded away with tremendous leaps, and disappeared behind a cedar thicket. a minute later glen was again startled; this time by the report of a rifle from some distance down the valley. he had just been wishing for his own rifle, the sight of deer having suggested that venison would be a very pleasant change from a steady fish diet, and now he hurried away in the direction of the shot. he walked nearly half a mile before coming so suddenly upon the hunter who had fired that shot, and was now engaged in dressing one of those very black-tailed deer, that the latter discovered him at the same moment, and paused in his work to examine the new-comer keenly. he was a man past middle age, squarely built, of medium height, and, as he stood up, glen saw that he was somewhat bow-legged. his hair was thin and light in color, and his face was beardless. it was seamed and weather-beaten, the cheek-bones were high and prominent, and the keen eyes were gray. he was dressed in a complete hunting-suit of buckskin, and the rifle, lying beside him, was of an old-fashioned, long-barrelled, muzzle-loading pattern. he looked every inch, what he really was, a typical plainsman of the best kind, possessed of an honest, kindly nature, brave and just, a man to be feared by an enemy and loved by a friend. he gazed earnestly at glen as the latter walked up to him, though neither by look nor by word did he betray any curiosity. "i don't know who you are, sir," said the boy, "but i know i was never more glad to see anybody in my life, for i've been wandering alone in these mountains for three days." "lost?" asked the other, laconically. "well, not exactly lost," replied glen. then, as clearly and briefly as possible, he related his story, which the other followed with close attention and evident interest. "you did have a close call, and you've had a blind trail to follow since, for a fact. it sorter looks as though you'd showed sand, and i shouldn't wonder if you was the right stuff to make a man of," said the hunter, approvingly, when the recital was ended. "how old are you?" "i think i am about sixteen," answered the boy. "just the age i was when i first crossed the mississip and struck for this country, where i've been ever since. what are you going to do now?" "i'm going to ask you to give me a slice of that venison for my breakfast, and then tell me the best way to rejoin my party," answered glen. "of course i'll give you all the deer-meat you can eat, and we'll have it broiling inside of five minutes. then, if you'll come along with me to the fort, i reckon we'll find your outfit there; or, if they ain't, the commandant will see to it that you do find them. you know him, don't you?" "no, i don't even know who he is. what is his name?" this question seemed, for some reason, to amuse the hunter greatly, and he laughed silently for a moment before replying: "his name is, rightly, 'colonel carson,' and since he's got command of a fort they've given him the title of 'general carson;' but all the old plainsmen and mountainmen that's travelled with him since he was your age call him 'kit carson,' or just 'old kit.' perhaps you've heard tell of him?" indeed, glen had heard of the most famous scout the western plains ever produced; and, with the prospect of actually seeing and speaking to him, he felt amply repaid for his recent trials and sufferings. chapter xxxi. kit carson's gold mine. while the hunter was talking to glen, he was also preparing some slices of venison for broiling, and lighting a small fire. anxious to be of use, as well as to have breakfast as soon as possible, the boy set about collecting wood for the fire. this, by the hunter's advice, he broke and split into small pieces, that it might the sooner be reduced to coals; and, while he was doing this, he told his new friend of his experience in cooking trout. "i reckon that was better than eating them raw," said the latter, with an amused smile, "but if we had some now, i think i could show you a better way than that to cook them, though we haven't got any fry-pan." "perhaps i can catch some," suggested glen, pulling his rude fishing-tackle from his pocket, as he looked about for some sort of a pole. "and i think i could do it quicker if you would lend me your hat for a few minutes. you see mine got lost while i was coasting down that mountain-side, or in the lake, i don't know which," he added, apologetically. here the hunter actually laughed aloud. "you don't expect to catch trout with a hat, do you?" he asked. "oh, no, indeed. i only want it to catch grasshoppers with. it's such slow work catching them, one at a time, with your hands; but, with a hat as big as yours, i could get a great many very quickly," and the boy gazed admiringly at the broad-brimmed sombrero worn by the other. the stranger willingly loaned his hat to glen, who seemed to amuse him greatly, and the latter soon had, not only all the grasshoppers he wanted, but a fine string of fish as well. by this time the fire had produced a bed of coals, and the slices of venison, spitted on slender sticks thrust into the ground, so as to be held just above them, were sending forth most appetizing odors. obeying instructions, glen cleaned his fish, and gathered a quantity of grass, which he wet in the stream. the hunter had scooped out a shallow trench in the earth beside the fire, and had filled it with live coals. above these he now spread a layer of damp grass, on which he laid the fish, covering them in turn with another layer of grass. over this he raked a quantity of red-hot embers, and then covered the whole with a few handfuls of earth. ten minutes later the trout were found to be thoroughly cooked, and glen was both thinking and saying that no fish had ever tasted so good. after eating this most satisfactory breakfast, and having hung the carcase of the deer to a branch where it would be beyond the reach of wolves until it could be sent for, glen and his new companion started down the valley. as they walked, the latter explained to the boy that, many years before, while trapping on that very stream, he had discovered gold in its sands. recently he had employed a number of mexicans to work for him, and had started some placer diggings about a mile below where they then were. this interested glen greatly; for all of his dreams had been of discovering gold somewhere in this wonderful western country, and he was most desirous of learning something of the process of procuring it. as they talked, they came in sight of several tents and brush huts, standing near the inner end of a long sand-bar, that extended diagonally nearly across the stream. a rude dam built along its upper side had diverted the water from it, so that a large area of sand and gravel was left dry. on this a dozen men were at work, digging with shovel and pick, or rocking cradles. glen had heard of miners' cradles, or "rockers," but he had never seen one. now he laughed at the resemblance between them and the low wooden cradles babies were rocked in. they were rough boxes mounted on rockers, of which the one at the forward end was a little lower than the other, so as to give the cradle a slight slope in that direction. each had an iron grating placed across its upper end, and a few wooden cleats nailed crosswise of its bottom. a hole was cut in its foot-board, and a handle, by means of which it was rocked, was fastened to its head-board. there were two men to each cradle: one to shovel dirt on to its grating, and the other to rock it and pour water over this dirt to wash it through. the grating was so fine that only the smallest pebbles could pass through it. as the dirt and water fell to the bottom of the cradle, and ran through it to the opening in the foot-board, the fine particles of gold sank, of their own weight, and lodged against the cleats. from these it was carefully gathered several times each day by the white overseer who had charge of the diggings, and sent to fort garland for safe-keeping. glen's guide also showed him how to wash out a panful of gold-bearing earth, as prospectors do. he picked up a shallow iron pan, filled it with earth, and, holding it half immersed in the stream with its outer edge inclined from him, shook it rapidly to and fro, with a semi-rotary motion. in a minute all the earth had been washed out, and only a deposit of black sand, containing a number of yellow particles, was left on the bottom. the hunter said this black sand was iron, and could be blown away from about the gold after it was dry, or drawn away with a magnet. the boy was greatly pleased to be allowed to attempt this operation for himself, and felt quite like a successful miner when told that the gold yielded by his first panful was worth about thirty cents. while he was thus engaged a swarthy-complexioned soldier, evidently a mexican, though he wore a united states uniform, came riding up the valley, raised his hand in salute to the hunter, and exchanged a few words with him. the latter hesitated for a moment, and then, after speaking again to the soldier, who immediately dismounted, he said to glen, "i find that i must return to the fort at once. so if you will take this man's horse, and ride with me, i shall be glad of your company." his own horse was standing near by, and in another minute they were riding rapidly down the little valley, with the mining camp already out of sight. after a mile or so the stream that glen had followed for so long led them into the broad expanse of the san luis valley, up which they turned, and speedily came in sight of the low white walls of fort garland, surrounding a tall staff from which an american flag floated lazily in the warm, sun-lit air. although glen did not know much about soldiers, or the meaning of military forms, he was somewhat surprised to see the guard at the main entrance of the fort turn hurriedly out and present arms as they clattered in past them. he quickly forgot this incident though, in his admiration of the interior, now opened before him. it was a large square, enclosed on all sides by low comfortable-looking buildings of adobe, neatly whitewashed, and in some cases provided with green blinds and wide piazzas. a hard, smooth driveway ran in front of them, and the middle of the enclosure was occupied by a well-turfed parade-ground, at one end of which stood a battery of light field-pieces. the chief beauty of the place lay in a little canal of crystal water, that ran entirely around the parade-ground. it was as cool and sparkling as that of its parent mountain stream, flowing just beyond the fort, and the refreshing sound of its rippling pervaded the whole place. riding to the opposite side of the enclosure, the hunter and his companion dismounted in front of one of the houses with blinds and a piazza. this the former invited glen to enter, and at the same moment an orderly stepped up and took their horses. in a cool, dimly lighted room, glen's new friend asked him to be seated and wait a few moments. in about fifteen minutes the orderly who had taken the horses entered the room, and saying to glen that general carson would like to see him, ushered him into an adjoining apartment. for a moment the boy did not recognize the figure, clad in a colonel's uniform, that was seated beside a writing-table. but, as the latter said, "well, sir, i was told that you wished to see the commandant," he at once knew the voice for that of his friend the hunter, and, with a tone of glad surprise, he exclaimed, "why, sir, are you--" "yes," replied the other, laughing, "i am old kit carson, at your service, and i bid you a hearty welcome to fort garland." then he told glen that one of his daughters was to be married that evening to an officer of the post. they had been engaged for some time, but there had been nobody to marry them until that day, when a priest from taos had stopped at the fort on his way to the upper rio grande settlements. as he must continue his journey the next morning, the colonel had been sent for, and it was decided that the wedding should come off at once. thus it happened that glen was assisting to decorate the commandant's quarters with flags and evergreens when mr. hobart and "billy" brackett, who had come on a little in advance of the rest of the party, rode up to pay their respects to colonel carson. he went out to meet them, and, being fond of giving pleasant surprises, did not say a word concerning glen; but, after an exchange of greetings, led them directly into the room where he was at work. the boy was standing on a box fastening a flag to the wall above his head, as the men entered. the light from a window fell full upon him, and they recognized him at once. chapter xxxii. a new mexican wedding. for a moment the amazement of the two men at again beholding the lad whom they were fully persuaded was dead would neither allow them to speak nor move. then "billy" brackett walked softly over to where glen was standing, and gave one of his legs a sharp pinch. the startled boy, who had not noticed his approach, leaped to the floor with a cry of mingled pain and surprise. "i only wanted to be sure you were real, old man, and not a ghost," said "billy" brackett, trying to speak in his usual careless tone; but the tears that stood in the honest fellow's eyes, as he wrung the boy's hand, showed how deeply he was affected, and how truly he had mourned the loss of his young friend. nor was mr. hobart less moved, and, as he grasped glen's hand, he said, "my dear boy, i honestly believe this is the happiest moment of my life." they did not stop to ask for his story then but insisted on taking him at once out to the camp that was being pitched just beyond the fort, that the rest of the party might share their joy as speedily as possible. the boys were so busily engaged with their evening duties that the little party was not noticed until they were close at hand. then somebody, gazing sharply at the middle figure of the three who approached, cried out, "if that isn't glen matherson, it's his twin brother!" everybody paused in what he was doing, and every eye was turned in the same direction. for a moment there was a profound silence. then came a great shout of joyful amazement. everything was dropped; and, with one accord, the entire party made a rush for the boy whom they all loved, and whom they had never expected to see again. how they yelled, and cheered, and failed to find expressions for their extravagant delight! as for binney gibbs, he fairly sobbed as he held glen's hand, and gazed into the face of this comrade for whom he had mourned, and whom he once thought he hated. although, at first sight, it seems almost incredible that so many adventures should happen to one boy on a single trip, it must be remembered that, with the exception of binney, glen was the youngest of the party, and consequently more likely to be reckless and careless than any of the others. he was also one of those persons who, while everybody around them is moving along quietly and soberly, are always getting into scrapes, and coming out of each one bright, smiling, and ready for another. then, too, he was a stout, fearless fellow, with perfect confidence in himself that led him into, and out of, situations from which such boys as binney gibbs would steer clear. an amusing feature of glen's adventures was, that while his companions were ready to sympathize with him on account of his sufferings and hardships, it never seemed to occur to him that he had had anything but a good time, and one to be remembered with pleasure. thus, in the present instance, according to his own account, his slide down the mountain-side had been the jolliest coast he ever took. his swim in the lake had been cold, but then it had not lasted long, and he had enjoyed the fire and the warmth of the cave all the more for it. as for his subsequent experiences, he related them in such a way that, before he finished, his listeners began to regard him as one of the most fortunate and to-be-envied fellows of their acquaintance. they seemed to be crossing the plains and mountains in the most prosaic manner, without doing anything in particular except work, while, to this boy, the trip was full of adventures and delightful experiences. would these incidents seem so pleasant to him if he were as old as they? perhaps not. they were all to enjoy one novel experience that very evening, though; for glen brought an invitation from colonel carson for them to attend the wedding, and of course they promptly accepted it. as it was to be an early affair, they hurried to the fort as soon as supper was over, and found the guests already assembling in a large room, from which every article of furniture had been removed. it was a motley gathering, in which were seen the gay uniforms of soldiers, the buckskin of trappers, the gaudy serapes of mexican cabelleros, the flannel shirts and big boots of the engineers, and the blanketed forms of stolid-faced ute indians, for whom kit carson was acting as agent at that time. the company was ranged about three sides of the room, close against the walls; and, when they were thus disposed, a door on the vacant side opened, and a mexican woman, bearing a large basket of candles, entered. giving a candle to each guest, and lighting it for him, she indicated by signs that he was to hold it above his head. so the guests became living candlesticks, and, when all their candles were lighted, the illumination was quite brilliant enough even for a wedding. everything being ready, the door through which the candles had been brought again opened, and the bridal party entered. first came the priest, then kit carson and his wife, who was a mexican woman from taos. behind them walked the couple who were to be married. the bride was a slender, olive-complexioned girl, dressed very simply in white, while the groom wore the handsome uniform of a lieutenant of cavalry. the rear of the procession was brought up by a bevy of black-haired and black-eyed señoritas, sisters and cousins of the bride. the priest read the wedding service in latin, and the bride made her responses in spanish, so that the few english words spoken by the groom were all that most of the spectators understood. as "billy" brackett afterwards remarked, it was evidently necessary to be liberally educated to get married in that country. at the conclusion of the ceremony the entire wedding-party, with the exception of the bride's father, disappeared, and were seen no more; while colonel carson led his guests into a neighboring room, where the wedding supper was served. here the famous scout, surrounded by the tried comrades of many a wild campaign, entertained the company by calling on these for one anecdote after another of the adventures that had been crowded so thickly into their lives. this was a rare treat to the new-comers, especially to glen eddy and binney gibbs, to whom the thrilling tales, told by the boy trappers, scouts, hunters, and soldiers who had participated in them, were so real and vivid that, before this delightful evening was over, it seemed as though they too must have taken part in the scenes described. in spite of the late hours kept by most of the engineers that night, their camp was broken by daylight, and at sunrise they were off on the line as usual, for september was now well advanced, and there were mountain ranges yet to be crossed that would be impassable after winter had once fairly set in. so, leaving the pleasant army post and their hospitable entertainers in it, they picked up their line, and, running it out over the broad san luis valley to the rio grande, began to follow that river into the very heart of new mexico. glen was more than glad to find himself once more on nettle's back, and again bearing the front flag in advance of the party. he was also surprised to find what a barren place the valley that had looked so beautiful and desirable from the mountains really was. its sandy soil only supported a thick growth of sage brush, that yielded a strong aromatic fragrance when bruised or broken, and which rendered the running of the line peculiarly toilsome. it was a relief to reach the great river of new mexico, and find themselves in the more fertile country immediately bordering on it. here, too, they found numbers of quaint mexican towns, of which they passed one or more nearly every day. these were full of interest to the young explorers. while looking at their low flat-roofed houses, built of adobe, or great sun-dried bricks of mud and straw, it was hard to realize that they were still in america and traversing one of the territories of the united states. all their surroundings were those of the far east, and the descriptions in the bible of life and scenes in palestine applied perfectly to the valley of the rio grande as they saw it. the people were dark-skinned, with straight, black hair; and while the young children ran about nearly naked, their elders wore loose, flowing garments, and, if not barefooted, were shod with sandals of raw hide or plaited straw. the square houses, with thick walls, broken only by occasional narrow unglazed windows, were exactly like those of the biblical pictures. inside, the floors were of hard-beaten clay, and there were neither tables nor chairs, only earthen benches covered with sheep-skins or gay striped blankets. some of the finer houses enclosed open courts or plazas, in which were trees and shrubs. the cooking was done in the open air, or in round-topped earthen ovens, built outside the houses. the women washed clothing on flat rocks at the edge of the streams, and young girls carried all the water used for domestic purposes in tall earthen jars borne gracefully on their heads. the beasts of burden were donkeys, or "burros," as the mexicans call them. grain was threshed by being laid on smooth earthen threshing-floors, in the open air, and having horses, donkeys, cattle, and sheep driven over it for hours. wine was kept in skins or great earthen jars. the mountains and hills of the country were covered with pines and cedars, its cultivated valleys with vineyards and fruit orchards; while the raising of flocks and herds was the leading industry of its inhabitants. at this season of the year, though the sun shone from an unclouded sky of the most brilliant blue, the air was dry and bracing in the daytime, and crisp with the promises of frost at night. it was glorious weather; and, under its influence, the second division ran a line of a hundred miles down the river in ten days. as the entire party had looked forward with eager anticipations to visiting santa fé, which is not on the rio grande, but some distance to the east of it, they were greatly disappointed to be met by a messenger from general lyle, with orders for mr. hobart to come into that place, while his party continued their line south to albuquerque, eighty miles beyond where they were. glen was intensely disappointed at this, for santa fé was one of the places he had been most anxious to visit. his disappointment was doubled when mr. hobart said that he must take somebody with him as private secretary, and intimated that his choice would have fallen on the young front flagman if he had only learned to talk spanish. as it was, binney gibbs was chosen for the envied position; for, though he, like the rest, had only been for a short time among mexicans, he was already able to speak their language with comparative ease. "i don't see how you learned it so quickly," said glen, one day, when, after he had striven in vain to make a native understand that he wished to purchase some fruit, binney had stepped up and explained matters with a few words of spanish. "why, it is easy enough," replied binney, "to anybody who understands latin." then glen wished that he, too, understood latin, as he might easily have done as well as his comrade. he wished it ten times more though, when, on account of it, binney rode gayly off to santa fé with mr. hobart, while he went out to work on the line. chapter xxxiii. in the valley of the rio grande. near the close of a mellow autumn day glen and "billy" brackett sat on a fragment of broken wall and gazed with interest on the scene about them. on one side, crowning a low bluff that overlooked the rio grande twelve miles below albuquerque, was the indian pueblo of isletta, a picturesque collection of adobe buildings and stockaded corrals, containing some eight hundred inhabitants. on the other side were extensive vineyards; beyond them were vast plains, from which flocks of bleating sheep were being driven in for the night by indian boys; and still beyond rose the blue range of the sierra madre. the air was so clear and still that through it the sounds of children's voices, the barking of dogs, the bleating of sheep, the lowing of cattle, and the cracked tones of the bell in the quaint old mission church came to the ears of glen and his companion with wonderful distinctness. the indian women were preparing their evening meals, and the fragrance of burning cedar drifted down from the village. never afterwards could glen smell the odor of cedar without having the scene of that evening vividly recalled to his mind. mingled with this fragrance was another, equally distinct and suggestive. it was that of crushed grapes; and the two explorers were watching curiously the process of new mexican wine-making, going on but a short distance from them. clumsy ox-carts, constructed without the use of iron, and having great wooden wheels that screeched as they turned on their ungreased wooden axles, brought in loads of purple grapes from the vineyards. on top of the loads, as though the grapes were so much hay, rode indian men or boys, armed with wooden pitchforks. with these they flung the grapes into a great vat of green ox-hides, supported, about ten feet from the ground, by four heavy posts. the sides of this vat were drawn to a point at the bottom, where there was a small outlet left, through which the grape-juice might flow into a second vat, placed directly beneath the other. it was similar in all respects to the first, except that it offered no opening for the escape of its contents. when a load of grapes had been pitched into the upper vat, two naked indians clambered up, and, springing on top of them, began to tread them with their feet. for hours they continued this performance, while a steady stream of blood-red juice flowed from the upper vat into the lower. from there it was dipped into huge earthen jars, and set away to ferment. "well," said 'billy' brackett, at length, as he rose and started towards camp, "i've seen all the native wine-making i want to. if those beggars had only washed themselves first it wouldn't be so bad, but i honestly believe they only take a bath once a year, and that is in grape-juice." "it is pretty bad," laughed glen, "though i don't know as it is any worse than their milking." this was a sore point with him, for he was very fond of fresh milk; but, after once witnessing a new mexican milking, and seeing cows, mares, asses, sheep, and goats all milked into the same vessel, he preferred to go without it. it was surprising to see what a tall, broad-shouldered fellow glen was getting to be; and a single glance was sufficient to show what crossing the plains had done for him. his eyes had the clear look of perfect health; his face, neck, and hands were as brown as sun and wind could make them, while his hair had entirely recovered from its kansas city shearing, and was now plainly visible beneath the broad sombrero that replaced the hat lost on the spanish peak. a heavy blue flannel shirt, a pair of army trousers tucked into the tops of cowhide boots, a leather belt supporting a revolver and a sheath-knife, and a silk handkerchief loosely knotted about his neck, completed his costume. "billy" brackett was dressed in a similar fashion, except that he still clung fondly to the shiny cutaway coat in which he was introduced to the reader, and to which he was deeply attached. as they walked towards camp, he and glen discussed the topic now uppermost in their minds, namely, that of their future movements. since going to santa fé, mr. hobart had not rejoined them, though a note received from him at albuquerque promised that he would do so at isletta, to which place he ordered the line to be run. now they had been for two days at the pueblo, but where they were to go next, or whether they were to go any farther, they did not know, and were anxious to find out. they had heard vague rumors that general lyle was to return to the states, and that all the plans of the expedition might be changed. thus, when mr. hobart galloped into camp just after supper that evening, he was heartily welcomed. "where is binney gibbs?" was the first question asked. "promoted to be private secretary to general elting, the new chief," was the reply. "where is general elting?" "he is still in santa fé, but is going across with the other two divisions by the gila route." "and where are we going?" "going to run a one-thousand-mile line from here to the pacific ocean, in just the shortest time we can accomplish it." "good enough! hurrah for the pacific! hurrah for california!" shouted every member of the party but one. he was the leveller; and when mr. hobart, after explaining the dangers and hardships of the trip before them, said that anybody who did not care to encounter them would be furnished with free transportation from that point back to the states, this man decided to accept the offer. little, did glen eddy imagine, as he bade him good-bye the next day, what an effect upon his future the decision thus suddenly reached by the leveller was to have. in the stage from santa fé the latter met a gentleman and his wife who were greatly interested in his description of the explorations in which he had just taken part. among other things, he described glen eddy matherson's remarkable adventures; and the lady, who seemed struck by the boy's name, asked many questions concerning him. fortunately, the leveller was able to answer most of them, and thus she learned, what glen had never attempted to conceal, that he was an adopted son of luke matherson, of brimfield, pennsylvania, who had saved him from a railroad wreck in glen eddy creek when he was a baby. she did not explain why she asked these questions, and soon changed the conversation to other topics. the most immediate effect upon glen of the leveller's departure was to promote him and increase his pay. as it was impossible, in that country, to engage men of experience to fill places in an engineer corps, mr. brackett was obliged to take the level, while mr. hobart himself took charge of the transit; and, when the former was asked who he would like as rodman in place of binney gibbs, he promptly answered, "glen matherson." in speaking to glen of this change of position, the division engineer asked the boy if he was sure he wanted to go through to the pacific. "of course i do, sir!" answered glen, in surprise at the question. "it is going to be a trip full of danger and all sorts of hardships, possibly including starvation and freezing. i don't know but what you really ought to go back." "oh, sir, please don't send me back!" pleaded glen, earnestly. "i should feel awfully to have to go home with the trip only half finished." "then you are willing to face all the hardships?" "yes, sir, i'm willing to face anything, rather than going back." "all right!" laughed mr. hobart; "i suppose i shall have to take you along. i proposed to the general to take binney gibbs with him, or else send him back to the states, because i did not consider him strong enough to endure what is ahead of us; but i don't see how i could urge that in your case, for i actually believe you are one of the toughest among us." how glen rejoiced in his strength as he heard this! perhaps it was going to prove as valuable to him as a scholarship, after all. "mr. brackett is going to run the level, and wants you for his rodman," continued mr. hobart. "the pay will be double what you are now receiving, and you can soon fit yourself for the position by a little hard study; for mr. brackett is a capital instructor. i have told him that he may take you on trial, and see what he can do with you. i also told him of your aversion to study, and gave him to understand what a difficult job he had undertaken." glen flushed at this, and gazed at the ground for a moment. finally he said, "studying seems very different when you can look right ahead and see what good it is going to do." "yes," replied mr. hobart, "i know it does. still, in most cases we have to trust the word of those who can look ahead when we can't. i've no doubt but what you were told at school that a knowledge of latin would aid you in learning many other languages; but you were not willing to believe it until you saw for yourself how it helped binney gibbs pick up spanish." glen did not make any promises aloud in regard to fitting himself for his new position, for he believed in actions rather than words; but he made one to himself, and determined to keep it. they remained in camp at isletta one day longer, to prepare for their arduous undertaking, and to engage several new axemen to fill the places of those who had been promoted; but on the second morning the transit was set up over the last stake they had driven, and its telescope was pointed due west. at first glen missed the excitement of riding in advance of the party with the front flag. on a preliminary survey, the level can hardly keep up with the transit; and it was not so pleasant to be always behind, striving to catch up, as it had been to be in the lead. to "billy" brackett the change of positions came even harder than to glen, because in taking the level he had gone back a step rather than forward; but he never showed it. indeed, by his steady cheerfulness and unceasing flow of good spirits the new leveller soon banished even a shadow of regret from the mind of his young rodman, and taught him to feel a real interest in his new work. so they slowly climbed the western slope of the rio grande valley, crossed the barren plateau of the divide between it and the rio puerco, followed that stream and its tributary, the san josé, on the banks of which they saw the ancient pueblos of laguna and acoma, into another region of rugged mountains, and, in about two weeks, found themselves at the forlorn frontier post of fort wingate, where they were to obtain their final supplies for the winter. chapter xxxiv. baiting a wolf-trap. at fort wingate the real hardships of the trip began in an unexpected manner. instead of being plentifully supplied with provisions, as had been reported, the post was found to be very poorly provided, and all that could be spared to the engineers were condemned quartermaster's stores. the party must take these or nothing; and when mr. hobart left it to his men whether they should accept the damaged stores and push on, or go back to the rio grande, they unanimously said, "go on!" so, for the next two months, they made the best of half-spoiled hams and bacon, hard-tack filled with white worms, and sugar abounding in little black bugs, that fortunately floated on top of the coffee and could be skimmed off. the men provided themselves with a number of little luxuries at the sutler's--the last store they would see for months--and "billy" brackett bought a cheese. this was considered a very queer purchase; but glen's was queerer still, for it was a small quantity of strychnine. he only procured this after giving assurances that he did not propose to commit suicide and making many promises to be very careful in its use. what he proposed to do with the poison he did not confide to anybody except his friend "billy" brackett, who agreed with him that it was a capital plan. a run of twelve miles from fort wingate brought the party to a camp, in a forest of the most stately yellow-pines they had ever seen, beside a great spring of ice-cold water--known as the agua fria (cold water). here, as soon as supper was over, glen proceeded to put his great plan into execution. the nights were now very cold, and the boy generally woke before morning to find himself shivering beneath his insufficient covering of blankets. every night, too, since entering the mountains the party had been annoyed by the sneaking visits and unearthly howlings of wolves that hung on the outskirts of the camp from dark to daylight, every now and then making a quick dash through it, if the guard was not watching sharply, and snatching at bits of food or at anything made of leather that lay in their path. so glen thought he would teach the wolves a lesson, which should at the same time add some of their skins to his bed-clothing; and it was for this purpose he had procured the strychnine. now, with "billy" brackett's help, he dragged out from one of the wagons a gunny-sack, containing some kidneys, lungs, and other refuse animal matter, obtained from the fort wingate butcher, and these he smeared with the deadly powder. then they prepared several torches of pine slivers, and, amid the unanswered questionings of their companions, left camp, carrying the sack of meat between them. beginning at a point a few rods from the tents, they strewed the poisoned bait for half a mile along the banks of the little stream flowing from the spring. it was an exciting task, for they seemed to hear suspicious sniffs, and the soft pattering of feet on both sides of them; while glen felt certain that his torchlight was reflected from gleaming eyeballs more than once. so greatly did these things work upon their imaginations that when, as they started back towards camp, their last torch suddenly went out, leaving them in blackest darkness, they both took to their heels, and raced breathlessly for the distant light of the friendly camp-fire. when they reached it, in perfect safety, they burst out laughing in one another's faces, and wondered what they had run from. glen was disappointed, as he lay shivering in his blankets that night, not to hear so many wolves as usual, while the few howls that did reach his ears seemed to come from a distance. still, he comforted himself with the reflection that dead wolves couldn't howl, and doubtless all those that had ventured near the camp had eaten the poisoned meat, and had their howlings effectually silenced. it seemed to him that he had hardly dropped asleep when he was rudely awakened by being pulled, feet foremost, out of his blankets, under the side of the tent, and into the open air. at the same moment "billy" brackett's laughing voice cried, "come, glen, here it is broad daylight, and high time we were gathering in our wolves." whew! how cold it was! and in what a hurry glen sprang from the frozen ground, to rush back into the tent for his boots and army overcoat. he had everything else on, for there was very little undressing at night in that party. as for being sleepy, the biting air had awakened him as effectually as a dash of ice-water. as they left camp, "billy" brackett shouted back to one of the mexican axemen to follow after them, and the man answered that he would be along in a minute. it was light enough, when they reached the place where they had left the first of the poisoned meat, for them to see it if it had been there; but it was not. neither was there any dead wolf to be found in the vicinity. it was the same along the whole line, where they had scattered their bait. they could neither discover meat nor wolves. "hello!" exclaimed "billy" brackett softly, as they were about to turn back, "i believe the wolves are cooking their meat;" and with that he pointed to a thin column of blue smoke rising through the trees at some distance farther down the stream. "perhaps they are indians," suggested glen. "perhaps they are. let's go and find out. we can take a look at them without being seen. besides, the indians hereabout are peaceful now." so they crept cautiously towards the smoke, until at length they were lying flat on the ground, on the edge of a low bank, with their heads hidden in tufts of grass, peering into a small encampment of indians just below them. they had hardly gained this position when glen, uttering a cry of horror, sprang down the bank, rushed in among the indians, and, snatching a piece of meat from the hands of one of them, who was raising it to his mouth, flung it so far away that it was snapped up and swallowed by a lean, wolfish-looking cur, that had not dared venture near the fire. at glen's sudden appearance the indian women and children ran screaming into the bushes, while the men, springing to their feet, surrounded him with angry exclamations and significant handlings of their knives. they received a second surprise, and fell back a little as "billy" brackett, who had not at first understood glen's precipitate action, came rushing down the bank after him, shouting, "stand back, you villains! if you lay a hand on him, i'll blow the tops of all your heads off!" at the same time glen was making all the faces expressive of extreme disgust that he could think of, and saying, as he pointed to a pile of meat lying in a gunny-sack beside the fire: "_carne no bueno! muy mal! no bueno por hombre!_" which was the best spanish he knew for, "the meat is not good. it is very bad, and not at all good for a man to eat." but the indians could not understand. the meat might not be good enough for white men, who were so very particular, but it was good enough for them. the white men had thrown it away and they had found it. they meant to eat it, too, for they were very hungry. now, if these uninvited guests to their camp would not clear out and let them eat their breakfast in peace, they must suffer the consequences. this is what they said; but neither glen nor "billy" brackett understood a word of it. they were preparing to defend themselves, as well as they could, from the scowling indians, who were again advancing upon them with drawn knives. both glen and his companion had their rifles, and now, as they stepped slowly backward, they held them ready for instant use. "we won't fire," said "billy" brackett, "unless they point a gun or an arrow at us; for the first shot will be the signal for a rush, and if they make that we haven't got a living show." all this time the indians, to the number of a dozen or so, advanced steadily, taking step for step with the whites, as they fell back, and watching for a chance to get past or around the black muzzles of those rifles. chapter xxxv. el moro. to glen eddy and "billy" brackett the situation looked serious, and almost desperate, as they confronted that crowd of angry savages who advanced towards them so steadily, and with such unmistakable meaning. "it's a tough outlook for us," muttered the latter. "yes," answered glen, "it is, but--" here the boy clinched his teeth, and clutched his rifle more firmly. "look out!" cried the other, noticing that the indians were gathering themselves for a rush. "they're coming!" and he raised his rifle. in another instant he would have fired, and their fate would have been sealed. but their time had not yet come; for, at that same moment, another figure bounded down the low bank, and stood beside them facing the indians, and speaking angrily to them in spanish. they evidently understood him, and hesitated. he was the mexican axeman. "what is the trouble, mr. brackett?" he asked hurriedly, in english. with a few words they made the situation clear to him, and he, in turn, quickly explained to the indians that these white men had merely tried to save their lives by preventing them from eating poisoned meat. "tell them to look at the dog!" cried glen, pointing to the poor animal that had swallowed the very bit of meat he had snatched from the indian, and which was evidently dying. the sight was a powerful argument, worth more than all the words that could have been spoken. the indians sullenly returned to their fire and sat down, while our friends, casting many watchful glances over their shoulders as they went, made good their retreat in the direction of their own camp. "what kind of indians were they?" asked glen, of the mexican, when they had lost sight of their unpleasant acquaintances. "navajos," was the answer. they were indeed a wretched band of the once wealthy and powerful tribe who claimed that whole country as a pasture-land for their countless flocks and herds. for many years they had been hunted and killed, their flocks driven off and their growing crops destroyed wherever found, until now the main body of the tribe was being slowly starved out of existence on a small reservation in eastern new mexico. it was so small that no more indians could be crowded into it, and the miserable remnant, who still lurked in the fastnesses of their own country, despoiled of all means of procuring a livelihood, prowled about like so many hungry dogs, gleaning the offal from white men's camps, and hunted like wild beasts by all whom they were unfortunate enough to meet. this band had probably followed mr. hobart's party for the sake of what might be picked up in their abandoned camps, and had evidently regarded the poisoned meat, discovered that very morning, as a perfect godsend. "i reckon we'll have to manage somehow to get along without any wolves," said "billy" brackett. "yes," replied glen, regretfully, "i suppose we shall." ten miles of line were run that day, through the solemn pine forest, and darkness overtook the party on the very summit of the great continental divide. they were crossing the sierra madre mountains, through zuñi pass. as glen subtracted the last reading of his rod for the day from the last height of instrument, and found that it gave an elevation of feet, he uttered a shout. for weeks the elevations above sea-level had been steadily mounting upward. this one was a foot lower than the last. "hurrah!" he cried, "we are on the pacific slope." it was hard to realize that water, on one side of where they stood, would find its way into the rio grande, and so on into the atlantic, while that but a few feet away would flow through the colorado into the pacific. the country did not look any different, but it seemed so. they actually seemed to be breathing the air of the mighty sunset ocean, and this one day's run seemed to place the states, and everything eastern, farther behind them than all the rest of their journey. about the camp-fires that evening the conversation was wholly of california and the golden west, and they sprang to their work the next day with an added zeal. fifty miles west of this point they came to zuñi, one of the most picturesque and by far the most interesting of american towns. first, though, a few miles east of zuñi, they halted beside the magnificent pile of el moro, or inscription rock, that lifted its frowning battlements, like those of some vast moorish castle, four hundred feet above the plain. its base is covered, on all sides, with indian hieroglyphics, spanish inscriptions, and english names. curiously, and almost reverently, our explorers bent down the brushwood near its left-hand corner, and searched until they found the most ancient inscription of all: "don joseph de basconzeles ." there is nothing more, and this is the sole existing record of don joseph's having lived and explored this country while cortez was still occupying the city of mexico. where he came from, who he was, what companions he had, and whither he went will never be known; but through all the centuries that have passed since he carved his name on el moro's base, the great rock has faithfully preserved the record of his presence. the next inscription was made nearly one hundred years later, and is a spanish legend that is translated into, "passed by this place with despatches, april , ." there is no name signed, and who passed by on that day can never be told. then follows innumerable names of spanish dons, captains, bishops, soldiers, and priests, with varying dates that come down as late as the beginning of the present century. the first english inscription is, "o. r., march , ." then came whipple, in , followed by many other american soldiers and gold-seekers. now glen eddy and "billy" brackett added their names beneath those of the others of mr. hobart's party. then they, too, passed on, leaving a new page of history to be preserved by el moro for the eyes of future generations. for some hours before reaching zuñi they could see it crowning the hill that uplifts it conspicuously above the level of the surrounding plain. it was the "cibola" of the earliest spanish explorers, the chief of the seven "golden cities" that they believed to exist in that region, and whose alleged riches led them to undertake the conquest of the country. they called it "cibola" until they reached it. then they adopted the native name of zuñi (pronounced _zoon-ya_), by which it has been known ever since. the town, or city, contained some twelve hundred inhabitants, and the hill on which it is built slopes gently up from the plain on one side, but falls away in a precipitous bluff to the narrow waters of the zuñi river on the other. "billy" brackett had read up on this ancient city of cibola, and had imparted so much of his information to glen as to arouse a curiosity in the boy's mind regarding the place fully equal to his own. so, as soon as they reached camp, which was on the plain at the foot of the hill, they hurried off to "do" the town. chapter xxxvi. zuÑi, the home of the aztecs. as the leveller and his rodman ascended the slope on which zuñi is built, they saw that the town reached entirely across it, and seemingly presented a blank wall of irregular heights, containing only two or three low arched openings. a ladder, here and there, reached from the ground to a flat terrace on top of the wall; but evidently the means of entering the place were few, and could readily be made less. outside of the wall were long ranges of corrals, fenced with poles, set close together, and fixed firmly in the ground. these poles, which were of all lengths, and the tops of ladders projecting everywhere above the roofs of the town, gave the place a peculiarly ragged and novel appearance. glen wondered at the height of the buildings, most of which were of five or six stories, and what the ladders were for. seeing no other way of gaining an entrance, they followed an indian, who led a burro bearing an immense load of fagots on his back, into one of the dark arched passages through the wall. it was just wide enough to admit the laden donkey, and so low that, as they followed him, they were obliged to stoop to avoid striking their heads against its roof. it was so long that it evidently led beneath an entire block of houses. finally they emerged from its darkness into one of the most novel plazas, or squares, of the world. it was surrounded by buildings of several stories in height, but very few of them had any doors, while the tiny windows of the lower stories were placed high up, beyond a man's reach. on the flat roof of the lower house, or first story, a second house was built; but it was so much narrower than the first as to leave a broad walk on the roof in front of it. above this second house rose a third, fourth, fifth, and often a sixth, each one narrower than the one beneath it, so that the whole looked like a gigantic flight of steps. these houses were built either of adobe or of stone, plastered over with adobe mud; and nearly all those on the ground floor were entered, as robinson crusoe entered his castle, by climbing a ladder to the roof, and descending another that led down through a skylight. thus, if an enemy should succeed in forcing his way through the narrow tunnel into the plaza, the people would merely retire to their house-tops, draw up their ladders, and he would find it as hard to get at them as ever. the upper tiers of houses had doors opening on the roofs of those below them; but ladders were necessary to climb up from one terrace to another, so that they were everywhere the most prominent feature of the place. there were but few of the inhabitants in the plaza, or in the narrow lanes leading from it to other open squares; but they swarmed on the flat house-tops, and gazed down on our friends as eagerly as the latter gazed up at them. americans were curiosities to the people of zuñi in those days. "hello!" exclaimed glen, as they stood in the middle of the plaza, wondering which way they should go. "here come some white fellows dressed up like indians. i wonder who they can be?" sure enough, two young men, having white skins, blue eyes, and yellow hair, but wearing the leggings and striped blankets of indians, entered the square as glen spoke. he shouted to them, both in english and mexican, but they only glanced at him in a startled manner, and then, hurriedly climbing the nearest ladder, they joined a group who were curiously inspecting glen and his companion from a roof. "well! that is queer," said the former. "who do you suppose those chaps are?" "i shouldn't be a bit surprised if they were two of the white indians i have read of," answered "billy" brackett; "and, if so, they are the greatest curiosities we'll see in this town." "i never heard of them," said glen. "where did they come from?" "that's more than i can tell, or anybody else. all we know is that the earliest spaniards found a race of white people living among the pueblo indians, whom they describe as being exactly like these chaps grinning at us from that roof. in one respect they are a distinct race, as they have never been allowed to marry with the dark-skinned indians; but in every other respect they are thorough puebloes, and there is no tradition going back far enough to show that they were ever anything else. i believe that the race is nearly extinct, and that they are now so few in number as to be rarely seen." in this "billy" brackett was correct; for at that time there were but three of those white indians in zuñi, two men and a woman. before leaving this remarkable town of curious people, glen discovered that they kept eagles for pets, and were also very fond of snakes, especially rattlesnakes, which they did not hesitate to handle freely and even to hold in their mouths. he saw the entire population turn out on the flat roofs of their houses at daybreak, and, facing the east, patiently await the coming of montezuma, whom they firmly believed would appear some morning in the place of the sun. he heard of, but was not allowed to see, the perpetual fire, lighted by montezuma, that has been kept burning for ages by a family of priests, set apart and supported by the people for that particular purpose. he saw women grinding corn into fine white meal between two stones, and baking it into delicious thin cakes on another. he saw them weaving blankets, of sheep's wool, so fine that they will hold water for a whole day, and so strong that they will last a long lifetime. he ate some of the white dried peaches and other fruits that these indians raise in such abundance and prepare with such skill. and what pleased him more than anything else was that, in exchange for two flour-sacks and a small piece of bacon, one of the indians made him a fine buckskin shirt, very much adorned with fringes, that he wore all the rest of the winter. it certainly was a most interesting place, and the whole party would gladly have lingered there longer than the three days that could be spared to it. but it was now november, and they must be beyond the san francisco mountains before the passes were blocked with heavy snows. so they bade good-bye to zuñi and new mexico, and, taking their way past jacob's well, where a fine spring bubbles up at the bottom of a funnel-shaped pit, six hundred feet across at the top, and a hundred and fifty feet deep, they entered the little-known region of northern arizona. for three months they toiled through that wild country, as lost to the view and knowledge of white civilization as though they were running their line through central africa. then they emerged on the bank of the mighty colorado, and, looking across its turbid flood, saw the barren wastes of the great colorado desert; but they gave a shout of joy at the sight, for, with all its dreariness of aspect, that was california, and beyond it lay the pacific, the goal of their hopes. the last three months had been filled with toil, hardships, and adventure. although in that time they saw no white men, nor men of any kind beyond catching occasional glimpses of the stealthy apaches, who hung on their trail for weeks, and with whom they exchanged more than one rifle-shot, they were never without evidences that this whole vast country had once been occupied by a mighty people. hardly a day passed that glen did not hold his rod on the ruined foundation-wall of some huge structure of long ago, or stumble over heaps of broken pottery graceful in form and design, or gaze wonderingly at the stone houses of ancient cliff-dwellers perched on ledges now inaccessible, or walk in the dry beds of crumbling aqueducts, or select choice specimens from piles of warlike implements fashioned from shining crystal or milk-white quartz, or, in some way, have his attention called to the fact that he was traversing a country in which had dwelt millions of his kind, who had long since passed away and been forgotten. he had puzzled over miles of hieroglyphic inscriptions and rude pictures, drawn on the smooth black walls of rugged cañons, and learned from them fragmentary tales of ancient battles or of encounters with savage beasts. then, too, he had known hunger and thirst and bitter cold. his christmas dinner, eaten during a short pause from work on the line, had been a bit of spoiled bacon and a couple of wormy hard-tack, with which, in honor of the day, he had his full share of "billy" brackett's treasured cheese, brought out at last to grace this feast. not only were their provisions nearly exhausted at that time, but it was the fifth day on which they had been unable to wash, for want of water. two weeks before, a wagon had been sent to the mining-camp of prescott, nearly a hundred miles away, and they had nearly given up all hopes of its safe return. that night it came into camp, and that night, too, they found a number of rock cisterns full of water. in the darkness of that same evening, while hastening from the pool in which he had been bathing, to get his share of the christmas supper, poor glen had run plump into a gigantic cactus, and filled his body with its tiny, barbed thorns. altogether it was a memorable christmas, and one he will never forget. on the last night of december they built a gigantic bonfire of whole trees, and welcomed in the new year by the light of its leaping flames. they had passed through vast tracts of wonderful fertility and beauty, unknown to white men, and through regions abounding in game that they had no time to hunt. from the summit of the aztec pass they had gazed, with dismay, over the boundless expanse of the black forest, and then had plunged into its dark depths. they had threaded their way through labyrinths of precipitous cañons, the walls of which rose thousands of feet above their heads, and had known of others still more tremendous. they had waded through the snows of the san francisco mountains, and revelled in the warmth and beauty of the superb val de chino, where snow and ice are unknown. they had dodged the crashing boulders hurled down on them in union pass by the hualapi indians, posted on the inaccessible heights far above them. here they had lost a wagon, crushed to splinters by one of these masses of rock; but no lives had been sacrificed, and their number was still the same as when they left the rio grande. now they were on the bank of the colorado, with only one desert and one range of mountains yet to cross. these seemed so little, after all they had gone through; and yet that desert alone was two hundred and fifty miles wide. two hundred and fifty miles of sand, sage-brush, and alkali; the most barren region of country within the limits of the united states. if they could have looked ahead and seen what the crossing of that desert meant, they would have entered upon the undertaking with heavy hearts and but faint hopes of accomplishing it. how fortunate it is that we cannot look ahead and see the trials that await us. we would never dare face them if they should all appear to us at once; while, by meeting them singly, and attacking them one by one, they are overcome with comparative ease. but neither glen nor his companions were thinking of the trials ahead of them as they came in sight of the colorado river. they were only thinking of those left behind, and what a glorious thing it was to have got thus far along in their tremendous journey. the transit-party had run their line to the river's bank and gone to camp a mile or so below, when the levellers came up, and glen held his rod, for a final reading, at the water's edge. he had just noted the figures in his book, and waved an "all right" to "billy" brackett, when he was startled by a rush of hoofs and a joyous shout. the next instant a horse was reined sharply up beside him, while its rider was wringing his hand and uttering almost incoherent words of extravagant joy at once more seeing him. chapter xxxvii. a practical use of trigonometry. it was binney gibbs who had come up the river from fort yuma several days before, with general elting, to meet the second division, and guide them to "the needles," the point at which the line was to cross the colorado. the other divisions, which had followed the gila route, and crossed the colorado at fort yuma, where the desert was narrower, had reached the pacific ere this, and gone on to san francisco. the hardest task of all, that of running a line over the desert where it was two hundred and fifty miles wide, had been reserved for mr. hobart's men, who had proved themselves so capable of enduring and overcoming hardships. binney had waited impatiently in camp until the transit-party reached it, expecting to see glen ride in at its head with the front flag. then he had borrowed a horse, and set forth to find the boy whom he had once considered his rival, but whom he now regarded as one of his best friends. after the first exchange of greetings, they stood and looked at each other curiously. glen's hair hung on his shoulders, and the braid that bound the brim of his sombrero was worn to a picturesque fringe, matching that of his buckskin shirt. he was broader and browner than ever; and though his face was still smooth and boyish, these last three months had stamped it with a look of resolute energy that binney noticed at once. he, too, was brown, though not nearly so tanned as glen, in spite of the burning suns of the gila valley; for his work had kept him under cover as much as glen's had kept him in the open air. as general elting's secretary, binney had spent most of his time in the ambulance, that, fitted up with writing-desk and table, was the chief-engineer's field-office, or in temporary offices established in tents or houses wherever they had halted for more than a day at a time. he had evidently met with barbers along the comparatively well-travelled gila; while, as compared with glen's picturesquely ragged costume, his was that of respectable civilization. although he, too, was the picture of health, his frame lacked the breadth and fulness of glen's, and it was evident at a glance that, in the matter of physical strength, he was even more greatly the other's inferior than when they left brimfield. glen could not help noting this with a feeling of secret satisfaction; but, as they rode towards camp together, and binney described his winter's experiences, glen began to regard him with vastly increased respect. he thought he had studied hard, and done well to master the mysteries of adjusting and running a level, perfecting himself as a rodman, and learning to plot profile; but his knowledge appeared insignificant as compared with that which binney had picked up and stored away. not only had he learned to speak spanish fluently, but he had become enough of a geologist to talk understandingly of coal-seams and ore-beds. he had the whole history of the country through which he had passed, from the date of its spanish discovery, at his tongue's end. he spoke familiarly of the notable men to whom, at general elting's dictation, he had written letters, and altogether he appeared to be a self-possessed, well-informed young man of the world. poor glen was beginning to feel very boyish and quite abashed in the presence of so much wisdom, and to wonder if he had not been wasting his opportunities on this trip as he had those of school. his thoughts were inclining towards a decidedly unpleasant turn, when they were suddenly set right again by binney, who exclaimed, "but, i say, old man, what a fine thing you fellows have done this winter! the general declares that you have made one of the most notable surveys on record; and it's a thing every one of you ought to be proud of. you should have heard him congratulate mr. hobart. he asked at once about you, too, and wants to see you as soon as you get in. he seems to take a great interest in you, and has spoken of you several times. i expect, if you choose to keep on in this business, you can always be sure of a job through him. he seems to think it queer that you should be a year older than i am; but i told him it was certainly so, because i knew just when your birthday came." glen was on the point of saying that, if binney knew that, it was more than he did, but something thing kept him silent. he hated to acknowledge that he knew nothing of his real birthday, nor how old he really was, but he wondered if he could truly be a year older than this wise young secretary. at this point the conversation was interrupted by their arrival at camp, and by general elting stepping from his tent to give glen a hearty handshake as he exclaimed, "my dear boy, i am delighted and thankful to see you again. i tried to persuade our friend mr. hobart, when i last saw him at santa fé, that, in spite of your performance on that railroad ride you and i took together last summer, you were too young to make the trip i had laid out for him. he said he didn't know anything about your age, but that you were certainly strong and plucky enough for the trip. i made him promise, though, to try and induce you to go back from isletta; but he doesn't seem to have succeeded." "no, sir," laughed glen, "and i'm awfully glad he didn't, for it's been the most glorious kind of a trip, and i have enjoyed every minute of it." "i am glad, too, now that it is all over; but i must tell you that, if i had not been assured that you were a whole year older than my young secretary here, i should have insisted on your going back, for i considered it too hard and dangerous a trip for a boy so young as i had supposed you to be until then." here was another good reason why glen was glad he had remained silent on the subject of his birthday. "now what do you think of running a line across the desert ahead of us?" continued the chief-engineer; "are you as anxious to undertake that as you were to cross arizona?" "yes, indeed, i am, sir," replied glen, earnestly. "i am anxious to go wherever the second division goes; and if anybody can get a line across that desert, i know we can." "i believe you can," said the chief, smiling at the boy's enthusiasm, "and i am going along to see how you do it." the colorado was so broad, deep, and swift that glen wondered how they were going to measure across it, and had a vague idea that it could be done by stretching a long rope from bank to bank. he asked "billy" brackett; and when the leveller answered, "by triangulation, of course," glen showed, by his puzzled expression, that he was as much in the dark as ever. "you have studied geometry and trigonometry, haven't you?" asked the leveller. glen was obliged to confess that, as he had not been able to see the use of those studies, he had not paid much attention to them. "well, then, perhaps you'll have a better opinion of old euclid when you see the practical use we'll put him to to-morrow," laughed "billy" brackett. glen did see, the next day, and wondered at the simplicity of the operation. the front flag was sent across the river in a boat, and on the opposite side he drove a stake. while he was thus engaged, a line a quarter of a mile long was measured on the bank where the rest of the party still remained, and a stake was driven at each end of it. the transit was set up over one of these stakes, and its telescope was pointed first at the other and then at the one across the river, by which means the angle where it stood was taken. it was then set over the stake at the other end of the measured line, and that angle was also taken. then mr. hobart drew, on a leaf of his transit-book, a triangle, of which the base represented the line measured between the two stakes on his side of the river, and one side represented the distance across the river that he wished to find. he thus had one side and two angles of a triangle given to find one of the other two sides, and he solved the problem as easily as any boy or girl of the trigonometry-class can whose time in school has not been wasted as glen eddy's was. it was a simple operation, and one easily performed, but it involved a knowledge of the four fundamental rules of arithmetic, of proportion, or the rule of three, of geometry, of trigonometry, and of how to use a surveyor's transit; all of which, except the last, are included in the regular course of studies of every boy and girl in america who receives a common-school education. glen had also been sent across the river, where he held his rod so high up on the bank that the cross hair in the telescope of the level cut just one tenth of an inch above its bottom. then, when "billy" brackett came over, and went on beyond glen, he set the level up so high on the bank that, through it, he could just see the top of the rod, extended to its extreme length. so they climbed slowly up out of the colorado valley, and began to traverse the dreary country that lay between it and the sierra nevada. for the first hundred miles or so they got along very well, so far as water was concerned, though the mules and horses speedily began to grow thin and weak for want of food. the patches of grass were very few and far between, and the rations of corn exceedingly small; for in that country corn was worth its weight in gold, and scarce at that. chapter xxxviii. dying of thirst in the desert. matters were bad enough by the time mr. hobart's party reached camp cady, nearly half way across the desert; but, from there on, they became much worse. the line could no longer follow the winding government trail, but must be run straight for the distant mountains, that were now plainly to be seen. this experience vividly recalled that of the preceding summer, when they were crossing the plains towards the rocky mountains, and longing so eagerly to reach them. but this was infinitely worse than that. there they generally found water that was sweet and fit to drink, and always had plenty of grass for their stock. here they rarely found water, and when they did it was nearly always so strongly impregnated with salt, soda, and alkali as to be unfit to drink. here, too, instead of grass, they found only sand, sage brush, greasewood, and cacti. to be sure the greasewood was a comfort, because it burned just as readily green as dry, and in certain of the cacti, round ones covered with long curved spines, they could nearly always find a mouthful of water, but none of these things afforded any nourishment for the hungry animals. they became so ravenous that they gnawed off one another's manes and tails, chewed up the wagon covers, and every other piece of cloth they could get hold of. then they began to die so fast from starvation and exhaustion that some dead ones were left behind with every camp, and each day the number was increased. at nearly every camp, too, a wagon was abandoned, and for miles they could look back and see its white cover, looming above the dreary expanse of sand and sage, like a monument to the faithful animals that had fallen beside it. at length but one wagon and the two ambulances were left. tents, baggage, clothing, all the bedding except one blanket apiece, and the greater part of their provisions, had been thrown away, or left in the abandoned wagons. within forty miles of the mountains they gave up work on the line. the men had no longer the strength to drag the chain or carry the instruments. they still noted their course by compass, and the height of various elevations as they crossed them, by the barometer. they were even able to measure the distance from one sad camping-place to another, by means of the odometer, an instrument that, attached to a wagon-wheel, records the number of revolutions made by it. this number, multiplied by the circumference of the wheel, gave them the distance in feet and inches. everybody was now on foot, even the chief's saddle-horse, señor, and glen's nettle being harnessed to one of the ambulances. at last, when the mountains appeared tantalizingly near, but when they were still nearly twenty miles away, it seemed as though the end had come. for two days neither men nor animals had tasted a drop of water. at the close of the second day, a slight elevation had disclosed a lake lying at their feet, glowing in the red beams of the setting sun. with feeble strength they had rushed to it, and flung themselves into its tempting waters. they were as salt as brine, and, with this bitter disappointment, came despair. they lighted fires and made coffee with the brackish water that oozed into holes dug in the salt-encrusted sand, but it sickened them, and they could not drink it. their lips were cracked, their tongues swollen, their throats like dry leather, and their voices were hardly more than husky whispers. as the moon rose that evening, and poured its cold light on the outstretched forms grouped about the solitary, white-sheeted wagon, a hand was laid on glen's shoulder, and the chief's voice bade the boy rise and follow him. leading the way to the ambulance in which binney gibbs slept the sleep of utter exhaustion and despair, and to which the horses señor and nettle were fastened, the general said, "there is but one hope left for us, matherson. it is certain that some of the party have not strength enough to carry them to the mountains, and equally so that, without water, the teams can never reach there. in the valleys of these mountains are streams, and on these streams are ranches. if we can get word to one of these, the entire party may yet be saved. i am going to try and ride there to-night, and i want you to come with me. our horses, and yours in particular, are the freshest of all the animals. i have told mr. hobart; but there is no need of rousing any of the others to a sense of their misery. will you make the attempt with me?" of course the boy would go; and, for a moment, he almost forgot his sufferings, in a feeling of pride that he should be selected for such an undertaking. a minute later they rode slowly away, and the desert sands so muffled the sound of their horses' hoofs that their departure was not noted by those whom they left. with fresh, strong animals, and without that terrible choking thirst, that night ride over the moonlight plain would have been a rare pleasure. under the circumstances it was like a frightful dream. neither of the riders cared to talk; the effort was too painful; but both thought of the last ride they had taken together in the cab of a locomotive on a missouri railroad, and the man looked tenderly at the boy, as he recalled the incidents of that night. for an hour they rode in silence, their panting steeds maintaining a shambling gait through the sand, that was neither a trot nor a lope, but a mixture of the two. then they dropped into a walk, and, for another hour, were only roused to greater speed by infinite exertions on the part of their riders. at last señor stumbled heavily, recovered himself, and then fell. "there is no use trying to get him up again," said the chief. "i'm afraid the poor old horse is done for; but you must ride on, and i will follow on foot. head for that dark space. it marks a valley. i shall not be far behind you. if you find water, fire your pistol. the sound will give me new strength. good-bye, and may god prosper you." [illustration: "'head for that dark space. it marks a valley.... if you find water, fire your pistol.'"] "but i hate to leave you, sir." "never mind me; hurry on. a moment wasted now may be at the price of a life." so glen went on alone, trying, in husky tones, to encourage his brave little mare, and urge her to renewed efforts. she seemed to realize that this was a struggle for life, and responded nobly. she even broke into a lope, as the ground became harder. the sand was disappearing. water might be nearer than they thought. five miles farther nettle carried her rider, and then she staggered beneath his weight. she could not bear him a rod farther, and he knew it. a choking sob rose in the boy's parched throat as he dismounted and left her standing there, the plucky steed that had brought him so far and so faithfully; but he could not stay with her, he must go on. he could see the opening to the valley plainly now, though it was still some miles away; and, summoning all his strength, he walked towards it. at half the distance he was skirting a foot-hill, when down its gravelly side, directly towards him, rushed two animals, like great dogs. they were mountain-wolves at play, one chasing the other, and they came on, apparently without seeing him. when, with a hoarse cry, he attracted their attention, they stopped, and, sitting on their haunches, not more than a couple of rods away, gazed at him curiously. he dared not fire at them, for fear of only wounding one and thus arousing their fury. nor did he wish to raise false hopes in the mind of general elting, who might hear the shot and think it meant water. some one had told him of the cowardice of wolves. he would try it. picking up a stone, he flung it at them, at the same time running forward, brandishing his arms, and giving a feeble shout. they sprang aside, hesitated a moment, and then turned tail and fled. soon afterwards glen reached the valley, which was apparently about half a mile broad. on its farther side was a line of shadow blacker than the rest. it might be timber. with tottering footsteps the boy staggered towards it. as his feet touched a patch of grass he could have knelt and kissed it, but at the same instant he heard the most blessed sound on earth, the trickling of a rivulet. he fell as he reached it, and plunged his head into the life-giving water. it was warm and strongly impregnated with sulphur; but never had he tasted anything so delicious, nor will he ever again. had it been cold water, the amount that he drank might have killed him; as it was, it only made him sick. after a while he recovered, and then how he gloated in that tiny stream. how he bathed his hands and face, and, suddenly, how he wished the others were there with him. perhaps a shot might bear the joyful news to the ears of the general. with the thought he drew his revolver, and roused the mountain echoes with its six shots, fired in quick succession. then he tried to walk up the valley in the hope of finding a ranch. it was all he could do to keep on his feet, and only a mighty effort of will restrained him from flinging himself down on the grass and going to sleep beside that stream of blessed water. a few minutes later there came a quick rush of hoofs from up the valley, and in the moonlight he saw two horsemen galloping towards him. they dashed up with hurried questions as to the firing they had heard, and, somehow, he managed to make them understand that a party of white men were dying of thirst twenty miles out on the desert. the next thing he knew, he was in a house, and dropping into a sleep of such utter weariness that to do anything else would have been beyond his utmost power of mind or body. chapter xxxix. crossing the sierra nevada. when glen next woke to a realizing sense of his surroundings, the evening shadows had again fallen, and he heard familiar voices near by him. all were there, general elting, mr. hobart, "billy" brackett, binney gibbs, and the rest, just sitting down to a supper at the hospitable ranch table. it was laden with fresh beef, soft bread, butter, eggs, milk, boiled cabbage, and tea, all of them luxuries that they had not tasted for months. and they had plates, cups and saucers, spoons, knives, and forks. glen wondered if he should know how to use them; but he did not wonder if he were hungry. nor did he wait for an invitation to join that supper-party. he was dirty and ragged and unkempt as he entered the room in which his comrades were assembled; but what did they care? he was the one who had found help and sent it to them in the time of their sore need. some of them owed their lives to him, perhaps all of them did. every man in the room stood up, as the chief took him by the hand and led him to the head of the table, saying, "here he is, gentlemen. here is the lad who saved the second division. some of us might have got through without his help; others certainly would not. right here i wish to thank him, and to thank god for the strength, pluck, and powers of endurance with which this boy, to whom we owe so much, is endowed." and glen! how did he take all this praise? why, he was so hungry, and his eyes were fixed so eagerly on the table full of good things spread before him that he hardly knew what the general was talking about. if they would only let him sit down and eat, and drink some of that delicious-looking water! he came very near interrupting the proceedings by doing so. at length, to his great relief, they all sat down, and in a moment glen was eating and drinking in a manner only possible to a hearty boy who has gone without water and almost without food for two days. a little later, seated before a glorious camp-fire of oak logs outside the ranch, glen learned how the two ranchmen, after getting him to the house, had loaded a wagon with barrels of water and gone out on the desert. they first found general elting, nearly exhausted, but still walking, within a couple of miles of the valley, and afterwards discovered the rest of the party dragging themselves falteringly along beside one of the ambulances, which, with the notes and maps of the expedition, was the only thing they had attempted to bring in. and nettle! oh, yes; the brave little mare was also found, revived, and brought in to the ranch. she needed a long rest; and both for her sake and as a token of his gratitude, glen presented her to one of the ranchmen. the settlers went out that same night after the other ambulance and the wagon, abandoned on the shore of the salt lake. when they returned, general elting traded his big, nearly exhausted army mules for their wiry little bronchos, giving two for one, and thus securing fresh teams to haul all that remained of his wagon-train to the coast. the party spent three days in recruiting at this kindly ranch, to which they will always look back with grateful hearts, and think of as one of the most beautiful spots on earth. then, strengthened and refreshed, they passed on up the valley, which proved to be that of the tehachapa, the very pass towards which they had directed their course from the moment of leaving the colorado. how beautiful seemed its oak-groves, its meadows, its abounding springs of cool, sweet water, and its clear, bracing air! how they ate and slept and worked and enjoyed living! what grand camp-fires they had, and how much merriment circulated about them! and had they not cause for rejoicing? had they not toiled across half the width of a continent? had they not traversed vast plains and mountain-ranges and deserts? had they not encountered savage men and savage beasts? had they not suffered from hunger, thirst, cold, and hardships of all kinds? had they not conquered and triumphed over all these? were they not left far behind, and was not the journey's end in sight? no wonder they were light-hearted and excited, and no wonder they seemed to inhale champagne with every breath of that mountain air! general elting left them at the summit of the pass, and, taking binney gibbs with him in his private ambulance, hastened on to los angeles to make arrangements for the transportation of the party, by steamer, up the coast to san francisco; for there were no railroads in california in those days. the rest of the engineers travelled leisurely down the western slope of the sierras into a region that became more charming with each mile of progress. it was spring-time. the rainy season was drawing to its close, and the golden state was at its best. the air was filled with the sweet scents of innumerable flowers, the song of birds, and the music of rushing waters. the bay-trees wore their new spring robes of vivid green, from which the soft winds shook out delightfully spicy odors. the trunks of the manzanitas glowed beneath their wine-red skins, while the madronos were clad in glossy, fawn-colored satins. to the toil-worn explorers, just off the alkaline sands of the parched and verdureless desert, the old mission of san gabriel, nestled at the base of the western foot-hills, seemed the very garden-spot of the world. here were groves of oranges, lemons, limes, pomegranates, and olives. here were roses and jasmines. here were heliotrope and fuchsias, grown to be trees, and a bewildering profusion of climbing vines and flowering shrubs, of which they knew not the names. but they recognized the oranges, though none of them had ever seen one growing before; and, with a shout of joy, the entire party rushed into the grove, where the trees were laden at once with the luscious fruit and perfumed blossoms. there was no pause to discuss the proper method of peeling an orange in this case, for they did not stop to peel them at all. they just ate them, skin and all, like so many apples. it was such a treat as they had never enjoyed before, and they made the most of it. not long after leaving san gabriel, as they were making a night march towards los angeles, glen suddenly became aware of a strange humming sound above his head; and, looking up, saw a telegraph wire. with a glad shout he announced its presence. it was the most civilized thing they had seen since leaving kansas. at los angeles they could not make up their minds to endure the close, dark rooms of the fonda, and so camped out for the night in the government corral beside their wagon. the following day they made their last march over twenty miles of level prairie, dotted with flocks and herds, to san pedro, on the coast. it was late in the afternoon, and the sun was setting, when, from a slight eminence, they caught their first glimpse of the gold-tinted pacific waters. for a moment they gazed in silence, with hearts too full for words. then everybody shook hands with the one nearest to him, and more than one tear of joyful emotion trickled down the bronzed and weather-beaten cheeks of the explorers. as for glen eddy, he never expects to be so thrilled again as he was by the sight of that mighty ocean gleaming in the red light of the setting sun, and marking the end of the most notable journey of his life. that night they made their last camp, and gathered about their final camp-fire. glen and "billy" brackett had shared their blankets ever since leaving the rio grande, and had hardly slept, even beneath a canvas roof, in all those months. now, as they lay together for the last time, on their bed of grassy turf, which is of all beds the one that brings the sweetest and soundest sleep, and gazed at the stars that had kept faithful watch above them for so long, they talked in low tones until a gentle sea-breeze set in and they were lulled to sleep by the murmur of distant breakers, a music now heard by both of them for the first time in their lives. the next day they turned over their sole remaining wagon and their ambulance to a government quartermaster. then, having no baggage, they were ready, without further preparation, to embark on the steamer _orizaba_ for san francisco, to which place general elting and binney gibbs had gone on, by stage, from los angeles, some days before. as the great ship entered the golden gate and steamed up the bay, past tamalpias, past the presidio, past alcatraz island, and into the harbor of san francisco, glen eddy found it hard to realize that it was all true, and that this young explorer, who was about to set foot in the city of his most romantic day dreams, was really the boy who had started from brimfield ten months before, without an idea of what was before him. chapter xl. a home and two fathers. of course they all went to the occidental, for everybody went first to the occidental in those days. as they drove through the city, in open carriages, their long hair, buckskin shirts, rags, in some cases soleless and toeless boots, and generally wild and disreputable appearance attracted much amused attention from the well-dressed shoppers of montgomery street; and, when they trooped into the marble rotunda of the great hotel, they excited the universal curiosity of its other and more civilized guests. but they did not mind--they enjoyed the sensation they were creating; and glen, who was one of the wildest-looking of them all, rather pitied binney gibbs on account of the fine clothing he had already assumed, as the two met and exchanged hearty greetings once more. "come up into my room, glen," said binney, eagerly, "i've got a lot of brimfield news, and there's a pile of letters for you besides. only think, lame wolf is playing short-stop on the ball nine, and they say he's going to make one of the best players they've ever had." the last news glen had received from home was in the letters mr. hobart had brought from santa fé nearly five months before. he had learned then of lame wolf's safe arrival at brimfield, and of his beginning to study english; but now to hear of his being on the ball nine! that was making progress; and the boy felt very proud of his young indian. but there was more startling news than that awaiting him. in one of the letters from his adopted father, which, though it bore the latest date, had already been waiting in san francisco more than a month, he read, with amazement, the following paragraphs: "i have just received a note from a lady who writes that she met a gentleman in new mexico who told her all about you. she was intensely interested, because she thinks she knew your mother, and travelled with her and you on the day the train was wrecked in glen eddy creek, when you and i were the only survivors. she also says that the mother with whom she travelled said her baby was just a year old, and that day was his birthday. so, my dear boy, if it should happen that you and the baby she mentions are the same, you are a year younger than we have always thought you, and are just the age of binney gibbs. in conclusion, the lady writes that she believes your real father to be still alive, and she thinks she knows his name, but prefers not to mention it until she hears from me all that i know of your history. i, of course, wrote to her at once, and am anxiously expecting an answer. i never loved you more than now, and to give you up will well-nigh break my heart; but, if there is anything better in store for you than i can offer, i would be the last one to stand in the way of your accepting it. "now, my dear boy, come home as soon as you can, and perhaps you will find two fathers awaiting you instead of one. we are full of anxiety concerning you. be sure and telegraph the moment you arrive in san francisco." over and over did glen read this letter before he could control himself sufficiently to speak. binney gibbs noticed his agitation, and finally said, "no bad news, i hope, old man?" for answer the boy handed him the letter, which binney read with ever-growing excitement. when he finished he exclaimed, "it's wonderful, glen, and i do hope it will come out all right. i always felt sorry for you at not knowing who you were, even when i was so meanly jealous of you for being stronger and more popular than i, and now i congratulate you from the bottom of my heart. what a lucky thing it has been though, over and over again, not only for you, but for me, and the whole second division, that you were stronger than i!" he added, with a hearty sincerity that he would not have exhibited a year before. "i tell you what, this trip has opened my eyes to some things, and one of them is that a fellow's body needs just as much training as his mind." "it has opened mine too," said glen, earnestly. "it has taught me that, no matter how strong a fellow is, he can't expect to amount to much in this world unless he knows something, and that he can't know much unless he learns it by hard study. if ever i get a chance to go to school again, you better believe i'll know how to value it." "and if i ever get another chance to learn how to swim, you may be sure i won't throw it away in a hurry," laughed binney. "only see what a splendid fellow 'billy' brackett is," continued glen, "just because he has trained his muscle and his brain at the same time, without letting either get ahead of the other. and, speaking of 'billy' brackett, i must go and show him this letter, because he is one of the best friends i have got in the world, and i know he'll be glad to hear anything that pleases me." first, glen stopped at the telegraph office in the hotel, and sent the following despatch to brimfield. "just arrived, safe and sound. start for home first steamer," for which he paid eight dollars in gold. then he went to "billy" brackett's room, where he found that young engineer struggling with a new coat that had just been sent in from a tailor's, and lamenting, more than ever, the loss of his shiny but well-loved old cutaway that had been eaten by one of the hungry mules on the desert. he was as interested as glen knew he would be in the letter, and as he finished it he exclaimed: "well, you are in luck, my boy, and i'm glad of it! here i am, without a father to my name, while you seem likely to have two. well, you deserve a dozen; and if you had 'em, each one would be prouder of you than the other." after a week spent in san francisco, during which time the barber, tailor, and various outfitters made a marvellous change in glen's personal appearance, he, together with general elting and binney gibbs, boarded one of the great pacific mail steamships for panama. mr. hobart, "billy" brackett, and the other members of the second division, had decided to remain for a while on that coast, and most of them had already accepted positions on some of the various engineering works then in progress in california; but they were all at the steamer to see the homeward-bound travellers off. as the great wheels were set in motion, and the stately ship moved slowly from the wharf, the quieter spectators were startled by the tremendous farewell cheer that arose from the "campmates" who remained behind; and the cries of "good-bye, general! we'll be on hand whenever you want us again! good-bye, grip! good-bye, glen, old man! we won't forget the desert in a hurry! good-bye!" the run down the coast was a smooth and pleasant one; while the several mexican and central american ports at which they touched were full of interest and delightful novelty to the brimfield boys. they thoroughly enjoyed crossing the isthmus, and would gladly have lingered longer amid its wonderful tropic scenery. not until they were on the atlantic, however, and steaming northward, did they realize that they were fairly on their way home. one day, as the two boys were sitting on deck, in company with general elting, gazing at the coast of cuba, which they were then passing, binney gibbs broke a long silence with the remark, "doesn't it seem queer, glen, to think that when you get home you will be just the age you were when you left it, and perhaps your name won't be 'glen eddy' after all?" general elting had not heard of glen's letter from his adopted father, nor had he ever heard him called "glen eddy" before; and now he asked binney what he meant by such a curious speech. when it was explained, he sat silent for several minutes, looking at glen with such a peculiar expression that the boy grew uneasy beneath the fixed gaze. then, without a word, he rose and walked away, nor did they see him again for several hours. he talked much with glen during the remainder of the voyage, and frequently puzzled him by his questions, and the interest he manifested in everything relating to his past life. as he was going to st. louis, he took the same train with the boys from new york; and, though he bade them good-bye as they neared brimfield, he said that he hoped and expected to see them again very shortly. how natural the place looked as the train rolled up to the little station, and how impossible it was to realize that they had crossed the continent and sailed on two oceans since leaving it! "there's father!" shouted glen and binney at the same instant. "and there are all the boys! who is that dark, good-looking chap with them? it can't be lame wolf! but it is, though! did you ever see such a change for the better? bully for lame wolf!" "hurrah for glen eddy! hurrah for binney gibbs!" shouted the brimfield boys, wild with the excitement of welcoming home two such heroes as the young explorers were in their eyes. the very first to grasp glen's hand was the indian lad, and he said in good english, though with a cheyenne accent, "how glen! lem wolf is very glad. lem wolf is short-stop now. he can play ball." binney gibbs disappeared in his father's carriage; but glen walked from the station with his adopted father, and everybody wanted to shake hands with him, and ask him questions, and throng about him, so that it seemed as though they never would reach home. it was a happy home-coming, and glen was touched by the interest and the kindly feeling manifested towards him; but how he did long to reach the house, and be alone for a minute with mr. matherson. there was one question that he was so eager, and yet almost afraid, to ask. had his own father been discovered? but he could not ask it before all those people, nor did he have an opportunity for a full hour after they reached the house. some of the neighbors were there, and they had to have supper, and everything seemed to interfere to postpone that quiet talk for which he was so anxious. at length he could wait no longer, and, almost dragging mr. matherson into the little front parlor, he closed the door and said breathlessly, "now tell me, father; tell me quick! is he alive? have you found him?" "yes, my boy, he is alive, or was a few months ago, and i think we can find him. in fact, i believe you know him very well, and could tell me where to find him better than i can tell you." "what do you mean?" cried glen. "oh, tell me quick! what is his name?" there was so much confusion outside that they did not notice the opening of the front gate, nor the strange step on the walk. as mr. matherson was about to reply to the boy's eager question, the parlor door opened, and one of the children entered, with a card in her hand, saying, "somebody wants to see you, papa." as mr. matherson glanced at the card he sprang to his feet, trembling with excitement. "gerald elting!" he cried. "why, glen, that is the name of your own father!" "and here is his own father, eager to claim his son," came from the open doorway, in the manly tones that glen had long since learned to love. the next moment the man's arms were about the boy's neck, as, in a voice trembling with long-suppressed emotion, he cried, "oh, my son, my son! have i found you after all these years? now is my long sorrow indeed turned to joy." the end. books by kirk munroe campmates. dorymates. canoemates. raftmates. wakulla. the flamingo feather. derrick sterling. chrystal, jack & co. the copper princess. forward, march! the blue dragon. for the mikado. under the great bear. the fur-seal's tooth. snow-shoes and sledges. rick dale. the painted desert. none lex by w. t. haggert illustrated by wood [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from galaxy magazine august . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] nothing in the world could be happier and mere serene than a man who loves his work--but what happens when it loves him back? keep your nerve, peter manners told himself; it's only a job. but nerve has to rest on a sturdier foundation than cash reserves just above zero and eviction if he came away from this interview still unemployed. clay, at the association of professional engineers, who had set up the appointment, hadn't eased peter's nervousness by admitting, "i don't know what in hell he's looking for. he's turned down every man we've sent him." the interview was at three. fifteen minutes to go. coming early would betray overeagerness. peter stood in front of the lex industries plant and studied it to kill time. plain, featureless concrete walls, not large for a manufacturing plant--it took a scant minute to exhaust its sightseeing potential. if he walked around the building, he could, if he ambled, come back to the front entrance just before three. he turned the corner, stopped, frowned, wondering what there was about the building that seemed so puzzling. it could not have been plainer, more ordinary. it was in fact, he only gradually realized, so plain and ordinary that it was like no other building he had ever seen. there had been windows at the front. there were none at the side, and none at the rear. then how were the working areas lit? he looked for the electric service lines and found them at one of the rear corners. they jolted him. the distribution transformers were ten times as large as they should have been for a plant this size. something else was wrong. peter looked for minutes before he found out what it was. factories usually have large side doorways for employees changing shifts. this building had one small office entrance facing the street, and the only other door was at the loading bay--big enough to handle employee traffic, but four feet above the ground. without any stairs, it could be used only by trucks backing up to it. maybe the employees' entrance was on the third side. it wasn't. * * * * * staring back at the last blank wall, peter suddenly remembered the time he had set out to kill. he looked at his watch and gasped. at a run, set to straight-arm the door, he almost fell on his face. the door had opened by itself. he stopped and looked for a photo-electric eye, but a soft voice said through a loudspeaker in the anteroom wall: "mr. manners?" "what?" he panted. "who--?" "you _are_ mr. manners?" the voice asked. he nodded, then realized he had to answer aloud if there was a microphone around; but the soft voice said: "follow the open doors down the hall. mr. lexington is expecting you." "thanks," peter said, and a door at one side of the anteroom swung open for him. he went through it with his composure slipping still further from his grip. this was no way to go into an interview, but doors kept opening before and shutting after him, until only one was left, and the last of his calm was blasted away by a bellow from within. "don't stand out there like a jackass! either come in or go away!" peter found himself leaping obediently toward the doorway. he stopped just short of it, took a deep breath and huffed it out, took another, all the while thinking, hold on now; you're in no shape for an interview--and it's not your fault--this whole setup is geared to unnerve you: the kindergarten kid called in to see the principal. he let another bellow bounce off him as he blew out the second breath, straightened his jacket and tie, and walked in as an engineer applying for a position should. "mr. lexington?" he said. "i'm peter manners. the association--" "sit down," said the man at the desk. "let's look you over." he was a huge man behind an even huger desk. peter took a chair in front of the desk and let himself be inspected. it wasn't comfortable. he did some looking over of his own to ease the tension. the room was more than merely large, carpeted throughout with a high-pile, rich, sound-deadening rug. the oversized desk and massive leather chairs, heavy patterned drapes, ornately framed paintings--by god, even a glass-brick manteled fireplace and bowls with flowers!--made him feel as if he had walked down a hospital corridor into hollywood's idea of an office. his eyes eventually had to move to lexington, and they were daunted for another instant. this was a citadel of a man--great girders of frame supporting buttresses of muscle--with a vaulting head and drawbridge chin and a steel gaze that defied any attempt to storm it. but then peter came out of his momentary flinch, and there was an age to the man, about , and he saw the muscles had turned to fat, the complexion ashen, the eyes set deep as though retreating from pain, and this was a citadel of a man, yes, but beginning to crumble. "what can you do?" asked lexington abruptly. * * * * * peter started, opened his mouth to answer, closed it again. he'd been jolted too often in too short a time to be stampeded into blurting a reply that would cost him this job. "good," said lexington. "only a fool would try to answer that. do you have any knowledge of medicine?" "not enough to matter," peter said, stung by the compliment. "i don't mean how to bandage a cut or splint a broken arm. i mean things like cell structure, neural communication--the _basics_ of how we live." "i'm applying for a job as engineer." "i know. are you interested in the basics of how we live?" peter looked for a hidden trap, found none. "of course. isn't everyone?" "less than you think," lexington said. "it's the preconceived notions they're interested in protecting. at least i won't have to beat them out of you." "thanks," said peter, and waited for the next fast ball. "how long have you been out of school?" "only two years. but you knew that from the association--" "no practical experience to speak of?" "some," said peter, stung again, this time not by a compliment. "after i got my degree, i went east for a post-graduate training program with an electrical manufacturer. i got quite a bit of experience there. the company--" "stockpiled you," lexington said. peter blinked. "sir?" "stockpiled you! how much did they pay you?" "not very much, but we were getting the training instead of wages." "did that come out of the pamphlets they gave you?" "did what come out--" "that guff about receiving training instead of wages!" said lexington. "any company that really wants bright trainees will compete for them with money--cold, hard cash, not platitudes. maybe you saw a few of their products being made, maybe you didn't. but you're a lot weaker in calculus than when you left school, and in a dozen other subjects too, aren't you?" "well, nothing we did on the course involved higher mathematics," peter admitted cautiously, "and i suppose i could use a refresher course in calculus." "just as i said--they stockpiled you, instead of using you as an engineer. they hired you at a cut wage and taught you things that would be useful only in their own company, while in the meantime you were getting weaker in the subjects you'd paid to learn. or are you one of these birds that had the shot paid for him?" "i worked my way through," said peter stiffly. "if you'd stayed with them five years, do you think you'd be able to get a job with someone else?" peter considered his answer carefully. every man the association had sent had been turned away. that meant bluffs didn't work. neither, he'd seen for himself, did allowing himself to be intimidated. "i hadn't thought about it," he said. "i suppose it wouldn't have been easy." "impossible, you mean. you wouldn't know a single thing except their procedures, their catalogue numbers, their way of doing things. and you'd have forgotten so much of your engineering training, you'd be scared to take on an engineer's job, for fear you'd be asked to do something you'd forgotten how to do. at that point, they could take you out of the stockpile, put you in just about any job they wanted, at any wage you'd stand for, and they'd have an indentured worker with a degree--but not the price tag. you see that now?" * * * * * it made peter feel he had been suckered, but he had decided to play this straight all the way. he nodded. "why'd you leave?" lexington pursued, unrelenting. "i finished the course and the increase they offered on a permanent basis wasn't enough, so i went elsewhere--" "with your head full of this nonsense about a shortage of engineers." peter swallowed. "i thought it would be easier to get a job than it has been, yes." "they start the talk about a shortage and then they keep it going. why? so youngsters will take up engineering thinking they'll wind up among a highly paid minority. you did, didn't you?" "yes, sir." "and so did all the others there with you, at school and in this stockpiling outfit?" "that's right." "well," said lexington unexpectedly, "there _is_ a shortage! and the stockpiles are the ones who made it, and who keep it going! and the hell of it is that they can't stop--when one does it, they all have to, or their costs get out of line and they can't compete. what's the solution?" "i don't know," peter said. lexington leaned back. "that's quite a lot of admissions you've made. what makes you think you're qualified for the job i'm offering?" "you said you wanted an engineer." "and i've just proved you're less of an engineer than when you left school. i have, haven't i?" "all right, you have," peter said angrily. "and now you're wondering why i don't get somebody fresh out of school. right?" peter straightened up and met the old man's challenging gaze. "that and whether you're giving me a hard time just for the hell of it." "well, am i?" lexington demanded. looking at him squarely, seeing the intensity of the pain-drawn eyes, peter had the startling feeling that lexington was rooting for him! "no, you're not." "then what am i after?" "suppose you tell me." so suddenly that it was almost like a collapse, the tension went out of the old man's face and shoulders. he nodded with inexpressible tiredness. "good again. the man i want doesn't exist. he has to be made--the same as i was. you qualify, so far. you've lost your illusions, but haven't had time yet to replace them with dogma or cynicism or bitterness. you saw immediately that fake humility or cockiness wouldn't get you anywhere here, and you were right. those were the important things. the background data i got from the association on you counted, of course, but only if you were teachable. i think you are. am i right?" "at least i can face knowing how much i don't know," said peter, "if that answers the question." "it does. partly. what did you notice about this plant?" in precis form, peter listed his observations: the absence of windows at sides and rear, the unusual amount of power, the automatic doors, the lack of employees' entrances. "very good," said lexington. "most people only notice the automatic doors. anything else?" "yes," peter said. "you're the only person i've seen in the building." "i'm the only one there is." peter stared his disbelief. automated plants were nothing new, but they all had their limitations. either they dealt with exactly similar products or things that could be handled on a flow basis, like oil or water-soluble chemicals. even these had no more to do than process the goods. "come on," said lexington, getting massively to his feet. "i'll show you." * * * * * the office door opened, and peter found himself being led down the antiseptic corridor to another door which had opened, giving access to the manufacturing area. as they moved along, between rows of seemingly disorganized machinery, peter noticed that the factory lights high overhead followed their progress, turning themselves on in advance of their coming, and going out after they had passed, keeping a pool of illumination only in the immediate area they occupied. soon they reached a large door which peter recognized as the inside of the truck loading door he had seen from outside. lexington paused here. "this is the bay used by the trucks arriving with raw materials," he said. "they back up to this door, and a set of automatic jacks outside lines up the trailer body with the door exactly. then the door opens and the truck is unloaded by these materials handling machines." peter didn't see him touch anything, but as he spoke, three glistening machines, apparently self-powered, rolled noiselessly up to the door in formation and stopped there, apparently waiting to be inspected. they gave peter the creeps. simple square boxes, set on casters, with two arms each mounted on the sides might have looked similar. the arms, fashioned much like human arms, hung at the sides, not limply, but in a relaxed position that somehow indicated readiness. lexington went over to one of them and patted it lovingly. "really, these machines are only an extension of one large machine. the whole plant, as a matter of fact, is controlled from one point and is really a single unit. these materials handlers, or manipulators, were about the toughest things in the place to design. but they're tremendously useful. you'll see a lot of them around." lexington was about to leave the side of the machine when abruptly one of the arms rose to the handkerchief in his breast pocket and daintily tugged it into a more attractive position. it took only a split second, and before lexington could react, all three machines were moving away to attend to mysterious duties of their own. peter tore his eyes away from them in time to see the look of frustrated embarrassment that crossed lexington's face, only to be replaced by one of anger. he said nothing, however, and led peter to a large bay where racks of steel plate, bar forms, nuts, bolts, and other materials were stored. "after unloading a truck, the machines check the shipment, report any shortages or overages, and store the materials here," he said, the trace of anger not yet gone from his voice. "when an order is received, it's translated into the catalogue numbers used internally within the plant, and machines like the ones you just saw withdraw the necessary materials from stock, make the component parts, assemble them, and package the finished goods for shipment. simultaneously, an order is sent to the billing section to bill the customer, and an order is sent to our trucker to come and pick the shipment up. meanwhile, if the withdrawal of the materials required has depleted our stock, the purchasing section is instructed to order more raw materials. i'll take you through the manufacturing and assembly sections right now, but they're too noisy for me to explain what's going on while we're there." * * * * * peter followed numbly as lexington led him through a maze of machines, each one seemingly intent on cutting, bending, welding, grinding or carrying some bit of metal, or just standing idle, waiting for something to do. the two-armed manipulators peter had just seen were everywhere, scuttling from machine to machine, apparently with an exact knowledge of what they were doing and the most efficient way of doing it. he wondered what would happen if one of them tried to use the same aisle they were using. he pictured a futile attempt to escape the onrushing wheels, saw himself clambering out of the path of the speeding vehicle just in time to fall into the jaws of the punch press that was laboring beside him at the moment. nervously, he looked for an exit, but his apprehension was unnecessary. the machines seemed to know where they were and avoided the two men, or stopped to wait for them to go by. back in the office section of the building, lexington indicated a small room where a typewriter could be heard clattering away. "standard business machines, operated by the central control mechanism. in that room," he said, as the door swung open and peter saw that the typewriter was actually a sort of teletype, with no one before the keyboard, "incoming mail is sorted and inquiries are replied to. in this one over here, purchase orders are prepared, and across the hall there's a very similar rig set up in conjunction with an automatic bookkeeper to keep track of the pennies and to bill the customers." "then all you do is read the incoming mail and maintain the machinery?" asked peter, trying to shake off the feeling of open amazement that had engulfed him. "i don't even do those things, except for a few letters that come in every week that--it doesn't want to deal with by itself." the shock of what he had just seen was showing plainly on peter's face when they walked back into lexington's office and sat down. lexington looked at him for quite a while without saying anything, his face sagging and pale. peter didn't trust himself to speak, and let the silence remain unbroken. finally lexington spoke. "i know it's hard to believe, but there it is." "hard to believe?" said peter. "i almost can't. the trade journals run articles about factories like this one, but planned for ten, maybe twenty years in the future." "damn fools!" exclaimed lexington, getting part of his breath back. "they could have had it years ago, if they'd been willing to drop their idiotic notions about specialization." lexington mopped his forehead with a large white handkerchief. apparently the walk through the factory had tired him considerably, although it hadn't been strenuous. * * * * * he leaned back in his chair and began to talk in a low voice completely in contrast with the overbearing manner he had used upon peter's arrival. "you know what we make, of course." "yes, sir. conduit fittings." "and a lot of other electrical products, too. i started out in this business twenty years ago, using orthodox techniques. i never got through university. i took a couple of years of an arts course, and got so interested in biology that i didn't study anything else. they bounced me out of the course, and i re-entered in engineering, determined not to make the same mistake again. but i did. i got too absorbed in those parts of the course that had to do with electrical theory and lost the rest as a result. the same thing happened when i tried commerce, with accounting, so i gave up and started working for one of my competitors. it wasn't too long before i saw that the only way i could get ahead was to open up on my own." lexington sank deeper in his chair and stared at the ceiling as he spoke. "i put myself in hock to the eyeballs, which wasn't easy, because i had just got married, and started off in a very small way. after three years, i had a fairly decent little business going, and i suppose it would have grown just like any other business, except for a strike that came along and put me right back where i started. my wife, whom i'm afraid i had neglected for the sake of the business, was killed in a car accident about then, and rightly or wrongly, that made me angrier with the union than anything else. if the union hadn't made things so tough for me from the beginning, i'd have had more time to spend with my wife before her death. as things turned out--well, i remember looking down at her coffin and thinking that i hardly knew the girl. "for the next few years, i concentrated on getting rid of as many employees as i could, by replacing them with automatic machines. i'd design the control circuits myself, in many cases wire the things up myself, always concentrating on replacing men with machines. but it wasn't very successful. i found that the more automatic i made my plant, the lower my costs went. the lower my costs went, the more business i got, and the more i had to expand." lexington scowled. "i got sick of it. i decided to try developing one multi-purpose control circuit that would control everything, from ordering the raw materials to shipping the finished goods. as i told you, i had taken quite an interest in biology when i was in school, and from studies of nerve tissue in particular, plus my electrical knowledge, i had a few ideas on how to do it. it took me three years, but i began to see that i could develop circuitry that could remember, compare, detect similarities, and so on. not the way they do it today, of course. to do what i wanted to do with these big clumsy magnetic drums, tapes, and what-not, you'd need a building the size of mount everest. but i found that i could let organic chemistry do most of the work for me. "by creating the proper compounds, with their molecules arranged in predetermined matrixes, i found i could duplicate electrical circuitry in units so tiny that my biggest problem was getting into and out of the logic units with conventional wiring. i finally beat that the same way they solved the problem of translating a picture on a screen into electrical signals, developed equipment to scan the units cyclically, and once i'd done that, the battle was over. "i built this building and incorporated it as a separate company, to compete with my first outfit. in the beginning, i had it rigged up to do only the manual work that you saw being done a few minutes ago in the back of this place. i figured that the best thing for me to do would be to turn the job of selling my stuff over to jobbers, leaving me free to do nothing except receive orders, punch the catalogue numbers into the control console, do the billing, and collect the money." "what happened to your original company?" peter asked. * * * * * lexington smiled. "well, automated as it was, it couldn't compete with this plant. it gave me great pleasure, three years after this one started working, to see my old company go belly up. this company bought the old firm's equipment for next to nothing and i wound up with all my assets, but only one employee--me. "i thought everything would be rosy from that point on, but it wasn't. i found that i couldn't keep up with the mail unless i worked impossible hours. i added a couple of new pieces of equipment to the control section. one was simply a huge memory bank. the other was a comparator circuit. a complicated one, but a comparator circuit nevertheless. here i was working on instinct more than anything. i figured that if i interconnected these circuits in such a way that they could sense everything that went on in the plant, and compare one action with another, by and by the unit would be able to see patterns. "then, through the existing command output, i figured these new units would be able to control the plant, continuing the various patterns of activity that i'd already established." here lexington frowned. "it didn't work worth a damn! it just sat there and did nothing. i couldn't understand it for the longest time, and then i realized what the trouble was. i put a kicker circuit into it, a sort of voltage-bias network. i reset the equipment so that while it was still under instructions to receive orders and produce goods, its prime purpose was to activate the kicker. the kicker, however, could only be activated by me, manually. lastly, i set up one of the early tv pickups over the mail slitter and allowed every letter i received, every order, to be fed into the memory banks. that did it." "i--i don't understand," stammered peter. "simple! whenever i was pleased that things were going smoothly, i pressed the kicker button. the machine had one purpose, so far as its logic circuits were concerned. its object was to get me to press that button. every day i'd press it at the same time, unless things weren't going well. if there had been trouble in the shop, i'd press it late, or maybe not at all. if all the orders were out on schedule, or ahead of time, i'd press it ahead of time, or maybe twice in the same day. pretty soon the machine got the idea. "i'll never forget the day i picked up an incoming order form from one of the western jobbers, and found that the keyboard was locked when i tried to punch it into the control console. it completely baffled me at first. then, while i was tracing out the circuits to see if i could discover what was holding the keyboard lock in, i noticed that the order was already entered on the in-progress list. i was a long time convincing myself that it had really happened, but there was no other explanation. "the machine had realized that whenever one of those forms came in, i copied the list of goods from it onto the in-progress list through the console keyboard, thus activating the producing mechanisms in the back of the plant. the machine had done it for me this time, then locked the keyboard so i couldn't enter the order twice. i think i held down the kicker button for a full five minutes that day." "this kicker button," peter said tentatively, "it's like the pleasure center in an animal's brain, isn't it?" * * * * * when lexington beamed, peter felt a surge of relief. talking with this man was like walking a tightrope. a word too much or a word too little might mean the difference between getting the job or losing it. "exactly!" whispered lexington, in an almost conspiratorial tone. "i had altered the circuitry of the machine so that it tried to give me pleasure--because by doing so, its own pleasure circuit would be activated. "things went fast from then on. once i realized that the machine was learning, i put tv monitors all over the place, so the machine could watch everything that was going on. after a short while i had to increase the memory bank, and later i increased it again, but the rewards were worth it. soon, by watching what i did, and then by doing it for me next time it had to be done, the machine had learned to do almost everything, and i had time to sit back and count my winnings." at this point the door opened, and a small self-propelled cart wheeled silently into the room. stopping in front of peter, it waited until he had taken a small plate laden with two or three cakes off its surface. then the soft, evenly modulated voice he had heard before asked, "how do you like your coffee? cream, sugar, both or black?" peter looked for the speaker in the side of the cart, saw nothing, and replied, feeling slightly silly as he did so, "black, please." a square hole appeared in the top of the cart, like the elevator hole in an aircraft carrier's deck. when the section of the cart's surface rose again, a fine china cup containing steaming black coffee rested on it. peter took it and sipped it, as he supposed he was expected to do, while the cart proceeded over to lexington's desk. once there, it stopped again, and another cup of coffee rose to its surface. lexington took the coffee from the top of the car, obviously angry about something. silently, he waited until the cart had left the office, then snapped, "look at those bloody cups!" peter looked at his, which was eggshell thin, fluted with carving and ornately covered with gold leaf. "they look very expensive," he said. "not only expensive, but stupid and impractical!" exploded lexington. "they only hold half a cup, they'll break at a touch, every one has to be matched with its own saucer, and if you use them for any length of time, the gold leaf comes off!" peter searched for a comment, found none that fitted this odd outburst, so he kept silent. * * * * * lexington stared at his cup without touching it for a long while. then he continued with his narrative. "i suppose it's all my own fault. i didn't detect the symptoms soon enough. after this plant got working properly, i started living here. it wasn't a question of saving money. i hated to waste two hours a day driving to and from my house, and i also wanted to be on hand in case anything should go wrong that the machine couldn't fix for itself." handling the cup as if it were going to shatter at any moment, he took a gulp. "i began to see that the machine could understand the written word, and i tried hooking a teletype directly into the logic circuits. it was like uncorking a seltzer bottle. the machine had a funny vocabulary--all of it gleaned from letters it had seen coming in, and replies it had seen leaving. but it was intelligible. it even displayed some traces of the personality the machine was acquiring. "it had chosen a name for itself, for instance--'lex.' that shook me. you might think lex industries was named through an abbreviation of the name lexington, but it wasn't. my wife's name was alexis, and it was named after the nickname she always used. i objected, of course, but how can you object on a point like that to a machine? bear in mind that i had to be careful to behave reasonably at all times, because the machine was still learning from me, and i was afraid that any tantrums i threw might be imitated." "it sounds pretty awkward," peter put in. "you don't know the half of it! as time went on, i had less and less to do, and business-wise i found that the entire control of the operation was slipping from my grasp. many times i discovered--too late--that the machine had taken the damnedest risks you ever saw on bids and contracts for supply. it was quoting impossible delivery times on some orders, and charging pirate's prices on others, all without any obvious reason. inexplicably, we always came out on top. it would turn out that on the short-delivery-time quotations, we'd been up against stiff competition, and cutting the production time was the only way we could get the order. on the high-priced quotes, i'd find that no one else was bidding. we were making more money than i'd ever dreamed of, and to make it still better, i'd find that for months i had virtually nothing to do." "it sounds wonderful, sir," said peter, feeling dazzled. "it was, in a way. i remember one day i was especially pleased with something, and i went to the control console to give the kicker button a long, hard push. the button, much to my amazement, had been removed, and a blank plate had been installed to cover the opening in the board. i went over to the teletype and punched in the shortest message i had ever sent. 'lex--what the hell?' i typed. "the answer came back in the jargon it had learned from letters it had seen, and i remember it as if it just happened. 'mr. a lexington, lex industries, dear sir: re your letter of the thirteenth inst., i am pleased to advise you that i am able to discern whether or not you are pleased with my service without the use of the equipment previously used for this purpose. respectfully, i might suggest that if the pushbutton arrangement were necessary, i could push the button myself. i do not believe this would meet with your approval, and have taken steps to relieve you of the burden involved in remembering to push the button each time you are especially pleased. i should like to take this opportunity to thank you for your inquiry, and look forward to serving you in the future as i have in the past. yours faithfully, lex'." * * * * * peter burst out laughing, and lexington smiled wryly. "that was my reaction at first, too. but time began to weigh very heavily on my hands, and i was lonely, too. i began to wonder whether or not it would be possible to build a voice circuit into the unit. i increased the memory storage banks again, put audio pickups and loudspeakers all over the place, and began teaching lex to talk. each time a letter came in, i'd stop it under a video pickup and read it aloud. nothing happened. "then i got a dictionary and instructed one of the materials handlers to turn the pages, so that the machine got a look at every page. i read the pronunciation page aloud, so that lex would be able to interpret the pronunciation marks, and hoped. still nothing happened. one day i suddenly realized what the trouble was. i remember standing up in this very office, feeling silly as i did it, and saying, 'lex, please try to speak to me.' i had never asked the machine to say anything, you see. i had only provided the mechanism whereby it was able to do so." "did it reply, sir?" lexington nodded. "gave me the shock of my life. the voice that came back was the one you heard over the telephone--a little awkward then, the syllables clumsy and poorly put together. but the voice was the same. i hadn't built in any specific tone range, you see. all i did was equip the machine to record, in exacting detail, the frequencies and modulations it found in normal pronunciation as i used it. then i provided a tone generator to span the entire audio range, which could be very rapidly controlled by the machine, both in volume and pitch, with auxiliaries to provide just about any combinations of harmonics that were needed. i later found that lex had added to this without my knowing about it, but that doesn't change things. i thought the only thing it had heard was my voice, and i expected to hear my own noises imitated." "where did the machine get the voice?" asked peter, still amazed that the voice he had heard on the telephone, in the reception hall, and from the coffee cart had actually been the voice of the computer. "damned foolishness!" snorted lexington. "the machine saw what i was trying to do the moment i sketched it out and ordered the parts. within a week, i found out later, it had pulled some odds and ends together and built itself a standard radio receiver. then it listened in on every radio program that was going, and had most of the vocabulary tied in with the written word by the time i was ready to start. out of all the voices it could have chosen, it picked the one you've already heard as the one likely to please me most." "it's a very pleasant voice, sir." "sure, but do you know where it came from? soap opera! it's lucy's voice, from _the life and loves of mary butterworth_!" * * * * * lexington glared, and peter wasn't sure whether he should sympathize with him or congratulate him. after a moment, the anger wore off lexington's face, and he shifted in his chair, staring at his now empty cup. "that's when i realized the thing was taking on characteristics that were more than i'd bargained for. it had learned that it was my provider and existed to serve me. but it had gone further and wanted to be all that it could be: provider, protector, companion--_wife_, if you like. hence the gradual trend toward characteristics that were as distinctly female as a silk negligee. worse still, it had learned that when i was pleased, i didn't always admit it, and simply refused to believe that i would have it any other way." "couldn't you have done something to the circuitry?" asked peter. "i suppose i could," said lexington, "but in asking that, you don't realize how far the thing had gone. i had long since passed the point when i could look upon her as a machine. business was tremendous. i had no complaints on that score. and tinkering with her personality--well, it was like committing some kind of homicide. i might as well face it, i suppose. she acts like a woman and i think of her as one. "at first, when i recognized this trend for what it was, i tried to stop it. she'd ordered a subscription to _vogue_ magazine, of all things, in order to find out the latest in silverware, china, and so on. i called up the local distributor and canceled the subscription. i had no sooner hung up the telephone than her voice came over the speaker. very softly, mind you. and her inflections by this time were superb. '_that was mean_,' she said. three lousy words, and i found myself phoning the guy right back, saying i was sorry, and would he please not cancel. he must have thought i was nuts." peter smiled, and lexington made as if to rise from his chair, thought the better of it, and shifted his bulk to one side. "well, there it is," he said softly. "we reached that stage eight years ago." peter was thunderstruck. "but--if this factory is twenty years ahead of the times now, it must have been almost thirty then!" lexington nodded. "i figured fifty at the time, but things are moving faster nowadays. lex hasn't stood still, of course. she still reads all the trade journals, from cover to cover, and we keep up with the world. if something new comes up, we're in on it, and fast. we're going to be ahead of the pack for a long time to come." "if you'll excuse me, sir," said peter, "i don't see where i fit in." peter didn't realize lexington was answering his question at first. "a few weeks ago," the old man murmured, "i decided to see a doctor. i'd been feeling low for quite a while, and i thought it was about time i attended to a little personal maintenance." lexington looked peter squarely in the face and said, "the report was that i have a heart ailment that's apt to knock me off any second." "can't anything be done about it?" asked peter. "rest is the only prescription he could give me. and he said that would only spin out my life a little. aside from that--no hope." "i see," said peter. "then you're looking for someone to learn the business and let you retire." "it's not retirement that's the problem," said lexington. "i wouldn't be able to go away on trips. i've tried that, and i always have to hurry back because something's gone wrong she can't fix for herself. i know the reason, and there's nothing i can do about it. it's the way she's built. if nobody's here, she gets lonely." lexington studied the desk top silently for a moment, before finishing quietly, "somebody's got to stay here to look after lex." * * * * * at six o'clock, three hours after he had entered lexington's plant, peter left. lexington did not follow him down the corridor. he seemed exhausted after the afternoon's discussion and indicated that peter should find his own way out. this, of course, presented no difficulty, with lex opening the doors for him, but it gave peter an opportunity he had been hoping for. he stopped in the reception room before crossing the threshold of the front door, which stood open for him. he turned and spoke to the apparently empty room. "lex?" he said. he wanted to say that he was flattered that he was being considered for the job; it was what a job-seeker should say, at that point, to the boss's secretary. but when the soft voice came back--"yes, mr. manners?"--saying anything like that to a machine felt suddenly silly. he said: "i wanted you to know that it was a pleasure to meet you." "thank you," said the voice. if it had said more, he might have, but it didn't. still feeling a little embarrassed, he went home. at four in the morning, his phone rang. it was lexington. "manners!" the old man gasped. the voice was an alarm. manners sat bolt upright, clutching the phone. "what's the matter, sir?" "my chest," lexington panted. "i can feel it, like a knife on--i just wanted to--wait a minute." there was a confused scratching noise, interrupted by a few mumbles, in the phone. "what's going on, mr. lexington?" peter cried. but it was several seconds before he got an answer. "that's better," said lexington, his voice stronger. he apologized: "i'm sorry. lex must have heard me. she sent in one of the materials handlers with a hypo. it helps." the voice on the phone paused, then said matter-of-factly: "but i doubt that anything can help very much at this point. i'm glad i saw you today. i want you to come around in the morning. if i'm--not here, lex will give you some papers to sign." there was another pause, with sounds of harsh breathing. then, strained again, the old man's voice said: "i guess i won't--be here. lex will take care of it. come early. good-by." the distant receiver clicked. peter manners sat on the edge of his bed in momentary confusion, then made up his mind. in the short hours he had known him, he had come to have a definite fondness for the old man; and there were times when machines weren't enough, when lexington should have another human being by his side. clearly this was one such time. peter dressed in a hurry, miraculously found a cruising cab, sped through empty streets, leaped out in front of lex industries' plain concrete walls, ran to the door-- in the waiting room, the soft, distant voice of lex said: "he wanted you to be here, mr. manners. come." a door opened, and wordlessly he walked through it--to the main room of the factory. he stopped, staring. four squat materials handlers were quietly, slowly carrying old lexington--no, not the man; the lifeless body that had been lexington--carrying the body of the old man down the center aisle between the automatic lathes. * * * * * peter protested: "wait! i'll get a doctor!" but the massive handling machines didn't respond, and the gentle voice of lex said: "it's too late for that, mr. manners." slowly and reverently, they placed the body on the work table of a huge milling machine that stood in the exact center of the factory main floor. elsewhere in the plant, a safety valve in the lubricating oil system was being bolted down. when that was done, the pressure in the system began to rise. near the loading door, a lubricating oil pipe burst. another, on the other side of the building, split lengthwise a few seconds later, sending a shower of oil over everything in the vicinity. near the front office, a stream of it was running across the floor, and at the rear of the building, in the storage area, one of the materials handlers had just finished cutting a pipe that led to the main oil tank. in fifteen minutes there was free oil in every corner of the shop. all the materials handlers were now assembled around the milling machine, like mourners at a funeral. in a sense, they were. in another sense, they were taking part in something different, a ceremony that originated, and is said to have died, in a land far distant from the lex industries plant. one of the machines approached lexington's body, and placed his hands on his chest. abruptly lex said: "you'd better go now." peter jumped; he had been standing paralyzed for what seemed a long time. there was a movement beside him--a materials handler, holding out a sheaf of papers. lex said: "these have to go to mr. lexington's lawyer. the name is on them." clutching the papers for a hold on sanity, peter cried, "you can't do this! he didn't build you just so you could--" two materials handlers picked him up with steely gentleness and carried him out. "good-by, mr. manners," said the sweet, soft voice, and was silent. * * * * * he stood shaken while the thin jets of smoke became a column over the plain building, while the fire engines raced down and strung their hoses--too late. it was an act of suttee; the widow joining her husband in his pyre--_being_ his pyre. only when with a great crash the roof fell in did peter remember the papers in his hand. "last will and testament," said one, and the name of the beneficiary was peter's own. "certificate of adoption," said another, and it was a legal document making peter old man lexington's adopted son. peter manners stood watching the hoses of the firemen hiss against what was left of lex and her husband. he had got the job. [illustration: conniston had seen her first, a huddled heap, almost at his feet] under handicap a novel by jackson gregory author of "the outlaw," etc. with frontispiece a. l. burt company publishers new york published by arrangement with harper & brothers copyright, by harper & brothers to "my lady" lotus mcglashan gregory this book is dedicated under handicap chapter i outside there was shimmering heat and dry, thirsty sand, miles upon miles of it flashing by in a gray, barren blur. a flat, arid, monotonous land, vast, threatening, waterless, treeless. its immensity awed, its bleakness depressed. man's work here seemed but to accentuate the puny insignificance of man. man had come upon the desert and had gone, leaving only a line of telegraph-poles with their glistening wires, two gleaming parallel rails of burning steel to mark his passing. the thundering overland limited, rushing onward like a frightened thing, screamed its terror over the desert whose majesty did not even permit of its catching up the shriek of the panting engine to fling it back in echoes. the desert ignored, and before and behind the onrushing train the deep serenity of the waste places was undisturbed. within the train the desert was nothing. man's work defied the heat and the sand and the sullen frown outside. here in the pullman smoking-car were luxury, comfort, and companionship. behind drawn shades were the whir of electric fans, an ebon-faced porter in snowy linen, the clink of ice in long, misted glasses, the cool fragrance of crushed mint. even the fat man in shirt-sleeves reading the denver _times_, alternately drawing upon his fat cigar and sipping the glass of beer at his elbow, was not distressing to look upon. the four men busy over their daily game of solo might have been at ease in their own club. at one end of the long car two young men dawdled in languid comfort, their bodies sprawling loosely in two big, soft arm-chairs, a tray with a couple of half-emptied high-ball glasses upon the table between them. they had created an atmosphere of their own about them, an atmosphere constituted of the blue haze from cigarettes mingled with trivial talk. the immensity outside might have bored them, so their shade was drawn low. for a moment one of the two men lifted a corner of it. he peered out, only to drop it with a disgusted sigh and return to his high-ball. he was slender, young, pale-eyed, pale-haired, white-handed, anemic-looking. he was patently of the sort which considers such a thing as carelessness in the matter of a crease in one's trousers a crime of crimes. his tie, adjusted with a precision which was a science, was of a pale lavender. his socks were silk and of the same color. his eyes were as near a pale lavender as they were near any color. "the devilish stupid sameness of this country gets on a man's nerves." he put his disgust into drawling words. "suppose it's like this all the way to 'frisco?" his companion, stretching his legs a bit farther under the table, made no answer. "i said something then," the lavender young gentleman said, peevishly. "what's the matter with you, greek?" greek took his arms down from the back of his chair where he had clasped his hands behind his head, and finished his own high-ball. nature in the beginning of things for him had been more kind than to his petulant friend. he was scarcely more than a boy--twenty-five, perhaps, from the looks of him--but physically a big man. he might have weighed a hundred and eighty pounds, and he was maybe an inch over six feet. but evidently where nature had left off there had been nobody to go on save the tailor. his gray suit was faultlessly correct, his linen immaculate, his hose silken and of a brilliant, dazzling blue. his face was fine, even handsome, but indicating about as much purpose as did his faultlessly correct shoes. there was an extreme, unruffled good humor in his eyes and about his mouth, and with it all as much determination of character as is commonly put into the rosy face of a wax doll. "seeing that you have made the same remark seventeen times since breakfast," greek replied, when he had set his empty glass back upon the tray, "i didn't know that an answer was needed." "well, it's so," the pale youth maintained, irritably. greek nodded wearily and selected a cigarette from a silver monogrammed case. the cigarettes themselves were monogrammed, each one bearing a delicately executed _w. c._ his companion reached out a shapely hand for the case, at the same time regarding his empty glass. "suppose we have another, eh?" again greek nodded. the lavender young man reached the button, and a bell tinkled in the little buffet at the far end of the car. the negro lazily polishing a glass put it down, glanced at the indicator, and hastened to put glasses and bottles upon a tray. "the same, suh?" he asked, coming to the table and addressing greek. it was the pale young man who assured him that it was to be the same, but it was greek who threw a dollar bill upon the tray. "thank you, suh. thank you." the negro bobbed as he made the proper change--and returned it to his own pocket. greek appeared not to have seen him or heard. he poured his own drink and shoved the bottles toward his friend, who helped himself with skilful celerity. "suppose the old gent will hold out long this time, greek?" came the query, after a swallow of the whisky and seltzer, a shrewd look in the pale eyes. greek laughed carelessly. "i guess we'll have time to see a good deal of san francisco before he caves in. the old man put what he had to say in words of one syllable. but we won't worry about that until we get there." "did he shell out at all?" "he didn't quite give me carte blanche," retorted greek, grinning. "a ticket to ride as far as i wanted to, and five hundred in the long green. and it's going rather fast, roger, my boy." "and my tickets came out of the five hundred?" greek nodded. "it's devilish the way my luck's gone lately," grumbled roger. "i don't know when i can ever pay--" greek put up his hand swiftly. "you don't pay at all," he said, emphatically. "this is my treat. it was mighty decent of you to drop everything and come along with me into this d----d exile. and," he finished, easily, "i'll have more money than i'll know what to do with when the old man gets soft-hearted again." "he's d----d hard on you, greek. he's got more--" "oh, i don't know." greek laughed again. "he's a good sort, and we get along first rate together. only he's got some infernally uncomfortable ideas about a man going to work and doing something for himself in this little old vale of tears. he shaves himself five times out of six, and i've seen him black his own boots!" he chuckled amusedly. "just to show people he can, you know." roger shook his head and applied himself to his glass, failing to see the humor of the thing. and while the bigger man continued to muse with twinkling eyes over the idiosyncrasies of an enormously wealthy but at the same time enormously hard-headed father, with old-fashioned ideas of the dignity of labor, roger sat frowning into his glass. the silence, into which the click of the rails below had entered so persistently as to become a part of it rather than to disturb it, was broken at last by the clamorous screaming of the engine. the train was slackening its speed. greek flipped up the shade and looked out. "another one of those toy villages," he called over his shoulder. "who in the devil would want to get off here?" roger sank a trifle deeper into his chair, indicating no interest. the fat man had dropped his newspaper to the floor and was leaning out the window. "great country, ain't it?" he called to greek. "yes, it certainly _ain't_! what gets me is, why do people live in a place like this? are they all crazy?" the train now was jerking and bumping to a standstill. sixty yards away was a little, bluish-gray frame building, by far the most pretentious of the clutter of shacks, flaunting the legend, "prairie city." beyond the station was the to-be-expected general store and post-office. a bit farther on a saloon. beyond that another, and then straggling at intervals a dozen rough, rambling, one-storied board houses. for miles in all directions the desert stretched dry and barren. the faces of women and children peered out of windows, the forms of roughly garbed men lounged in the doorways of the store and the saloons. all the denizens of prairie city manifested a mild interest in the arrival of number . "i guess you called the turn," sputtered the fat man. "here come the crazy folks now!" a cloud of dust swirling higher and higher in the still air, the clatter of hoofs, and two horses swept around the farthest house, carrying their riders at breakneck speed into the one and only street. at first greek took it to be a race, and then he thought it a runaway. as it was the first interesting incident since grand central station had dropped out of sight four days ago, he craned his neck to watch. the two riders were half-way down the street now, a tall bay forging steadily ahead of a little mexican mustang until ten feet or more intervened between the two horses. the train jerked; the wells fargo man, with his truck alongside the express-car far ahead, yelled something to the man who had taken his packages aboard. "the bay wins," grinned the fat man. "it looks--gad! it's a woman!" greek saw that it was a woman in khaki riding-habit, and that the spurs she wore were gnawing into her horse's flanks. he began to take a sudden, stronger interest. he leaned farther out, hardly realizing that he had called to the conductor to hold the train a moment. for it was at last clear that these were not mad people, but merely a couple of the dwellers of the desert anxious to catch number . but the conductor had waved his orders and was swinging upon the slowly moving steps. from the windows of the train a score of heads were thrust out, a score of voices raised in shouting encouragement. and down to the tracks the woman and the man behind her rushed, their horses' feet seeming never to touch the ground. a bump, a jar, a jerk, and the limited was drawing slowly away from the station. the woman was barely fifty yards away. as she lifted her head greek saw her face for the first time. and, having seen her ride, he pursed his lips into a low whistle of amazement. "why, she's only a kid of a girl!" gasped the fat man. "and, say, ain't she sure a peach!" greek didn't answer. he was busy inwardly cursing the conductor for not waiting a second longer. for it was obvious to him that the girl was going to miss the train by hardly more than that. but she had not given up. she had dropped her head again and was rushing straight toward the side of the string of cars. greek held his breath, a swift alarm for her making his heart beat trippingly. he did not see how she could stop in time. again a clamor of voices from the heads thrust out of car windows, warning, calling, cheering. and then suddenly greek sat back limply. the thing had been so impossible and in the end so amazingly simple. not ten feet away from the train she had drawn in her horse's reins, "setting up" the half-broken animal upon his four feet, bunched together so that with the momentum he had acquired he slid almost to the cars. as he stopped the girl swung lightly from the saddle and, seeming scarcely to have put foot upon the sandy soil, caught the hand-rail as the car came by and swung on to the lowest step. the man behind her caught up her horse's reins, whirled, sweeping his hat off to her, and turned back. "which is some riding, huh?" chuckled the fat man, his own head withdrawn as he reached for his beer-glass. "what's the excitement?" roger's interest had not been great enough to send him to the window. "some people trying to catch the train," greek told him, shortly. for some reason, not clear to himself, he did not care to be more definite. "i don't blame the poor devils. think of waiting there until another came by!" roger washed the dryness out of his mouth with a generous sip of his whisky and seltzer. the fat man finished his glass of beer and rang for another. greek sat gazing out over the wide wastes of the desert. he had never before been in a land like this. now that more than two thousand miles lengthened out between him and new york, he had felt himself more than ever an exile. heretofore he had given no thought to the people dwelling here beyond the last reaches of those things for which civilization stood to him. he was not in the habit of thinking deeply. that part of the day's work could be left to william conniston, senior, while william conniston, junior, more familiarly known to his intimates as "greek" conniston, found that he could dispense with thinking every bit as easily as he could spend the money which flowed into his pockets. but now, as unexpectedly as a flash from a dead fire, a girl's face had startled him, and he found himself almost thinking--wondering-- conniston turned swiftly. the girl was passing down the long narrow hallway leading by the smoking-car, evidently seeking the observation-car. through the windows he could see her shoulders and face as she walked by him. he could see that there was the same confidence in her carriage now that there had been when she had jerked her horse to a standstill and had thrown herself to the ground. even roger, turning idly, uttered an exclamation of surprised interest. she was dressed in a plain, close-fitting riding-habit which hid nothing of the undulating grace of her active young body. in her hand she carried the riding-quirt and the spurs which she had not had time to leave behind. her wide, soft gray hat was pushed back so that her face was unhidden. and as she walked by her eyes rested for a fleeting second upon the eyes of greek conniston. her cheeks were flushed rosily from her race, the warm, rich blood creeping up to the untanned whiteness of her brow. but he did not realize these details until she had gone by; not, in fact, until he began to think of her. for in that quick flash he saw only her eyes. and to this man who had known the prettiest women who drive on fifth avenue and dine at sherry's and wear wonderful gowns to the metropolitan these were different eyes. their color was elusive, as elusive as the vague tints upon the desert as dusk drifts over it; like that calm tone of the desert resolved into a deep, unfathomable gray, wonderfully soft, transcendently serene. and through the indescribable color as through untroubled skies at dawn there shone the light which made her, in some way which he could not entirely grasp, different from the women he had known. he merely felt that their light was softly eloquent of frankness and health and cleanness. their gaze was as steady and confident as her hand had been upon her horse's reins. "she must have been born in this wilderness, raised in it!" he mused, when she had passed. "her eyes are the eyes of a glorious young animal, bred to the freedom of outdoors, a part of the wild, untamable desert! and her manner is like the manner of a great lady born in a palace!" "hey, greek," roger was saying, his droning voice coming unpleasantly into the other's musings, "did you pipe that? did you ever see anything like her?" conniston lighted a fresh cigarette and turned again to look out across the level gray miles. ignoring his friend, greek thought on, idly telling himself that the dream girl should be born out here, after all. here she would have a soul; a soul as far-reaching, as infinite, as free from shackles of convention as the wide bigness of her cradle. and she would have eyes like that, drawing their very shade from the vague grayness which seemed to him to spread over everything. "i say, greek," roger was insisting, sufficiently interested to sit up straight, his cigarette dangling from his lip, "that little country girl, dressed like a wild indian, is pretty enough to be the belle of the season! what do you think?" conniston laughed carelessly. "you're an impressionable young thing, hapgood." "am i?" grunted roger. "just the same, i know a fine-looking woman when i clap my bright eyes on her. and i'd like to camp on her trail as long as the sun shines! say"--his voice half losing its eternal drawl--"who do you suppose she is? her old man might own about a million acres of this god-forsaken country. if she goes on through to 'frisco--" "you wouldn't be strong for stopping off out here?" the fat man put in genially. hapgood shuddered. and to greek conniston there came a sudden inspiration. "anyway," roger hapgood went on in his customary drawl, "i'm going to find out. it's little roger to learn something about the prairie flower. i'll soon tell you who she is," he added, rising from his seat. but he never did. for one thing, young conniston was not there when roger returned five minutes later, and it is extremely doubtful if roger hapgood would have told how his venture had fared. being duly impressed with the fascination of his own debonair little person, and having the imagination of a cow, he had smirked his way to the girl, who now sat in the observation-car, and had begun on the weather. "dreadfully warm in this desert country, isn't it?" he said, with over-politeness and the smile which he knew to be irresistible. the girl turned from gazing out the window, and her eyes met his, very clear and very much amused. "very warm," she smiled back at him. even then he had a faint fear that she was not so much smiling as laughing. "the surprising thing is how well things keep, is it not?" "ah--yes," he murmured, not entirely confident, and still dropping into a chair at her side. "you mean--" "how fresh some things keep!" roger hapgood's pink little face went violently red. "i say!" he began. "i didn't mean any offense. i thought--" "oh, that's all right," she laughed, gaily. "no offense whatever. will you please open that window for me?" his face became normally pink again as he hastened to throw up the window in front of her. his eyelid fluttered downward as he met the regard of a couple of men facing them. then he came back to her side. "thank you," she smiled sweetly up at him. and she held out her hand. he didn't know what she wanted to do that for, but had a confused idea that in the free and easy spirit of the west she was going to shake hands. the next thing which he realized clearly was that she had dropped a shining ten-cent piece into his palm. "oh, look here," he stammered, only to be interrupted by her voice, a gurgle of suppressed mirth in it. "i'm sorry that that's all i have in change! and now, if you will hand me that magazine--i want to read!" roger hapgood fumbled with the dime and dropped it. he swept up the magazine from a near-by chair and held it out to her. as he did so he caught a glimpse of the faces of the two men at whom he had winked so knowingly, heard one of them break into loud, hearty laughter. dropping the magazine to her lap, the lavender young man, with what dignity he could command, marched back to the smoking-car. a few minutes later greek conniston, returning to the smoking-car, found his friend pinching his smooth cheek thoughtfully and frowning out the window. he dropped into his chair, deep in thought. in the brief interval he had taken his resolution, plunging, as was his careless nature, after the first impulse. the girl had interested him; he did not yet realize how much. she came aboard the train without bag or baggage. certainly she could not be going far. and he--it didn't matter in the least where he went. all that he had to do was to keep out of his father's way until the old man cooled down, and then to wire for money. his ticket read to san francisco, but he had no desire to go there rather than to any other place. and he told himself that he had a sort of curiosity about this bleak, monotonous desert land. an hour later the train ran into another little clutter of buildings and drew up, puffing, at the station. conniston's eyes were alert, fixed upon the passageway from the observation-car rather than on the view from his window. mail-bags were tossed on and off, a few packages handled by the wells fargo man, and the train pulled out. conniston leaned back with a sigh. "roger," he said, at last, "i've got a proposition to make." "well?" "let's drop off at one of these dinky towns and see what it's like. i've a notion we might find something new." "that's a real joke, i suppose?" "not at all," maintained conniston. "i'm going to do it. are you with me?" hapgood sat bolt upright. "are you crazy, man!" he cried, sharply. conniston shrugged. "why not? you've never seen anything but city life and the summer-resort sort of thing any more than i have. it would be a lark." "excuse me! i guess i'm something of a fool for having chased clean across the continent, but i'm not the kind of fool that's going to pick a place like this sand-pile to drop off in!" "all right, old man. nobody's asking you to if you feel that way." hapgood waited as long as he could for conniston to go on, and when there came no further information he asked, incredulously: "you don't mean that, do you, greek? you don't intend to stop off all alone out here in this rotten wilderness?" "yes, i do. if you won't stop with me." "but how about me? what am i to do? here i am--busted! what do you think i'm going to do?" "you can go on to san francisco if you like. you can have half of what i've got left--or you can drop off with me." hapgood argued and exploded and sulked by turns. in the end, seeing the futility of trying to reason with a man who only laughed, and seeing further the disadvantage of being cut off from his source of easy money, roger gave in, growling. so when the train drew into indian creek that afternoon there were three people who got down from it. chapter ii indian creek stood lonely and isolated in the flat, treeless, sun-smitten desert. only in the south was the unbroken flatness relieved by a low-lying ridge of barren brown hills, their sides cut as by erosion into steep, stratified cliffs. even these bleak hills looked to be twenty miles away, and were in reality fifty. beyond them, softened and blurred by the distance, was a blue-gray line where the mountains were. "of all the wretched holes in the world!" fumed hapgood. but conniston didn't hear him. the girl had stepped down from the train, and, without casting a glance behind her, walked swiftly across the wriggling thing which stood for a street in indian creek. there was a saloon with a long hitching-pole in front of it, to which a couple of saddle-horses were tied, and a buckboard with two fretting two-year-olds in dust-covered harness. a man, a swarthy half-breed, with hair and eyes and long, pointed mustaches of inky blackness, was on the seat, handling the jerking reins. he called a soft "_adios, compadre_" to the man lounging in the doorway, and swung his colts out into the road, making a sweeping half-circle, bringing them to a restless halt, pawing and fighting their bits, at the girl's side. while with one brown hand he held them back, with the other he swept off his wide, black hat. "how do, mess!" he cried, softly, his teeth flashing a white greeting. she answered him with a "hello, joe!" as she climbed to his side. joe loosened his reins a very little, called sharply to his horses, and in a whirlwind of dust the buckboard made an amazingly sharp turn and shot rattling down the road and out toward the mountains in the south. "and now what?" grinned hapgood, maliciously. "even your country girl has gone!" greek conniston gazed a moment after the flying buckboard, a vague, wavering, unreal thing, through the dust of its own making, and, hiding his disappointment under a shrug, turned to hapgood. "now for a hotel somewhere, if the place has one. come on, roger. we're in for it now, so let's make the best of it." carrying his suit-case, he strode off toward the saloon, roger following silently. the lanky, sunburned individual in the doorway watched their approach idly for a moment and then turned his lazy eyes to a cow and calf trudging past toward the watering-trough. "hello, friend!" called conniston. the lanky individual drew his eyes from the cow and calf, bestowed a long look and a fleeting nod upon the two strangers, and turned again toward the trough, little impressed, little interested in the easterners. "i say!" went on conniston, brusquely. "where'll a man get a room here?" "down to the hotel." "so you do have a hotel? where is it?" the lazy individual ducked his head toward the east end of the street, cast a last look at the cow and calf, and, turning, went back into the saloon. "nice sort of people," grunted hapgood. conniston laughed. "buck up, roger," he grinned, his own spurt of irritation lost in his enjoyment of hapgood's greater bitterness. "it's different, anyhow, isn't it? come on. let's see what the hotel looks like." the hotel was a saloon with a long bar at the front, a little room just off, containing a couple of tables covered with red oil-cloth. beyond were half a dozen six-by-six rooms separated from one another by partitions rising to within two feet of the unceiled roof. the proprietor, busy with some local friends in the card-room, saw the two young men come in and yelled, lustily: "mary!" mary, a stout and comfortable-looking woman, appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands upon her blue apron, and with a sharp glance at the newcomers bobbed her head at them and said, briefly, "howdy." conniston took off his hat and came into the bar-room. roger, with a careless glance at the woman, came in without taking off his hat and dropped into one of the rickety chairs against the wall. and there he sat until conniston had negotiated for two rooms for the night. then he got jerkily to his feet and stalked after his friend and their hostess to the back of the house. a moment later he and conniston, left alone, sat upon their two beds and stared at each other through the doorway connecting their rooms. conniston studied the bare floors, the bare walls of rough, unplaned twelve-inch boards set upright with cracks between them ranging from a quarter of an inch to an inch in width, and, rumpling up his hair, sat back and grinned into hapgood's woebegone face. and hapgood after the same examination and a sight of the rough beds covered with patchwork comforters, groaned aloud. "maybe it's funny," he muttered. "but if it is, i don't see it." "what are you going to do about it?" chuckled conniston. "you can't fling out and go to the rival hotel, because there isn't any! you can't sleep outdoors very well. and you can't catch a train until a train comes. which, i believe, will be sometime to-morrow morning." it was already late afternoon. that day roger hapgood got no farther than the bar-room at the front of the house. there he sat in one of the rickety chairs, brooding, sullen, and silent, smoking cigarettes, drinking high-balls, and cursing the whole god-forsaken west. and there conniston left him. in spite of his naturally buoyant spirits, in spite of the fact that he knew he had only to swing upon the next train which came through, conniston felt suddenly depressed. the silence was a tangible thing almost, and he felt shut out from the world, lost to his kind, marooned upon a bleak, inhospitable island in an ocean of sand. the few men whom he met upon the sun-baked street eyed him with an indifference which was worse than actual hostility. when he spoke they nodded briefly and passed on. it was clear that if he looked upon them as aliens, they looked upon him as a being with whom and whose class they had nothing in common, no desire to have anything in common. for a moment his good nature died down before a flash of anger that these beings, with little, circumscribed existences, should feel and manifest toward him the same degree of contempt that he, a visitor from a higher plane of life, experienced toward them. but in greek conniston good humor was a habit, and it returned as he assured himself that what these desert-dwellers felt was worth only his amusement. at the store he bought some tobacco for his pipe and engaged the storekeeper in trifling conversation. the talk was desultory and for the most part led nowhere. but the little, brown, wizened old man, contemplatively chewing his tobacco like a gentle cow ruminating over her cud, answered what scattering questions conniston put to him. the young man learned that the town took its name from the stream which crept rather than ran through it to spread out on the thirsty sands a few miles to the north, where it was absorbed by them. that the creek came from the hills to the south, and from the mountains beyond them. when one crossed the brown hills he came to the half moon country and into a land of many wide-reaching cattle-ranges. "i saw a team drive out that way after the train came in," said conniston, carelessly. "headed for one of the cattle-ranges, i suppose?" the old man spat and nodded, wiping his scanty gray beard with his hand. "that was joe from the half moon. took the ol' man's girl out." "i did see a young lady with him. she lives out there?" "uh-uh." the old man got up to wait upon a customer, a cowboy, from the loose, shaggy black "chaps," the knotted neck handkerchief, the clanking spurs and heavy, black-handled colt revolver at his hip. he bought large quantities of smoking-tobacco and brown cigarette-papers, "swapped the news" with the storekeeper, and clanked his way across to the saloon. he did not appear to have seen conniston. "the girl's father run a cattle-range out there?" "uh-uh. the half moon an' three or four smaller ranges. he's old man crawford--p'r'aps you've heard on him?" conniston shook his head, suppressing a smile. "i don't think i have. far out to his place?" "oh, it ain't bad. let's see. it's fifty mile to the hills, an' he's about forty mile fu'ther on." he stopped for a brief mental calculation. "that makes it about ninety mile, huh?" "how does a man get out there? a narrow-gauge running from somewhere along the main line?" "darn narrow, stranger. you can walk if you're strong for that kind of exercise. mos' folks rides. goin' out?" "it's rather a long walk," conniston evaded. and shortly afterward, hearing a clanging bell up the street in the direction of the hotel, he strolled away to his dinner. he found hapgood scowling into his high-ball glass and dragged him away to the little dining-room. both the tables were set. at one of them the cowboy whom he had seen at the store was already eating with two of his companions. conniston and hapgood were shown to the other table by the stout mary. hapgood cast one glance at the stew and coarse-looking bread put before him, and pushed his plate away. conniston, who had had fewer high-balls and more fresh air, actually enjoyed his meal. the men at the other table glanced across at them once and seemed to take no further interest. hapgood waited, bored and conventional, until conniston had finished, and then the two went back into the bar-room. the sun had gone down, leaving in the west flaring banners of brilliant, changing colors. the heat of the day had gone with the setting of the sun, a little lost, wandering breeze springing up and telling of the fresh coolness of the coming night. and it was still day, a day softened into a gray twilight which hung like a misty veil over the desert. from the card-room came the voices of the proprietor and the men with whom he was still playing. they had not stopped for their supper, would not think of eating for hours to come. "if you feel like excitement--" began conniston, jerking his head in the direction of the card-room. hapgood interrupted shortly. "no, thanks. i've got a magazine in my suit-case. i suppose i'll sit up reading it until morning, for i certainly am not going to crawl into that cursed bed! and in the morning--" "well? in the morning?" "thank god there's a train due then!" conniston left him and went out into the twilight. he passed by the store, by the saloon, along the short, dusty street, and out into the dry fields beyond. he followed the road for perhaps a half-mile and then turned away to a little mound of earth rising gently from the flatness about it. and there he threw himself upon the ground and let his eyes wander to the south and the faint, dark line which showed him where the hills were being drawn into the embrace of the night shadows. the utter loneliness of this barren world rested heavy upon his gregarious spirit. sitting with his back to indian creek, he could see no moving, living thing in all the monotony of wide-reaching landscape. he was enjoying a new sensation, feeling vague, restless thoughts surge up within him which were so vague, so elusive as to be hardly grasped. at first it was only the loneliness, the isolation and desolation of the thing which appalled him. then slowly into that feeling there entered something which was a kind of awe, almost an actual fear. a man, a man like young greek conniston, was a small matter out here; the desert a great, unmerciful, unrelenting god. first loneliness, then awe tinged with a vague fear, and then something which conniston had never felt before in his life. a great, deep admiration, a respect, a soul-troubling yearning toward the very thing from which his city-trained senses shrank. he was experiencing what the men who live upon its rim or deep in its heart are never free from feeling. for all men fear the desert; and when they know it they hate it, and even then the magic of it, brewed in the eternal stillness, falls upon them, and though they draw back and curse it, they love it! the desert calls, and he who hears must heed the call. it calls with a voice which talks to his soul. it calls with the dim lure of half-dreamed things. it beckons with the wavering streamers of gold and crimson light thrown across the low horizon at sunrise and sunset. greek conniston was not an introspective man. his life, the life of a rich man's son, had left little room for self-examination of mood and purpose and character. he had done well enough during his four years in the university, not because he was ambitious, but simply because he was not a fool and found a mild satisfaction in passing his examinations. nature had cast him in a generous physical mold, and he had aided nature on diamond and gridiron. he had taken his place in society, had driven his car and ridden his horses. he had through it all spent the money which came in a steady stream from the ample coffers of william conniston, senior. his had been a busy life, a life filled with dinners and dances and theaters and races. he had not had time to think. and certainly he had not had need to think. but now, under the calm gaze of the desert, he found himself turning his thoughts inward. he had been driven out of his father's house. he had been called a dawdler and a trifler and a do-nothing. he had been told by a stern old man who was a _man_ that he was a disgrace to his name. he had never done anything but dance and smoke and drink and make pretty speeches which were polite lies and which were accepted as such. and now a minor note, as thin as a low-toned human voice heard faintly through the deep music of a cathedral organ, something seemed to call to him telling him again of these things. the darkening line where the far-away hills in the south were dragged deeper and deeper into the night drew his wandering thoughts away from himself and sent them skimming after the girl he had seen that day. somewhere out there she was moving across the desert, plunged into the innermost circle of the grim solitude. he remembered her eyes and the look he had seen in them. he could see her again as she jerked in her plunging horse, as she caught the step of the swiftly moving train. the desert had called her; and she, purposeful, strong, as clean of soul, he felt, as she was of body, had answered the call. with the compelling desire to know her springing full-grown from his first swift interest in her, his fancies, touched by the subtle magic of the desert, showed her to him out yonder with the dusk and the silence about her. he got to his feet and stood staring into the gathering gloom as though he would make out across the flat miles the flying buckboard. "after all," he told himself, with a restless, half-reckless little laugh, "why not?" he turned and went back toward the town. on his way he overtook a boy, a little fellow of eight or nine, driving a milk-cow ahead of him. he found him the shy, wordless child he had expected, but chatted with him none the less, and by the time they had reached the first of the scattered buildings the boy had thawed a little and responded to conniston's talk. after the brief, somewhat uncomfortable lonesomeness of a moment ago conniston found himself glad of any company. and upon leaving the boy at a tumbled-down house a bit farther on he found a half-dollar in his pocket and proffered it. "here, johnny," he said, smiling. "this is for some candy." the boy put his hands behind his back. "my name's william," he said, with a quiet, odd dignity. "an' i don't take money off'n no one 'less i work for it!" "my name's william, too, my boy," conniston answered, much amused; "but you and i have very different ideas about taking money!" "proud little cuss," he told himself, as he strode on along the street. "wonder who taught him that?" here and there in the dull dome above him the stars were beginning to come out. on either hand the pale-yellow rays from kerosene-lamps straggled through windows and doors, making restless shadows underfoot. from the door of the saloon the brightest light crept out into the night. and with it came men's voices. having a desire for companionship, and not craving that of hapgood in his present mood, conniston stepped in at the low door, and, going to the bar, called for a glass of beer. there were half a dozen men, among whom he recognized the proprietor of the "hotel" and the men with whom he had been playing cards, and also the cowboys who had eaten at the other table. in the center of the room, under a big nickeled swinging-lamp, a man was dealing faro while the others standing or sitting about him made their bets. a glance told conniston that the hotel man was playing heavily, his chips and gold stacked high in front of him. "the strange part of it," he thought, as he watched the bartender open his bottle of beer, "is where they get so much money! do they make it out of sand?" he invited the bartender to drink with him, chatted a moment, and then strolled over to the table. the dealer, a thick-set, fat-fingered, grave-eyed man who moved like a piece of machinery, glanced up at him and back to his game. there was no "lookout." a man whom he had not seen before, deft-fingered and alert, was keeping cases. the proprietor of the hotel, the three cowboys, and one other man were playing. familiar with the greater number of common ways of separating oneself from his money, conniston was no stranger to the ways of faro. he watched the fat fingers of the banker as they slipped card after card from the box, and smiled to himself at the fellow's slowness. and before half a dozen plays were made his smile was succeeded by a little shock of surprise. it certainly did not do to judge people out here in a flash and by external signs. what seemed awkwardness a moment ago was now perfected, automatic skill. the hotel man won and lost, his face always inscrutable, tilted sidewise as he closed one eye against the up-curling smoke from the cigar which he turned round and round between his pursed lips. he had in front of him a stack of ten or twelve twenty-dollar gold pieces which his fingers continually moved and shifted, breaking them into several smaller stacks, bringing them together again, slipping one over another, gathering them into one stack, breaking them down again, so that the golden disks gave out the low musical clink which rose at all times faint and clear through the few short-spoken words. and meanwhile his eyes never left the table and the box. at the end of the sixth deal he coppered his bet and leaned back to light a fresh cigar. he stood already a hundred dollars to the good. one of the cowboys was winning, having taken in something like twenty or thirty dollars since conniston came in. the other two were playing recklessly and with little skill, and were losing steadily. the fifth man contented himself with small bets. presently the younger of the two cowboys, the fellow whom conniston had seen at the store in the afternoon, shoved his last two dollars and a half onto the table, lost, and got to his feet, shrugging his shoulders. "cleaned," he grunted, laconically. "gimme a drink, smiley." he went to the bar with one lingering look behind him. and in another play or two his companion followed him. "no kind of luck, jimmie," he said to the first to be "cleaned." "ain't it sure enough hell how steady a man can lose?" "bein' as my luck took a day off six months ago an' ain't showed up yet," retorted jimmie, "i guess i'd ought to had sense to leave inves'ments like the bank alone. only i ain't got the gumption. an' i'm always figgerin' it's about time for my luck to git over her vacation an' come back to work. how much did you drop, bart?" "forty bucks," returned bart, reaching for the whisky-bottle. "which same forty was all i had. here's how." "how," repeated his companion. "i'm laying you a bet," said conniston, quietly, coming toward them from the table. jimmie put down his glass, stared reminiscently at it for a moment, and then, lifting his eyebrows, turned to conniston. "evenin', stranger. you might have made a remark?" "if your luck has been working for other people for six months it's my bet that it's on the way home to you right now! i don't mean any offense, and i am not sure of your customs out here. but i'll stake you to five dollars and take half what you win." jimmie grinned and put out his hand. "which i call darn good custom, east _or_ west!" for a few minutes it looked as though conniston's money were going to retrieve the cowboy's losses. jimmie had already twenty dollars in front of him. and then a gambler's "hunch," a staking of everything on one play, and jimmie sat back with nothing to do but roll a cigarette. "i might have giv' back your fiver a minute ago, but now--" he ended by licking his brown cigarette-paper together. but his credit was good with the bartender, and conniston and bart joined him in having a drink. "it looks like my luck had started back toward the home corrals all right," said jimmie, with a meditative smile. "only she wasn't strong enough to make it all the way. she got weak in the knees an' went to sleep on the road. now, if i had a fist full of money--" he sighed the rest into his glass. "if the stranger," put in bart, studying his own brown paper and tobacco-sack, "has got any more money he wants to--" conniston laughed. "much obliged. i think i'll quit with five to-night." suddenly jimmie got another of his "hunches." he cast a swift, apprising glance at conniston, and then, tugging bart's sleeve, drew him to the door. conniston could hear their voices outside, and, although he could not catch their words, he knew from the tone that jimmie was urging, while bart demurred. they came back and had another drink at the bartender's invitation, after which they stepped to the table and watched the play for five minutes. "i'd 'a' won twice runnin'," grunted jimmie. "we ought to make a try." bart hesitated, watched another play, and said, shortly: "go to it. if you can put it across i'm with you." whereupon jimmie returned to conniston and made him a proposition. and ten minutes later, when conniston went smiling back to the hotel, jimmie and bart were playing again, each with a hundred dollars in front of him. chapter iii roger hapgood lifted his pale, heavy-lidded eyes from the pages of his magazine and regarded conniston with a look from which not all reproach had yet gone. "i hope you've been enjoying yourself in this eden of yours," he said, sourly. conniston sent his hat spinning across the room, to lodge behind the bed, and laughed. "you've called the turn, sobersides! i've been having the time of my young life. and now all i have to do is sit tight to see--" "see--what?" drawled roger. "i've laid a bet, and it's wedged so and hedged so that i win both ways!" greek chuckled gleefully at the memory of it. "what sort of a bet?" "two hundred dollars!" hapgood put down his magazine and got to his feet, plainly concerned. "you don't mean that, greek?" "i mean exactly that." conniston tossed to the bed a small handful of greenbacks and silver. "this is all that's left to the firm of conniston and hapgood." with quick, nervous fingers hapgood swept up the money and counted it. his eyes showing the uneasiness within him, he turned to the jubilant conniston. "there are just twenty-seven dollars and sixty cents. are you drunk?" conniston giggled, his amusement swelling in pace with hapgood's dawning discomfiture. "i told you i had made a bet. i have laid a wager with the fates. and right now, my dear roger, while we sit comfortably and smoke and wait, the fates are deciding things for us!" roger paused, regarding him. "yes, you're drunk. if you are not, is it asking too much to suggest that you explain?" "no. i'll explain. at the sign of the local whisky barrel there is a game of faro now in progress. two very charming young gentlemen, named jimmie and bart, punchers of cattle, whatever that may be, are deciding things for roger hapgood and william conniston, junior, of new york. each of the amateur gamblers--and they actually do play very badly, roger!--has before him a hundred dollars of my money. if they win to-night i get back two hundred dollars plus half their winnings, and you and i take the train for san francisco!" "if they win. and if they lose?" "we'll take it as a sign that the fates have decreed that we're not to go on to the city by the golden gate, but tarry here! both jimmie and bart are provided with saddle-horses, with chaps--chaps, my dear roger, are wide, baggy, shaggy, ill-fitting riding-breeches, made, i believe, out of goat's hide with the hairy side out!--spurs and quirts--in short, all the necessary paraphernalia and accoutrements of a couple of knights of the cattle country. if they lose the two hundred dollars we win the two outfits! and to-morrow, instead of riding in a pullman toward san francisco, we straddle what they call a hay-burner for the blue rim of mountains in the south!" hapgood stared incredulously, a sort of horror dawning in his pale little eyes. "i suppose this is another of your purposeless jokes," he said, stiffly, after a moment. "nothing of the kind! don't you see we win either way? frankly, i am persuaded that the two hundred dollars are now winging their way into the pockets of an apparently awkward dealer with slow fingers, and into the pockets of our friend the hotel man. but we will get the horses, and think of the lark--" "lark!" shrilled hapgood. "a lark--to go wandering off into the desert--" "not wandering! _pirutin'_ is the word you want, the real vernacular of the west. or _skallyhutin'_! i'm strong for the sound of the latter myself--" "oh, rot!" broke in hapgood. "i was a fool to come out here with a fool like you." he turned his back squarely upon conniston and stood staring out the little window, biting his thin lips. conniston stood eying him, and slowly the smile passed from his face, to be followed by a serious frown. "i thought you'd kick in for the sport of it," he said, after a moment, his voice quiet and a trifle cold. "you don't have to if you feel like that about it. you still have your ticket to san francisco. you can have half of that twenty-seven dollars. you can sell your horse if we win the brutes." hapgood had been thinking about that before conniston spoke. and his thoughts had gone further. it would not be long, he told himself shrewdly, before conniston senior softened. and then there would be much money to help spend, many dinners to help eat, much wine to help drink, a string of glittering functions to attend. and if he broke with greek now-- "see here, greek," he said, affably, forcing a smile. "what's the use of this nonsense? why not slip your father a wire now. he'll come across. and then we can go on as we had intended and--" "nothing doing." for once conniston was stubborn. "i'm going on with this thing. if those horses come to us i am going to start early in the morning for the mountains to see what i can see. you can do as you please." hapgood glanced at him quickly, and, despite the wrath boiling up within him, the shrewder side of his nature prompted a peaceful answer. "then i'll go with you. you didn't think that i was the sort of a fellow to go back on you now, did you? we'll see this thing through together." conniston put out his hand impulsively, ashamed of having misjudged his friend. long before midnight jimmie left the saloon and crept away to the stable to stroke the soft nose of a restive cow-pony, and to swear soft, endearing curses of eternal farewell. not long afterward he had the satisfaction of seeing his fellow-cowboy steal through the darkness to whisper good-by to his own horse. and in the early dawn both jimmie and bart stood peering out from behind the corner of the barn at two figures riding rapidly southward into the morning mists. that day's ride was a matter never to be forgotten by the two men. their muscles were soft from dissipation and long years of idleness. in particular did hapgood suffer. he was a slight man to whom nature had given none of the bigness of body which she had bestowed upon conniston. his luxury-loving disposition had made him abjure the sports which the other at one time and another had enjoyed. he was, besides, a very poor horseman, while conniston had ridden a great deal. to-day his horse--a spirited colt newly broken--was not content to go straight ahead as hapgood would have had him, but danced back and forth across the road, shied at every conceivable opportunity, threatening constantly to unseat his rider, and jerked at the restraining, tight-gathered reins until hapgood's arms ached. the sun soon drove away the early mists and beat down upon the two men mercilessly from a blazingly hot sky. nowhere was there any shade except the tiny pools of shadow at the roots of the scrub brush. the heat, the dry air shimmering over the glowing sands, abetted by the many high-balls of yesterday, soon engendered a scorching thirst, and as mile after mile of the treeless desert slipped behind they found no water. over and over hapgood was tempted to turn back. he felt that his shoulders, from which he had removed his coat, were blistering under the sharp rays of the sun. at every swinging stride his horse made he felt the skin being rubbed off of his legs where they rubbed against the saddle leather. his soft hands were cut by the reins, he was sore from the tips of his fingers to the soles of his feet. but as each fresh temptation assailed him a glance at conniston, riding a few paces ahead, made him pull himself together. for some day the old man would relent, and then roger hapgood would see that for every agonized mile now he would be amply repaid. and no water would they find until indian creek was thirty miles behind them unless they turned from their way and rode a couple of miles to the westward where the straggling stream crawled through the sand. it was as well that they did not know, for the stream, like many of its kind in the dry parts of the west, ran for the greater part of its course underground, showing only here and there in a pool, where, beneath the sand, there was the hard-pan through which the water could not seep. they had left the town behind them at a lope. now they rode at a walk, curbing their horses' impatience with tight-drawn reins. they had thought to have reached the brown hills and shade before the day's heat was upon them. but now it was already intense, stifling, awaking from its light doze almost as the sun rolled upward across the low horizon. and now the temptation upon roger hapgood, urging him to turn back--back toward the little town, hateful yesterday, but spelling now at least the courtyard to comfort--was so strong that he would not have had strength to resist had he not realized that the ride back would be longer than the ride on to water. he made no answer to conniston's sallies, but, sullenly silent, clung to his reins with one hand, to the horn of his saddle with the other, lifting his head now and again to gaze with red-rimmed eyes ahead along the dusty, flat stretch of the desert, for the most part head down, the picture of misery. conniston, feeling the heat riotous in his own veins, feeling the ache of fatigued muscles, felt a sudden pity for hapgood. and still, even through his own discomfort, there laughed always a certain something in his buoyant nature which saw the humorous in the adventure. it was late in the forenoon when they saw a clump of green willows, and ten minutes later came to a roadside spring and watering-trough. hapgood threw an aching leg over the horn of his saddle and slipped stiffly to the ground. conniston dismounted after him, holding the two horses' reins as they thrust their dry muzzles deep into the clear water. hapgood, applying his mouth to the pipe from which the water ran into the trough, drank long and thirstily, and then, dragging his feet heavily, went to the clump of willows and dropped to the ground in their shade. "we've done thirty miles, anyway," said conniston, cheerily, when he, too, had drunk. "twenty miles farther to the hills, and--" hapgood, his head between his hands, groaned. "twenty miles farther and i'll be dead. i couldn't eat any of that infernal mess last night, and i couldn't eat beefsteak and mashed potatoes this morning. and i've got pains through me now in a dozen places. i wish--" he broke off suddenly. there was little use to tell what he wished: a cool club-room on broadway; a deep, soft leather chair; a waiter to bring him delicate dishes and cool drinks. for an hour they sat in the shade resting. then conniston got to his feet and threw his reins over his horse's head. "come on, roger," he said, quietly, the unusual gentleness of his tone showing the pity he felt. "we can't stay here all day." hapgood rose wordlessly and walked stiffly to his horse. he cursed it roundly when it jerked back from him, and for five minutes he strove to mount. the animal, high strung and restless, was frightened, first at his lunging gait, then at his loud, angry voice, and jerked away from him each time that he tried to get his foot into the stirrup. but at last, with the aid of conniston, who rode his own horse close to the other, preventing its turning, hapgood climbed into the saddle. and again in silence they pushed on toward the hills. it took them five hours to do the twenty miles lying between the watering-trough and the edge of the hills. a large part of the last ten miles hapgood did on foot, leading his astonished horse. and often he stopped to rest, squatting or lying full length on the ground. it was nearly five o'clock in the afternoon when at last they came to the second spring by the roadside. and here hapgood sank down wearily, muttering colorlessly that he could not and would not go a step farther. and they were still forty miles to the nearest cabin and bed. conniston unsaddled the two horses, watered them, and staked them out to crop the short, dry grass. and then he stood by the spring, smoking and frowning at the barren brown hills. they had had nothing to eat since early morning; they had not thought to bring any lunch with them. and now if they spent the night here it would be close upon noon on the next day before they could hope to find food. he looked covertly at his friend, only to see him sprawled on the ground, his head laid across his arm. "poor old roger," he muttered to himself. "this is pretty hard lines. and a night out here on the ground--" he determined to wait until the cool of the evening and then to persuade hapgood to ride with him across the hills. it would be hard, but it seemed not only best, but almost the only way. so conniston filled his pipe, thought longingly of the cigarettes he had left in his suit-case at the hotel, and, lying down near hapgood, smoked and dozed in the warm stillness. an hour passed. the shadow of the scrub-oak under which they had thrown themselves was a long blot across the sand. about them everything was drowsy and sleepy and still. conniston, turning upon his side, his pipe dropping dead from between his teeth, saw that hapgood was asleep. he lay back, looking upward through the still branches of the oak, his spirit heavy with the heaviness of nature about him. and musing idly upon the new scenes his exile had already brought him, musing on a pair of gray eyes, conniston himself went to sleep. the sun was low down in the western sky, dropping swiftly to the clear-cut line of the horizon, the air growing misty with the coming night, the sunset sky glowing gold and flaming crimson, when conniston awoke. he sat up rubbing his eyes, at first at a loss to account for his surroundings. then he saw hapgood sprawled at his side and remembered. and then, too, he saw what it was that had awakened him. a man in a buckboard drawn by two sweating horses was looking curiously at him while his horses drank noisily at the trough. he was an unmistakable son of the west, bronzed and lean and quick-eyed. the long hair escaping from under his battered gray hat vied with his long drooping mustache in color, and they both challenged the flaming crimson of the sunset. conniston told himself that he had never seen hair one-half so fiery or eyes approaching the brilliant blueness of this man's. and he told himself, too, that he had never been gladder to see a fellow human being. for the horses were headed toward the hills in the south. "how are you?" conniston cried, scrambling to his feet and striding with heavy feet to the buckboard. "howdy, stranger?" answered the red-headed man, his voice strangely low-toned and gentle. "my name's conniston," went on the young man, putting out a hand which the other took after eying him keenly. "real nice name," replied the red-headed man. and dropping conniston's hand and turning to his horses, "hey there, lady! quit that blowin' bubbles an' drink, or i'll pull your ol' head off'n you!" lady seemed to have understood, and thrust her nose deeper into the water. and the new-comer, catching his reins between his knees, took papers and tobacco from the pocket of a sagging, unbuttoned vest and made a cigarette. licking the paper as a final touch, his eyes went to hapgood. "pardner sick or something?" "no. just fagged out. we came all the way from indian creek since morning." "that's real far, ain't it?" remarked the man in the buckboard, with a little twitch to the corner of his mouth, but much deep gravity in his eye. "which way you goin', stranger?" "we're going across the hills into the half moon country. it's forty miles farther, they tell me." "uh-uh. that's what they call it. an' a darn long forty mile, or i'll put in with you." "and," conniston hurried on, "if you are going--you are going the same way, aren't you?" "sure. i'm goin' right straight to the half moon corrals." "then would you mind if my friend rode with you? i'll pay whatever is right." the other eyed him strangely. "i reckon you're from the east, maybe? huh?" "yes. from new york." "uh-uh. i thought so. well, stranger, we won't quarrel none over the payin', an' your frien' can pile in with me." conniston turned, murmuring his thanks, to where hapgood now was sitting up. and the red-headed man climbed down from his seat and began to unhitch his horses. "you needn't git your frien' up jest now in case he ain't finished his siesta. we won't move on until mornin'." "where are you going to sleep?" hapgood wanted to know. "i had sorta planned some on sleepin' right here." "right here! you don't sleep on the ground?" the red-headed man, drawing serenely at his cigarette, went about unharnessing his horses. "bein' as how i ain't et for some right smart time," he was saying as he came back from staking out his horses, "i'm goin' to chaw real soon. has you gents et yet?" they assured him that they had not. "then if you've got any chuck you want to warm up you can sling it in my fryin'-pan." he dragged a soap-box to the tail end of the buckboard and began taking out several packages. "we didn't bring anything with us," conniston told him. "we didn't think--" the new-comer dropped his frying-pan, put his two hands on his hips, and stared at them. "you ain't sayin' you started out for the half moon, which is close on a hundred mile, an' never took nothin' along to chaw!" conniston nodded. the red-headed man stared at them a minute, scratched his head, removing his hat to do so, and then burst out: "which i go on record sayin' folks all the way from noo york has got some funny ways of doin' business. bein' as you've slipped me your name, frien'ly like, stranger, i don't min' swappin' with you. it's pete, an' folks calls me lonesome pete, mos'ly. an' you can tell anybody you see that lonesome pete, cow-puncher from the half moon, has made up his min' at las' as how he ain't never goin' any nearer noo york than the devil drives him." he scratched his head again, put on his hat, and reached once more for his frying-pan. chapter iv lonesome pete dragged from the buckboard a couple of much-worn quilts, a careful examination of which hinted that they had once upon a time been gay and gaudy with brilliant red and green patterns. now they were an astonishing congregation of lumps where the cotton had succeeded in getting itself rolled into balls and of depressions where the cotton had fled. light and air had little difficulty in passing through. lonesome pete jerked off the piece of rope which had held them in a roll and flung them to the ground, directing toward hapgood a glance which was an invitation. and hapgood, the fastidious, lay down. the red-headed man dumped a strange mess out of a square pasteboard box into his frying-pan and set it upon some coals which he had scraped out of his little fire. there was dried beef in that mess, and onions and carrots and potatoes, and they had all been cooked up together, needing only to be warmed over now. the odor of them went abroad over the land and assailed hapgood's nostrils. and hapgood did not frown, nor yet did he sneer. he lifted himself upon an elbow and watched with something of real interest in his eyes. and when black coffee was made in a blacker, spoutless, battered, dirty-looking coffee-pot roger hapgood put out a hand, uninvited, for the tin cup. conniston, his appetite being a shade further removed from starvation than his friend's, divided his interest equally between the meal and the man preparing it. he found his host an anomaly. in spite of the fiery coloring of mustache and hair he was one of the meekest-looking individuals conniston had ever seen, and certainly the most soft-spoken. his eyes had a way of losing their brightness as he fell to staring away into vacancy, his lips working as though he were repeating a prayer over and over to himself. the growth upon his upper lip had at first given him the air of a man of thirty, and now when one looked at him it was certain he could not be a day over twenty. and about his hips, dragging so low and fitting so loosely that conniston had always the uncomfortable sensation that it was going to slip down about his feet, he wore a cartridge-belt and two heavy forty-five revolvers. he gave one the feeling of a cherub with a war-club. during the scanty meal lonesome pete ate noisily and rapidly and spoke little, contenting himself with short answers to the few questions which were put to him, for the most part staring away into the gathering night with an expression of great mildness upon his face. finishing some little time before his guests, he rolled a cigarette, left them to polish out the frying-pan with the last morsels of bread, and, going back to the buckboard, fumbled a moment in a second soap-box under the seat. it was growing so dark now that, while they could see him take two or three articles from his box and thrust them under his arm, they could not make out what the things were. but in another moment he had lighted the lantern which had swung under the buckboard and was squatting cross-legged in the sand, the lantern on the ground at his side. and then, as he bent low over the things in his hand, they saw that they were three books and that lonesome pete was applying himself diligently to them. he opened them all, one after the other, turned many pages, stopping now and then to bend closer to look at a picture and decipher painstakingly the legend inscribed under it. finally, after perhaps ten minutes of this kind of examination, he laid two of them beside him, grasped the other firmly with both awkward hands and began to read. they knew that he was reading, for now and again his droning voice came to them as he struggled with a word of some difficulty. hapgood smoked his last cigarette; conniston puffed at his pipe. at the end of ten minutes lonesome pete had turned a page, the rustling of the leaves accompanied by a deep sigh. then he laid his book, open, across his knee, made another cigarette, lighted it, and, after a glance toward conniston and hapgood, spoke softly. "you gents reads, i reckon? huh?" "yes. a little," conniston told him; while hapgood, being somewhat strengthened by his rest and his meal, grunted. "after a man gets the swing of it, sorta, it ain't always such hard work?" "no, it isn't such hard work after a while." lonesome pete nodded slowly and many times. "it's jest like anything else, ain't it, when you get used to it? jest as easy as ropin' a cow brute or ridin' a bronco hoss?" conniston told him that he was right. "but what gits me," lonesome pete went on, closing his book and marking the place with a big thumb, "is knowin' words that comes stampedin' in on you onexpected like. when a man sees a cow brute or a hoss or a mule as he ain't never clapped his peepers on he knows the brute right away. he says, 'that's a half moon,' or, 'it's a bar circle,' or 'it's a u seven.' 'cause why? 'cause she's got a bran' as a man can make out. but these here words"--he shook his head as he opened his book and peered into it--"they ain't got no bran'. ain't it hell, stranger?" "what's the word, pete," smiled conniston. "she ain't so big an' long as bothers me," lonesome pete answered. "it's jest she's so darn peculiar-lookin'. it soun's like it might be _izzles_, but what's _izzles_? you spell it i-s-l-e-s. did you ever happen to run acrost that there word, stranger?" conniston told him what the word was, and lonesome pete's softly breathed curse was eloquent of gratitude, amazement, and a certain deep admiration that those five letters could spell a little island. "the nex' line is clean over my head, though," he went on, after a moment of frowning concentration. conniston got to his feet and went to where the reader sat, stooping to look over his shoulder. the book was "macbeth." he picked up the two volumes upon the ground. they were old, much worn, much torn, their backs long ago lost in some second-hand book-store. one of them was a copy of lamb's _essays_, the other a state series second reader. "quite an assortment," was the only thing he could think to say. lonesome pete nodded complacently. "i got 'em off'n ol' sam bristow. you don't happen to know sam, do you, stranger?" conniston shook his head. lonesome pete went on to enlighten him. "sam bristow is about the eddicatedest man this side san francisco, i reckon. he's got a store over to rocky bend. ever been there?" again conniston shook his head, and again lonesome pete explained: "rocky bend is a right smart city, more'n four times as big as injun creek. it's a hundred mile t'other side injun creek, makin' it a hundred an' fifty mile from here. in his store he's got a lot of books. i went over there to make my buy, an' i don't mind tellin' you, stranger, i sure hit a bargain. i got them three books an nine more as is in that box under the seat, makin' an even dozen, an' ol' sam let the bunch go for fourteen dollars. i reckon he was short of cash, huh?" since the books at a second-hand store should have been worth about ninety cents, conniston made no answer. instead he picked up the dog-eared volume of "macbeth." "how did you happen to pick out this?" he asked, curiously. "i knowed the jasper as wrote it." conniston gasped. lonesome pete evidently taking the gasp as prompted by a deep awe that he should know a man who wrote books, smiled broadly and went on: "yes, suh. i'm real sure i knowed him. you see, i was workin' a couple er years ago for the triangle bar outfit. young jeff comstock, the ol' man's son, he used to hang out in the east. an' he had a feller visitin' him. that feller's name was bill, an' he was out here to git the dope so's he could write books about the cattle country. i reckon his las' name was the same as the bill as wrote this. i don't know no other bills as writes books, do you, stranger?" conniston evaded. "are you sure it's about the cattle country?" "it sorta sounds like it, an' then it don't. you see it begins in a desert place. that goes all right. but i ain't sure i git jest what this here firs' page is drivin' at. it's about three witches, an' they don't say much as a man can tie to. i jest got to where there's something about a fight, an' i guess he jest throwed the witches in, extry. here it says as they wear chaps. that oughta settle it, huh?" there was the line, half hidden by lonesome pete's horny forefinger. "_he unseamed him from the nave to the chaps!_" that certainly settled it as far as lonesome pete was concerned. macbeth was a cattle-king, and bill shakespeare was the young fellow who had visited the triangle bar. thoughtfully he put his books away in the box, which he covered with a sack and which he pushed back under the seat. then he looked to his horses, saw that they had plenty of grass within the radius of tie-rope, and after that came back to where hapgood lay. "i reckon you can git along with one of them blankets, stranger. you two fellers can have it, an' i'll make out with the other." hapgood moved and groaned as he put his weight on a sore muscle. "the ground will be d----d hard with just one blanket," he growled. lonesome pete, his two hands upon his hips, stood looking down at him, the far-away look stealing back into his eyes. "i hadn't thought of that. but i reckon i can make one do, all right." whereupon without more ado and with the same abstracted gleam in his eyes he stooped swiftly and jerked one of the quilts out from under the astonished hapgood. the man who had traveled from the half moon one hundred and ninety miles to spend fourteen dollars for a soap-box half full of books was awake the next morning before sunrise. conniston and hapgood didn't open an eye until he called to them. then they looked up from their quilt to see him standing over them pulling thoughtfully at the ends of his red mustache, his face devoid of expression. "i'll have some chuck ready in about three minutes," he told them, quietly. "an' we'll be gittin' a start." "in the middle of the night!" expostulated hapgood, his words all but lost in a yawn. "i ain't got my clock along this trip, stranger. but i reckon if we want to git acrost them hills before it gits hot we'll be travelin' real soon. leastways," as he turned and went back to squat over the little fire he had blazing merrily near the watering-trough, "i'm goin' to dig out in about twenty minutes." hapgood, remembering the ride of yesterday, scrambled to his feet even before conniston. and the two young men, having washed their faces and hands at the pipe which discharged its cold stream into the trough, joined the half moon man. he had already fried bacon, and now was cooking some flapjacks in the grease which he had carefully saved. the coffee was bubbling away gaily, sending its aroma far and wide upon the whispering morning breeze. the skies were still dark, their stars not yet gone from them. only the faintest of dim, uncertain lights in the horizon told where the east was and where before long the sun would roll up above the floor of the desert. the horses, already hitched to the buckboard, were vague blots in the darkness about them. they ate in silence, the two easterners too tired and sleepy to talk, lonesome pete evidently too abstracted. and when the short meal was over it was lonesome pete who cleaned out the few cooking-utensils and stored them away in the buckboard while conniston and hapgood smoked their pipes. it was lonesome pete who got his two quilts, rolled, tied, and put them with the box of utensils. and then, making a cigarette, he climbed to his seat. "an' now if one of you gents figgers on ridin' along with me--" "i do!" cried hapgood, quickly. and he hastened to the buckboard, taking his seat at the other's side. "i thought you had a hoss somewheres! an' your saddle?" continued lonesome pete. "i thought that while you were getting your horses--didn't you saddle him?" for a moment lonesome pete made no answer. he drew a deep breath as he gathered in his reins tightly. and then he spoke very softly. "now, ain't i sure a forgetful ol' son of a gun! i did manage to rec'lec' to make a fire an' git breakfas' an' hitch up my hosses an' clean up after breakfas' an' put the beddin' in--but would you believe i clean forgot to saddle up for you!" he laughed as softly as he had spoken. hapgood glanced at him quickly, but the cowboy's face was lost in the black shadow of his low-drawn hat. hapgood got down and saddled his own horse, and it was hapgood who, riding with lonesome pete, led a stubborn animal that jerked back until both of hapgood's arms were sore in their sockets. lonesome pete, the forgetful, remembered after an hour or two of quiet enjoyment to tell the tenderfoot that he could tie the rope to the buckboard instead of holding it. for the first hour hapgood was, consequently, altogether too busy even to try to see the country about him, and conniston, riding behind, could make out little in the darkness. the one thing of which he could be sure was that they were leaving the floor of the desert behind, that they were climbing a steep, narrow road which wound ever higher and higher in the hills. then finally the day broke, and he could see that they were already deep in the brown hills which he had seen from indian creek. there was scant vegetation, a few scattered, twisted, dwarfed trees, with patches of brush in the ravines and hollows. nowhere water, nowhere a sprig of green grass. as in the flat land below here, there was only barrenness and desolation and solitude. as had been the case yesterday, so now to-day when the sun shot suddenly into the sky the heat came with it. but already the three travelers had climbed to the top of the hills where pocket pass led across the uplands and were once more dropping down toward a gray level floor. on a narrow bit of bench land, where for a space the country road ran level, lined with ruts, gouged with uncomfortable frequency into dust-concealed chuck-holes, lonesome pete pulled in his horses and waited for conniston to ride up to his side. "in case you've got a sorta interest in the country we're goin' to drop down in," he said, as he took advantage of the stop to roll a cigarette, "you might jest take a look from here. this is what they call pocket pass as we jest rode through. an' from this en' you can see purty much everything as is worth seein' in this country an' a whole hell of a lot as ain't." he made a wide sweep with his arm, pointing southward and downward. "that there's where we're headed for." "and that's the half moon!" conniston was eager, as he saw at a glance how the range got its name. the hills fell away even more abruptly here than they did in the north, cut so often into straight, stratified brown cliffs of crumbling dirt that conniston wondered how and where the road could find a way out and down into the lower land. they swept away, both east and west, in a wide curve, roughly resembling a half moon. toward the east, perhaps twenty-five miles from where conniston sat upon his horse, the distant mountains sent out two far-reaching spurs of pine-clad ridges between which lay rattlesnake valley. due south, as lonesome pete's outstretched finger indicated, lay the road which they were to follow and the headquarters of the half moon. there again a thickly timbered spur of the mountains ran down into the plain on each side of a deeply cleft cañon from which lonesome pete told them that indian creek issued, and in which were the main corrals and the range house of the half moon. "which is sure the finest up-an'-down cow-country i ever see," he added, by way of rounding off his information. "bein' well watered by that same crick, an' havin' good feed both in the big flat, as folks calls that country down below us, an' in the foothills. rattlesnake valley, over yonder, ain't never been good for much exceptin' the finest breed of serpents an' horn-toads a man ever see outside a circus or the jimjams. there ain't nothin' as 'll grow there outside them animals. the ol' man's workin' over there now, tryin' to throw water on it an' make things grow. the ol' man," he ended, shaking his head dubiously, "has put acrost some big jobs, but i reckon he's sorta up against it this trip." "reclamation work," nodded conniston. "that's what some folks calls it. others calls it plumb foolishness. git up, there, lady! stan' aroun', you pinto hoss!" an hour more of winding in and out, back and forth, along the narrow grade cut into the sides of the hills, just wide enough for one team at the time, with here and there a wider place where wagons might meet and pass, and they were down in the half moon country. the cowboy let his horses out into a swinging trot; conniston followed just far enough behind to escape their dust; and the miles slipped swiftly behind them. they had crossed the floor of the lower half moon and were moving up a gentle slope leading along the spur of the mountains to the right of indian creek when they met one of the half moon cowboys driving a small band of saddle-horses ahead of him. lonesome pete stopped for a word with him, and conniston, seeing the road plain ahead, rode on alone. a mile farther and he had entered the forest of pines through which the road lay, winding and twisting to avoid the boles of the larger trees or the big scattered boulders which were many upon the steepening slope. now he could seldom see more than a hundred yards in front of him, and now he had left the stifling heat behind him for the cool shadows which made a dim twilight of midday. two miles of this pleasant shade, fragrant with the spicy balsam of the forest, and the road began to turn to the left, across the spine of the ridge and into the deep ravine. presently he heard the bawling of the stream somewhere through the undergrowth below him, its gurgle and clatter making merry music with the swish of the stirring pine-tops. and suddenly, as he made a sharp turn, he drew in his horse with a little exclamation of surprise. here the road plunged abruptly downward and across the rocky bed of indian creek. just above the crossing, so near that a passing vehicle must be sprinkled with the spray of its headlong leaping waters, was a waterfall flashing in white and crystal down a cliff of black rock ten feet high. on either side the stately pine-trees, their lowest limbs forty feet above the ground, marched in patriarchal dignity to the edge of the stream. and above the waterfall, farther back between the jaws of the ravine, conniston could see the red-tiled roofing and snow-white towers of such a house as he had never dreamed of finding lost in the western wilderness. he rode on down into the stream and across. upon the other side the road again ran on into the cañon, climbing twenty feet up a gradual slope. and here upon the top of the bank conniston again drew in his reins with a jerk, again surprised at what he saw before him. here was a long, wide bench of land which had been carefully leveled. through the middle of it ran the creek. feeding the waterfall was a dam, its banks steep, its floor, seen through the clear water, white sand. and it was more than a dam; it was a tiny mountain lake. a drifting armada of spotlessly white ducks turned their round, yellow eyes upon the trespasser. over yonder a wide flight of stone steps led to the water's edge. and the flat table-land, bordered with a dense wall of pines and firs, was a great lawn, brilliantly green, thick strewn with roses and geraniums and a riot of bright-hued flowers conniston did not know. he turned his eyes to the house itself. it was a great, two-storied, wide-verandaed building, with spacious doors, deep-curtained windows, a tower rising above the red tiles of the roof at each corner, everywhere the gleam of white columns. each tower had its balconies, and each balcony was guessed more than seen through the green and red and white of clambering roses. midway between the broad front steps and the edge of the little toy lake was a summer-house grown over with vines, its broad doorway opening toward conniston. and sitting within its shade, a book in her lap, her gray eyes raised gravely to meet his, was the girl he had seen on the overland limited. conniston rode along a graveled walk toward her, his hat in his hand. "good morning," she said, as he drew in his horse near her. "won't you get down?" "good morning." he swung to the ground with no further invitation, his horse's reins over his arm. his eyes were as grave as hers, and he was glad, glad that he had ridden here through the desert. "you came to see my father?" conniston colored slightly. why had he come? what was he going to do now that he was here? how should he seek to explain? he hesitated a moment, and then answered, slowly: "i am afraid that my reasons for coming at all are too complicated to be told. you see, we just got off the train in indian creek out of idle curiosity to see what the desert country was like. we're from new york. and then we rode out toward the hills. one of your father's men overtook us there, and, as he was coming this way and as we were anxious to see the cattle-country and--" he broke off, smiling. "you see, it is hard to make it sound sensible. we just came!" she looked up at him, a little puzzled frown in her eyes. "you have friends with you?" "one friend. he was pretty well tuckered out, and the red-headed gentleman who calls himself lonesome pete is bringing him along in his buckboard." "and you have no business at all out here?" "i _had_ none," he retorted. "you don't know father?" "i am sorry that i don't." "you are going on to crawfordsville?" "i don't know where crawfordsville is. is it the nearest town?" "yes." "since i don't see how we can stay here, i suppose we'll go on to crawfordsville, then. that would be the best way, wouldn't it?" "really," she replied, quietly, "i don't see that i am in a position to advise. if you haven't any business with my father--" then the buckboard drove up, and greek conniston devoutly wished that he had left roger hapgood behind. and when he saw the radiant smile which lightened the girl's gray eyes as they rested upon lonesome pete and took notice of the wide, sweeping flourish with which the cowboy's hat was lifted to her, he wished that the red-headed student of shakespeare was with hapgood on broadway. chapter v roger hapgood, the stiff soreness of yesterday only aggravated by the cramp which had stolen into his legs during the ride of to-day, climbed down from the buckboard and limped across the lawn to where conniston stood. "i say, greek," he was growling, as he trudged forward, "what fool thing are you going to do next?" he stopped suddenly, in his surprise forgetting to shut his mouth. the same eyes which had laughed up into his when she offered him ten cents as a tip were laughing into them now. he dragged his hat from his head, stammering. "miss crawford--for you are miss crawford, aren't you?" began conniston. she nodded. "i should have introduced myself. i am william conniston, junior, son of william conniston, senior, as one might guess. this is my friend, mr. hapgood." the girl inclined her head very slightly and turned toward conniston. "if you have come all the way from the hills this morning," she was saying, "and if you plan to go on to crawfordsville, you will want to rest until the cool of the evening. we have eleven-o'clock luncheon in summer, and have already eaten. but if you will come in i think that we can find something. and, anyway, you can rest until evening. if you are not in a hurry to go right on?" "we have all the time in the world!" conniston hastened to assure her. and hapgood of the aching muscles added fervently, "if it's more than a mile to crawfordsville, i've got to rest awhile!" "it is something more than that." she rose and moved toward the house. "through the short cut straight back into the mountains it's twenty." lonesome pete was turning to drive toward a gap in the encircling trees when the girl called to him to take conniston's horse. and then the three went to the house. the flight of steps led them to a wide veranda, eloquent of comfort with its deep wicker rockers and hammocks piled temptingly with cushions. then came the wide double doors, and, within, a long, high-ceilinged room whose appointment in every detail spoke of wealth and taste and the hand of a lavish spender. and into this background the slender form of the girl in the close-fitting, becoming gown entered as harmoniously as it had the other day when clad in khaki and against a background of limitless desert. the floor here was of hard wood, polished until it shone dully like a mirror in a shaded room. no rugs save the two great bear-skins, one black, the other white; no pictures beyond the one great painting against the farther wall. there was a fire-place, wide and deep and rock-bound. and yonder, a dull gleam as of ebony, a grand piano. leather chairs, all elegant, soft, luxurious. she would leave them here, she said, smiling, and see if there was anything left to eat. and while they marveled at finding the splendid comfort of fifth avenue here on the far rim of the desert, a little japanese boy in snowy linen bowed himself in to them and invited them to follow. they went down a long hallway after his softly pattering footsteps and were shown into a large airy bath-room, with a glimpse beyond of a cozy sitting-room. "you wish prepare for luncheon, honorable sirs," said the boy, his teeth and eyes shining in one flash. "you find rest-room there. i call for you. anything?" conniston told him that there was nothing further required, and he withdrew, stepping backward as from royalty, bowing deeply. "here's where i lose about half of the desert i've been carrying around with me," muttered hapgood. "the lord knows when we'll see another tub!" luxury of luxuries! the bath-room was immaculate in white tiling, the tub shone resplendently white, and there was steaming-hot water! conniston, having strolled into the "rest-room," where he found a deep leather chair with a table close to its elbow decorated simply but none the less effectively with a decanter of whisky and a silver box containing cigarettes, leaned back, enjoying himself and the sound of the splashing in the bath-room. once more in familiar and comfortable environment, even hapgood for the moment forgot to be miserable, and as he smoked a good cigarette and watched the water running into the tub now and then hummed a broadway air. as for conniston, his serene good nature under most circumstances, his greatest asset in the small frays he had had with the world, was untroubled by a spot. "how do you like the west, roger?" he called, banteringly. "something like, eh, greek?" hapgood laughed back. "do you know, i believe i'll stay! and the dame, isn't she some class, eh?" he finished his bath finally, and at last emerged, half dressed, to lounge in the big chair while his friend took his plunge. he heard conniston singing to the obligato of the running water, and, with eyes half closed, leaned back and watched his smoke swirl ceilingward. presently the bath-room door opened again, and he saw conniston, his trousers in his hand, standing in the doorway, grinning as though at some rare laughter-provoking thought. "well, old man," hapgood smiled back at him, "whence the mirth?" conniston chuckled gleefully. "another joke, roger, my boy! i wonder when the fates are going to drop us in order to give their undivided attention to some other lucky mortals? you know that twenty-seven dollars and sixty cents?" "well?" "i've lost it!" conniston laughed outright as his ready imagination depicted amusing complications ahead. "every blamed cent of it!" "what!" hapgood was upon his feet, staring. hapgood's complacency was a thing of the past. conniston nodded, his grin still with him. "every cent of it! and here we are the lord knows how far from home--" "have you looked through all your pockets?" "every one. and i found--" "what?" "a hole," chuckled conniston. "just a hole, and nothing more." hapgood jerked the trousers from the shaking hand of the man whom such a catastrophe could move to laughter, and made a hurried search. "what the devil are we going to do?" he gasped, when there was at last no doubting the truth. conniston shrugged. "i haven't had time to figure out that part of it. haven't you any money?" "about seven dollars," snapped hapgood. "and a long time that will keep the two of us. it's up to you, greek!" "meaning?" "meaning that you've got to wire your dad for money. there's nothing left to do. dang it!" he finished, bitterly, throwing the empty trousers back to conniston, "i was a fool to ever come with you." "you've said that before. but"--his good humor still tickled by his loss, which he refused to take seriously in spite of the drawn face staring into his--"i haven't even the money to wire the old gent!" "oh, i'll pay for it." "i didn't want to do it so soon," conniston hesitated. "but it begins to look as though--" "there's nothing to it. you've got to do it! why, man, do you realize what a confounded mess you've got us into?" conniston went back into the bath-room rather seriously. but a moment later hapgood heard him chuckling again. the japanese boy came to summon them, and they followed him, once more clean and feeling respectable, into a cozy little breakfast-room where their hostess was waiting for them. and over their cold meat, tinned fruits and vegetables, and fresh milk conniston told her of their misfortune. she laughed with him at his account of the winning of the two horses and seemed disposed to indorse his careless view of the whole episode rather than hapgood's pessimistic outlook. "it's all right, i suppose, since conniston has a rich father," roger admitted, with a sigh. she regarded him curiously for a moment. "some men," she said, quietly, "have been known to go to work and make money for themselves when they needed it." conniston told her of his little friend william, of indian creek, adding, carelessly, "i'm glad i don't have to feel like that." "you mean that you had rather have money given to you than to feel that you had earned it yourself?" "quite naturally, miss crawford. my father is william conniston, senior. maybe you have heard of him?" he was proud to be his father's son, to have his own name so intimately connected with that of a man who was not only a millionaire many times over, but who was a power in wall street and known as such to the four ends of the earth. "yes. i have heard of him. he made his own money, didn't he? in the west, too." "yes. a mining expert in the beginning, i believe, and a mine-owner in the end. oh, the governor knows how to make the dollars grow, all right!" again she made no answer. but after a little she said: "if you wish to wire to your father for money"--and there was just the faintest note of scorn in her voice--"you needn't wait until you get to crawfordsville. we have a telephone, and you can telephone your message from here." "good!" cried hapgood, eagerly. "better do that--and right away, greek. there's no use losing time." conniston thanked her, and a moment later, they rose from the table and stepped to the telephone, which she showed to him in a little library. when he got central in crawfordsville miss crawford told the girl for him to charge all costs to her father and that mr. conniston would pay here for the service. so she took his message and telephoned it to the western union office. "you will rush it, will you, please?" asked conniston. "certainly. and the answer? shall we telephone it out to you?" "no. we'll be in crawfordsville, and--wait a moment." to miss crawford: "we may stay here until evening?" "oh, you must. it is too hot now to think of riding." "thank you." and then into the receiver: "if you should get an answer before seven o'clock, please telephone it to me here." then the three went out to the front porch. they found chairs in the shade where a welcome little breeze made for cool comfort. miss crawford sat with the men, answering their questions about that wild country, chatting with them. and there, at her invitation, they sat and smoked when she left them and went into the house. "a charming girl," hapgood was moved to say enthusiastically. "really a charming girl! who would have thought to find her out here? and say, greek"--being confidentially nearer--"her old man must be tremendously rich, eh? you don't need to think of such things, of course, but take me--" he paused, and then continued, thoughtfully: "sooner or later, old man, it's got to come to one end for roger hapgood. and, do you know, i'm half in love with her already?" his verbal enthusiasm in no way imparted itself to young conniston. so roger puffed complacently at his cigarette in thoughtful silence, rather more than usually well pleased with himself. the late afternoon drew on, and the girl had not returned to them. conniston looked at his watch and saw that it was half-past five. they would have to leave within an hour and a half; they could not impose longer than that. he was hoping that she would spend at least the last half-hour with them when he heard the door open and looked up quickly, thinking she was coming. it was the japanese boy, bowing and smiling. "most honorable sir," looking doubtfully from one of them to the other, "the telephone would speak with you." conniston sprang to his feet. hapgood smiled his satisfaction. "the old gent is as prompt as the very deuce, god bless him!" conniston hurried after the boy into the house, leaving hapgood beaming. "mr. conniston?" the telephone-girl was asking. "yes, i'm conniston. you have the answer?" "yes. shall i read it to you?" "please." "it's rather long," she laughed into the telephone. "but it's paid. it runs: "my dear son,--your wire received. sorry you misunderstood me. so that you may make no mistakes in the future i shall be more explicit now. i shall not send you one single dollar for at least one year from date. if at the end of that time you have done something for yourself i may help you. i leave for europe to-morrow to be gone for a year on my first vacation. it will do no good for you to telegraph again. i cannot help you beyond wishing you luck. you are on your own feet. walk if you can. "yours, "william conniston, senior." conniston leaned limply against the wall, staring into the telephone. "look here!" he cried, after a moment. "there's a mistake somewhere." "no mistake. the wire was just brought in from the western union office." "but i don't understand--" "i'm sorry. is there anything else?" "no. that's all." even conniston's sanguine temperament was not proof to the shock of his father's message. he knew his father too well to hope that he would change his mind now. his eyes showed a troubled anxiety when he went slowly back to confront hapgood. "well, what's the good news?" cried hapgood. and then, when he had seen conniston's face, "gad, man! what's wrong?" conniston shook his head as he sank into a chair. "i--i'm a bit upset," he answered, unsteadily. "i made a mistake; that's all." "it wasn't your father?" "that's the trouble. it was! he refuses to send a dollar. and he's leaving to-morrow for a year in europe." "what!" yelled hapgood, leaping to his feet in entire forgetfulness of his sore muscles. "that's it. and when the old man says he'll do a thing he'll do it." hapgood stared at him speechless. and then, his hands driven deep into his pockets, he began an agitated pacing up and down the porch, his brows drawn, his eyes squinting as they had the habit of doing when he was excited. "what are we going to do?" he demanded, stopping before conniston. "i wish that somebody would tell me! we have a couple of horses. you have seven dollars. maybe," with a faint, forced smile, "we can ride back to new york!" with a disgusted sniff hapgood left him again to pace restlessly up and down. and finally, when he again stopped in front of conniston's chair, his face was white, his thin lips set bloodlessly. "i guess there's only one thing left to us. we'll go on into crawfordsville and put up for a day or two while we try to raise some money. your seven dollars ought to keep us from starving--" "will you wire your father again?" "no. there would be no use. i tell you that when he says he is going to do a thing that settles it. if i broke both arms and legs now he wouldn't pay the doctor's bill." "then i'll tell you something, my friend!" the pale little eyes were glowing, malevolently red. "you've played me for a sucker long enough. you towed me along out into this cursed west of yours, making me think all the time that when you got ready to call on your father he'd come through like a flash. and you knew that he had turned you out for good. now i am through with you. get that? i mean it! and if i have seven dollars i guess i'll need it myself before i get out of this pickle you've got me into!" conniston stared at him incredulously. "come, now, roger. you don't mean--" "but i do, mr. william conniston, fraud! i'm through with you." conniston got to his feet, his own face as white as hapgood's. "you mean what you are saying?" "i most certainly and positively do!" "and the wire i sent to dad--" "you can pay for it if you want to! you don't get a cent out of me." conniston took one stride to him, putting a heavy hand upon hapgood's narrow shoulder. "you infernal little shrimp!" he cried, hoarsely. "if we weren't guests here i'd take a holy glee in slapping your face! by the lord, i've a mind to do it anyhow!" hapgood jerked back, his arm lifted to shelter his face. and conniston, with a short laugh, dropped his hand to his side. as he did so he saw miss crawford was coming toward them through the yard from the corner of the house. a middle-aged man, heavy and broad-shouldered and white-haired, was with her. he turned to meet her. "mr. conniston," she was saying, "this is my father. and, papa, this is mr. hapgood." mr. crawford came up the steps, giving his hand in a hearty grip to the two men who came forward to meet him, his voice, deep and grave, assuring them that he was glad that they had stayed over at his home. his face was stern, grave like his voice, clean-shaven, and handsome in a way of manly, independent strength. "argyl tells me," he said, to conniston, as they all sat down, "that you are expecting some money by wire. you are leaving us, then, right away?" "i did expect some money," conniston laughed, his good humor with him again. "i wired to my father for it. and i just had his answer. there is nothing doing." mr. crawford lifted his eyebrows. argyl leaned forward. "he said," went on conniston, lightly, "that he would not send me a dollar. you see, he wants me to do something for myself. and," with a rueful grin, "i am in debt to you for a dollar to pay for my message--and i haven't ten cents!" mr. crawford laughed with him. "we won't worry about the dollar just now, mr. conniston. what are you going to do?" conniston scratched his head. "i don't know. i--" and then argyl's words came back to him, and he surprised himself by saying: "most men go to work when they're strapped, don't they? i guess i'll go to work." "i don't mean to be too personal, but--are you used to working?" "i never did a day's work in my life." "then what can you do?" "i don't know. i--you see, i never figured on this. i--i--do you happen to know anybody who wants a man?" a little flicker of a smile shot across crawford's face. "we're all looking for men--good men--all the time. i can use a half-dozen more cow-punchers right now. do you want to try it?" conniston's one glance of the girl's eager face decided him. "i've always had a curiosity to know what they did when they punched the poor brutes," he grinned back. "and i can work out that dollar i owe you too, can't i?" "you're engaged," returned mr. crawford, crisply. "thirty dollars a month and found. i'll have one of the boys show you where the bunk-house is. you'll begin work in the morning." chapter vi as the significance of his change of fortunes began slowly to dawn on him, conniston was at first merely amused. one of the men employed by john w. crawford, a man whom conniston came to know later as rawhide jones, conducted him at the old man's orders to the bunk-house. the man was lean, tall, sunburned, and the _tout ensemble_ of his attire--his flapping, soiled vest, his turned-up, dingy-blue overalls, his torn neck-handkerchief, and, above all, the two-weeks' growth upon his spare face--gave him an unbelievable air of untidiness. he cast one slow, measuring glance at the young fellow who mr. crawford had said briefly was to go to work in the morning, and then without a word, without a further look or waiting to see if he was followed, slouched on ahead toward the gap in the encircling trees into which lonesome pete had disappeared earlier in the afternoon. conniston saw that argyl crawford was standing at her father's side and that she was smiling; he saw that hapgood was laughing openly. and then he turned and strode on after his guide, conscious that the blood was creeping up into his face and at the same time that he could not "back down." the graveled road wound through the pines for an eighth of a mile, leaving the bench land and finding its way into a hollow cleared of trees. here was a long, low, rambling building--a stable, no doubt. at each end of the stable was a stock-corral. and at the edge of the clearing was another building, long and very low, with one single door and several little square windows. a stove-pipe protruded from the far end of this house, and from it rose a thin spiral of smoke. "the ol' man said i was to show you your bunk," rawhide jones muttered under his breath. "you're to have the one as was benny's. benny got kilt some time back." he flung the door open and entered. conniston, at his heels, paused a moment, staring about him. a man in dingy-blue undershirt, the sleeves rolled back upon forearms remarkable for their knotting, swelling muscles, was frying great thick steaks upon the top of the stove, enveloped in the smoke and odor of his own cooking. in the middle of the room was a long table, covered with worn oil-cloth, set out with plates and cups of heavy white ware and with black wooden-handled knives and forks. running up and down each side of the one unpartitioned room were narrow bunks, a row close to the floor, another row three feet higher, arranged roughly like berths on board a steamer. sitting on chairs, or on the edges of the bunks with their legs a-dangle, their eyes interestedly upon the cook's operations, were half a dozen men, rough of garb, rough of hands, big, brawny, uncouth. as conniston came into the room every pair of eyes left the cook to examine him swiftly, frankly. he paused a moment for the introduction rawhide jones would make. but rawhide jones had no idea of doing anything more than enough to fulfil his orders. he strode on through the men until he stopped at one of the upper bunks, about the middle of the room, from which a worn, soiled red quilt trailed half-way to the floor. "this here was benny's. it's yourn now." he had turned away, and, standing with his big hands resting upon his hips, was watching the cook. and conniston saw that all of the other men, seemingly forgetful of his entrance, were again doing the same thing. he felt suddenly a deep lonesomeness, greater a thousand times than when he had been actually alone under the spell of the desert. for here there were men about him who, having seen him, turned away, shutting him out from them, with no one word of greeting, not so much as a nod. he was not in the habit of being received this way. it was, his sensitive nature told him, as though he had been examined by them, had been recognized as an alien, and had had the doors of their fraternity clicked in his face. he felt a sudden bitterness, a sudden anger. and with it he felt a deep contempt for them, for their petty, unenlightened lives, their coarseness, their blackened hands and unshaved faces. he was a gentleman and a conniston! he was the son of william conniston, of wall street! he told himself that when they came to know who he was, who his father was, their incivility would change fast enough into servility. and still he had as much as he could do to keep the little hurt, the sting of his reception, from showing in his face. he glanced as disgustedly as hapgood could have done into the rude bunk with its tangled pile of coarse blankets, and turned away from it. for one fleeting second the temptation was strong upon him to turn his back upon the lot of them, to stalk proudly to the door, to go to mr. crawford and tell him that he was not used to this sort of thing and did not intend to try to grow accustomed to it. one thing only restrained him. he knew that even as he closed the door behind him he would hear their voices in rude laughter, and greek conniston did not like being laughed at. instead he left the bunk and walked quietly to one of the farther chairs. the air of the bunk-house was already thick with smoke from the stove and from cigarettes and pipes. conniston took out his own pipe, filled it, and, sitting back, added his smoke to the rest. the cook had turned to say something to rawhide jones, and, carelessly putting his hand behind him, blistered it against the red-hot top of the stove, whereupon he burst into such a volley of curses as conniston had never heard. the words which streamed from the big man's mouth actually made conniston shiver. he turned questioning eyes to the other men in the room. they were again talking to one another, no man of them seeming to have so much as heard. rawhide jones laughed at the cook's discomfiture and went back to the door, where he washed his face and hands at a little basin, plastered his wet hair down as his companions had already done, and dropped into easy conversation with the heavy, round-shouldered, yellow-haired man sitting across the room from conniston. "looks like the ol' man means real business, huh, spud?" spud answered with a joyous oath that it certainly looked like it. "he's puttin' brayley in on this en' an' takin' ol' bat truxton clean off'n it to throw him onto the rattlesnake," spud went on. "bat 'll have nigh on a hundred men down there workin' overtime before the week's up, he says. i guess he'll have his paws full without tryin' to run the cow en', too." "an' i reckon," continued jones, thoughtfully, "as how brayley won't sleep all the time up here. he's got to swing the whole half moon an' the lone dog an' the five hills an' the sunk hole outfit." he shook his head and spat before he concluded. "what with the ol' man buyin' the sunk hole, an' figgerin' on marketin' in injun creek, an' crowdin' work down in the rattlesnake, brayley 'll be some busy if he don't take on another big bunch of punchers. huh?" spud made no answer, for at this juncture the cook put a big platter of steak, piled high, upon the table, and the men, dragging their chairs after them, waited no other invitation "to set in." conniston for a moment held back. then, as he saw that there were several vacant places, he took up his own chair and sat down at the end of the table nearest him. the man at his left helped himself to meat by harpooning the largest piece in sight and dragging it, dripping, over the edge of the platter and to his own plate. then he shoved the platter toward conniston without looking to see whether or not it arrived at its proper destination, and gave his undivided attention to the dish of boiled potatoes which the man upon his left had shoved at him. conniston, helping himself slowly, found soon that the potatoes, the rice, and a tray of biscuits were all lodged at his elbow, waiting to be ferried on around the end of the table. for a few moments all conversation died utterly. these men had done a day's work, a day's work calling upon straining muscles and unslacking energy, and their hunger was an active thing. they plied their knives and forks, took great draughts of their hot tea and coffee, with little attention to aught else. but presently, as their hunger began to be appeased, they broke into conversation again, talking of a hundred range matters of which conniston understood almost nothing. he drew from the fragments which reached him above the general clatter the same thing that he had got from the few words which had passed between rawhide jones and spud. evidently, the cowboys were pressed with work both on the half moon and on the other ranges, and the new foreman, brayley, was putting on more men and sparing no one in carrying out the orders which came from headquarters. equally apparently, the man whom they called bat truxton was in command of the reclamation work in rattlesnake valley, and now with a force of a hundred men was working with an activity even more feverish than brayley's. during the meal five more men came in, and with a word of rough greeting to their fellows dropped into their chairs and helped themselves deftly. conniston recognized one of the men as the half-breed, joe, whom he had seen meet miss crawford in indian creek. another was lonesome pete. conniston was more gratified than he knew when the red-headed reader of "macbeth" nodded to him and said a quiet "howdy." the last man to come in was brayley. he was a big man, a trifle shorter than conniston, but heavier, with broader shoulders, rounded from years in the saddle, with great, deep chest, and thick, powerful arms. he lurched lightly as he walked, his left shoulder thrust forward as though he were constantly about to fling open a door with its solid impact. he was a man of forty, perhaps, and as active of foot as a boy. his heavy, belligerent jaw, the sharp, beady blackness of his eyes, the whole alert, confident air of him bespoke the born foreman. conniston was conscious of the piercing black eyes as they swept the table and rested on him. he noticed that brayley alone of the men who had entered late had no word of greeting for the others, received no single word from them. and he saw further, wondering vaguely what it meant, that as the big foreman came in the eyes of all the others went first to him and then to conniston. brayley stopped a moment at the door, washing his face and hands swiftly, carelessly, satisfied in rubbing a good part of the evidence of the day's toil upon the towel hanging upon a nail close at hand. three strokes with the community comb, dangling from a bit of string, and jerking his neck-handkerchief into place, he lurched toward the table. five feet away he stopped suddenly, his eyes burning into conniston's. "who might you be, stranger?" he snapped, his words coming with unpleasant, almost metallic sharpness. there fell a sudden silence in the bunk-house. knives and forks ceased their clatter while the cowboys turned interested eyes upon the easterner. conniston caught the unveiled threat in the foreman's tones, saw that he had come in in the mood of a man ready to find fault, and took an instinctive disliking for the man he was being paid a dollar a day to take orders from. he returned brayley's glance steadily, angered more at knowing that the blood was again creeping up into his cheeks than because of the curt question. and, staring at him steadily, he made no further answer. "can't you talk?" cried brayley, angrily. "are you deef an' dumb? i said, who might you be?" "i heard you," replied conniston, quietly. and to the man upon his left, "will you kindly pass me the bread?" the man grinned in rare enjoyment, and, since he kept his eyes upon brayley's glowering face, it was hardly strange that he handed conniston a plate of stewed prunes instead. "thank you," conniston said to him, still ignoring brayley. "but it was bread i said." "an' i said something!" cut in brayley, his voice crisp and incisive. "did you get me?" "i got you, friend." conniston put out his hand for the bread and caught a gleam of sparkling amusement in lonesome pete's eyes from across the table. "and maybe after you tell me who you are i might answer you." "me!" thundered the big man, lurching one step nearer, his under jaw thrust still farther out. "me! i'm brayley, that's who i am! an' i'm the foreman of this here outfit." "thank you, brayley." conniston's anger was pounding in his temples, but he strove to keep it back. "i'm conniston. i was told to report here by mr. crawford to go to work in the morning. i suppose i report to you?" "conniston are you, huh? all right, conniston. now who happened to tell you to slap yourself down in that there chair, huh?" "nobody," returned conniston, calmly. "i didn't suppose that i was to stand up and eat." lonesome pete's grin overran his eyes, and the ends of his fiery mustache curved upward. two or three men laughed outright. brayley's brows twitched into a scowling frown. "nobody's askin' you to git funny, little rooster! you git out 'n that chair an' git out 'n it fas'. _sabe?_" calm-blooded by nature and by long habit, conniston had mastered the flood of blood to his brain and grown perfectly cool. brayley, on the other hand, had come in in a seething rage from a tussle with a colt in which his stirrup leather had broken and he had rolled in the dust of the corral, to the boundless glee of two or three of his men who had seen it, and now there was nothing to restrain his anger. conniston was laughing into his face. "i hear you," he said, lightly. "my ears are good, and your voice is not bad by any means. only i'd really like to know why you want me to get up. is it custom here for a new man to remain standing until the foreman is seated? if i am violating any customs--" again brayley took one lurching step forward. conniston pushed his chair back so that his feet were clear of the table leg. "i say, brayley"--lonesome pete had half risen from his chair and was speaking softly--"conniston here didn't know. nobody put him wise as how you sat in that particular chair. an'," even more softly, "he's a frien' of mr. crawford." "who's askin' you to chip in?" challenged brayley, his eyes flashing for the moment from conniston to lonesome pete. "an' if he's a frien' of crawford's, why ain't he up to the house instead of down here? huh?" lonesome pete shrugged his shoulders and settled back into his chair. "slip me a sinker, rawhide," he said, quietly, to the man next to him as though he had lost all interest in the conversation. "frien' of the ol' man's or no frien'," blustered brayley, his eyes again on conniston's, "if you're goin' to work i guess you're goin' to take orders from me like the rest of the boys. an' the first order is, _git out'n that there chair!_" "look here," conniston replied, quietly, "i didn't know that i was taking a seat reserved for you, and i didn't mean any offense. you can take that as a sort of an apology if you like. but at the same time, even if i am to take orders from you, i am not going to be bulldozed by you or anybody like you. if you will ask me decently--" "ask you!" bellowed brayley. "ask you! by the lord, i don't _ask_ my men! i _make_ 'em!" he had leaped forward with his last word, his two big hands outstretched with clawing fingers. before conniston could spring from his chair to meet the attack the iron hands were upon his shoulders. he felt himself being lifted bodily from his seat. his weight was scarcely less than the irate foreman's, and he employed every pound of it as he staggered to his feet and flung himself against his burly antagonist. the men about the table sat still, watching, saying no word. conniston's strength was less than the other's, and he knew it, knew that his endurance would be nothing against the muscles seasoned by daily physical work until they were like steel. he knew that in two minutes of battling struggle he would be like a kitten in the big, powerful hands. and he was of no mind to have brayley manhandle him before such an audience as was now sitting quietly watching, listening to his panting breaths. in one straining effort he jerked his right shoulder free, swung his clenched fist back, and drove it smashing into brayley's face. brayley's head snapped back, and the blood from his cut mouth ran across his white, bared teeth. conniston sprang forward to follow up the blow. but brayley had caught his balance and was leaping to meet him, snarling. his hard, toil-blackened fist drove through conniston's guard, striking him full upon the jaw. conniston reeled, and before he could catch himself a second blow caught him under the ear, and with outflung arms he pitched backward and fell, striking the back of his head upon the rough boards of the floor. for one dizzy moment the world went black for him. and then it went red, flaming, flaring red, as he heard a man's laugh. an anger the like of which he had never known in the placid days of his easy life was upon him, an anger which made him forget all things under the arch of heaven excepting the one man with bloody fists glaring into his eyes, an anger blind and hot and primitive. again he knew that he was on his feet; again he was rushing at the man who stood waiting for him. "stan' back!" roared brayley. "i ain't goin' to play with you all day." conniston laughed and did not know that he had done so. he only saw that brayley had stepped back a pace, and that he had something, black but glistening in the pale light, tight clenched in his hand. crying out hoarsely, inarticulately, he threw himself forward. again brayley met him, this time the revolver in his hand thrust before him. it was almost in conniston's face now. somebody cried out sharply. several of the men jumped from their seats and leaped out from behind conniston. two or three of them slipped under the table to crawl out on the other side. then conniston saw what the something was in brayley's hand. "shoot, you dirty coward!" he yelled, as he swung his arm out toward the big six-shooter. for one moment brayley seemed to hesitate. and then as the two men came together the barrel of the gun rose and fell swiftly, striking conniston full upon the forehead. his arms dropped like lead; the dizzy blackness came back upon him, growing blacker, blacker; and he fell silently, unconsciously. it was very quiet in the bunk-house when he opened his eyes. a sudden pain through the temples, a rising nausea, blackness and dizziness again, made him close them, frowning. he knew that he was lying in his bunk and that he was very weak. there was a cold, wet towel tied tight about his forehead. the table had been cleared away, and the cook was finishing his dish-washing by the stove. a lantern swinging from the beam which ran across the middle of the room showed him that all the men were in their bunks with the exception of two who were playing cribbage at the table. they were lonesome pete and rawhide jones. when they saw him leaning out from his bunk lonesome pete put down his cards and came to him. "how're they comin', stranger?" he asked, with no great expression in either eyes or voice. "where's brayley?" demanded conniston, quickly. "he ain't here none jest now. no, he ain't exac'ly ran away, nuther. brayley ain't the kind as runs away. he was sent for to come to the lone dog, where there's some kind of trouble on. seein' as that's thirty mile or worse, the chances is he'll ride mos' all night an' won't be back for a day or two." conniston sank back upon his straw pillow. "what i have to say to him will keep," he said, quietly. the red-headed man looked at him curiously. "brayley's the boss on this outfit, pardner. what he says goes as she lays. it's sure bad business buckin' your foreman. if you can't hit it up agreeable like, you better quit." for a moment conniston lay silent, plucking with nervous fingers at the worn red quilt. "what did he do to me?" he asked, presently. "hit me over the head with a revolver?" lonesome pete nodded. "that's what you call fair play out in the west?" "what fooled me, conniston, is that he didn't drill a couple er holes through you! he ain't used to bein' so careful an' tender-hearted-like, brayley ain't." "just because i'm to work under him, does that mean that in the eye of you men he had a right--" an uplifted hand stopped him. "when two men has onpleasant words it ain't up to anybody else to say who's right. us fellers has jest got to creep lively out'n the line of bullets an' let the two men most interested settle that theirselves. only i don't mind sayin', jest frien'ly like, as it is considered powerful foolish for a man to prance skallyhutin' into a mixup as is apt to smash things considerable onless he's heeled." "heeled? you mean--" lonesome pete whipped one of the guns from his sagging belt and laid it close to conniston's pillow. "that when a man's got one of them where he can find it easy he ain't got to take nothin' off'n nobody! an' one man's jest as good as another, whether he's foreman or a thirty-dollar puncher! an' bein' as we got to go to work early in the mornin', i reckon you better roll over an' hit the hay!" he turned abruptly and went back to his discarded hand. and greek conniston, the son of william conniston, of wall street, lay back upon his bunk and thought deeply of many things. chapter vii the next day the gates of a new world opened for greek conniston. and it was a world which he liked little enough. the cook, rattling his pots and pans and stove-lids, woke him long before it was four o'clock. one by one the men tumbled out, dressed swiftly, washed and combed their hair at the low bench by the door, and then sat about smoking or wandered away to the stable to attend to their horses. at four o'clock the table was set, coffee and biscuits and steaks sending out their odors to float together upon the morning air. conniston got up with the others and washed at the common basin, contenting himself with running his fingers through his hair rather than to use the one broken-toothed comb. one or two of the boys said a short "mornin'" to him, but the most of them seemed to see him no more than they had when he had entered the bunk-house last evening. lonesome pete nodded to him and, when they all sat down, indicated a chair at his side for him to sit in. there was a great bruise upon his forehead and a cut where the muzzle of brayley's gun had struck him, but he was surprised to find that both dizziness and faintness had passed entirely and that he was feeling little inconvenience from the blow which last night had stretched him out unconscious. he ate with the others in silence, making no reference to brayley, noting that they gave no evidence of remembering the trouble of last night. the fare was coarse, and he was not used to such dishes for breakfast any more than he was used to getting up at four o'clock to eat them. but he was hungry, and the coffee and the biscuits were good. after breakfast he found himself outside of the bunk-house with lonesome pete. "when brayley's away," the cowboy was saying, over his cigarette-making, "rawhide jones takes his place. an' rawhide says you're to come with me an' give me a hand over to the cross-fence. i guess we'd better be makin' a start, huh?" conniston went with him to the stable. "we ain't brought in any extry hosses," pete was explaining, as they came into one of the corrals. "you'll ride your own to-day?" in one of the stalls conniston found the horse he had ridden from indian creek, with his saddle, bridle, spurs, and chaps hanging upon wooden pegs. and in the next stall he saw the horse hapgood had ridden. "hasn't hapgood gone yet?" he asked of pete. "i don't reckon he has. he had supper with the ol' man up to the house las' night. an' i guess he's stayed over to res' up." they swung to their horses' backs and rode through the trees and on eastward across a long grassy slope from which the shadows of the night were just beginning to lift. as day came on conniston saw that ahead of them for miles ran a barren-looking, treeless country, rising on the one hand to the foot of the mountains, falling away gradually on the other to the big flat. they rode swiftly, side by side, for five miles, passing through many grazing herds of cattle, many smaller bands of horses. and finally, when they came to a wire fence running north and south, lonesome pete swung down from his saddle. on the ground near the fence were hammers, a pick, a shovel, and a crowbar. the old barley-sack at the foot of one of the posts gave out the jingle of nails as pete's boot struck against it. and conniston, dismounting and tying his horse, began his first lesson in fence-repairing. the loose wires they tightened with the short iron bar, in the end of which a v-shaped cut had been made. while pete caught the slack wire with this bar, and, using the post as a fulcrum, the bar as a lever, drew it taut, conniston with hammer and staples made it secure. now and again they found a rotten post which must be taken out, while a new one from a row which had been dumped from a wagon yesterday was put into its place. it was easy work, and conniston found, that he rather enjoyed the novelty of it. but as hour after hour dragged by with the same unceasing monotony, as the sun crept burning into the hot sky, and the wires, the crowbar, even the pick-handle blistered his hands, he began to feel the cramp of fatigue in his stooping shoulders and in his forearms and back. noon came at last, and he and lonesome pete ate the cold lunch which the latter had brought, drank from the bottle of water, and lay down for a smoke. conniston had left his pipe at the bunk-house, and accepted from his fellow-worker his coarse, cheap tobacco and brown papers. the morning had been endlessly long. the afternoon was an eternity. it was hotter now that the sun had rolled past the zenith, now that the sand had drunk deep of its fiery rays. the air shimmered and danced above the gray monotone of flat country, conniston's eyeballs were burning with it. and back and arms and shoulders ached together. he had hoped that they would quit work at five o'clock. five o'clock came and went, and the red-headed man said no word of stopping. half-past five, six o'clock. and still they tightened wires, hammered burning staples, dug endless post-holes. conniston's hands were torn with the sharp staples, blistered with the work. half-past six, and he was ready to throw down his tools and quit. but a glance at his companion's face, sweat-covered but showing nothing of the fatigue of the day, and conniston held doggedly to his work, ashamed to stop. and, together with the breathless heat of the still afternoon, the ache and dizziness returned to his head where brayley's gun had struck him; a new and growing nausea told him that a man is not knocked unconscious one day to forget all about it the next. as he straightened up from bending over the lowest wire, nausea and faintness together threatened to make him throw up his hands and acknowledge himself unfit for the new sort of existence into which he had rushed carelessly. he was not certain why, in spite of all that he felt, he held on. he knew only that as the son of william conniston he must be the superior in all things to the man who worked at his side like a machine; he knew that in spite of his liking for lonesome pete he held the cowboy in a mild contempt, and that he must not be outdone by him. when at length the sun had sunk out of sight through the flaming colors of its own weaving in the flat lands to the west, and lonesome pete threw down his tools at the foot of the last post which they had planted in the sandy soil, conniston was too tired to greatly care that the day was done. he refused the proffered cigarette, and slowly walked away to where his horse was waiting for him. he did not know that the other man was looking at him curiously, that there was much amusement and a hint of surprise in the bright-blue eyes. he knew only that he had toiled from before sunrise until after sunset; that the waking hours to which he had been long accustomed had been turned topsy-turvy; that instead of spending money he had been making money; that he had earned his board and lodging and one dollar! and even while he ached and throbbed throughout his whole weary body he was vaguely amused at that. when finally they came again into the half moon corrals lonesome pete carelessly offered to unsaddle for conniston and water and feed his horse. and conniston, while not ungrateful, answered with short doggedness that he could do his own part of the work. they came to the bunk-house to find that several of the boys had eaten before them, that two or three of them were already in bed. the cook, however, had supper waiting for them, kept hot in the oven of his big stove. conniston knew that he was hungry; during the ride in he had thought longingly of a hot meal and bed. but now he learned what it was to be hungry and at the same time too tired to eat. he drank some coffee, ate a little bread and butter, and, pushing his plate away, climbed into his bunk. he thought longingly of silk pajamas and a hot bath--and started up finding himself half asleep, dreaming of miles of wire fence, of hammering staples and tightening wires, of laboring with breaking back over holes which, as fast as he dug them, filled with the shifting sand. and then--it seemed to him that he had been in bed ten minutes--he heard the cook rattling his pots and pans and stove-lids, and knew that the night had gone and that the second day of his new life had come. the first day had been purgatory. the second was hell. his raw, blistered fingers shrank from his hammer-handle, from the sun-heated iron bar. the muscles which through long idleness had grown soft, and which had been taxed all day yesterday, cried out with sharp pains as to-day they were called upon. he had thought that the night would have rested him; instead it had but made his arms and hands and back stiff and unfit. when ten o'clock came he felt as tired as he had been last night at quitting-time. the heat was more intense, the day sultry, with a thin film of clouds across the gray sky allowing the sun's rays to scorch the earth, refusing to let the sand radiate the heat which clung to it like a bank of heavy steam. their water-bottle, although they kept it always in the shade of some scorched tree or bush, grew as warm as the air about it. still conniston drank great quantities of the warm water until even it warred against him and made him sick. all morning long he fought against a dull, throbbing headache. at noontime he ate little, but sat still, with his bursting temples between his hands. again the afternoon dragged on, unbearably long, each tortuous second a slow period of agony. lonesome pete's stories of the range country he heard, while he did not attempt to grasp their significance. they no longer amused him. his own position, his own condition, no longer amused him. he felt that he could not laugh; he knew that he would not. he told himself over and over that he was a fool for attempting drudgery like this. he vowed that when at last the day's work was done he would go to mr. crawford and say, "i have worked off what i owe you. i am going to quit." they could think what they chose. they could laugh if it pleased them. his was a finer nature than theirs; he was a gentleman, thank god, and no day-laborer. and night came, and he ate what he could and dragged himself into his bunk in silence. he saw the glances which were directed toward him when he came into the bunk-house; he knew what the men were thinking. he knew what they would say. and while it had been pride until now, now it was nothing in the world but lack of moral courage which made him stick to the thing which he hated. this day again he had seen roger hapgood's horse in the stable. he had heard one of the men say that hapgood was still resting up at the house as a guest. he himself had not had a fleeting glimpse of argyl crawford, and he knew that hapgood was seeing her constantly. a quick bitterness made up of resentment and a kind of jealousy sprang up within him. he knew that at least the girl was blameless, and yet he blamed her. he told himself, knowing that he was wrong, that she was unfair, unjust, even unkind. the third day came. it was longer, drearier, wearier than the other two had been. he began to fear that soon he should have to give up. his body, instead of becoming gradually inured to the long hours of toil, seemed to be gradually succumbing to them. he felt that he was wearing out, breaking down. he did not know if hapgood were still on the half moon or if he had gone. he did not greatly care. brayley was back from the lone dog. he saw him at night when he came into the bunk-house. he and brayley looked at each other, saying no word. brayley turned with a casual remark to one of the men; conniston took his place at the table. still they said nothing to each other, each man knowing without words that what had passed between them was passed until some new incident should arise to settle matters for them. brayley, being quick of eye, saw that conniston had adopted at least one of the customs of the range, and that he carried a revolver at his belt. the third day was friday. conniston determined to work saturday. then he would have sunday for rest. and when sunday afternoon came he could quit if he felt that his aching body had not recuperated enough to make the following week bearable. but he had yet to learn that in the rush of busy days on the range there is no sunday. for sunday morning came and brought no opportunity to sleep until noon. breakfast was ready at the usual dim hour, and the men went to work as they had on every day since he came to the half moon. they knew what he did not, that for many weeks to come they might have no single day off. and they understood, and did not complain. brayley stopped him that morning as he was going out of the bunk-house door with lonesome pete. "we got something else to do besides tinker with ol' fences," he said, roughly. "pete, you got to git along alone to-day. i'll give you a man to-morrow if i can spare one. conniston, you git your hoss an' go with rawhide an' toothy." not stopping for an answer, brayley lurched away toward the range-house. lonesome pete, nodding his red head to show that he had heard, filled his water-bottle and got the lunch the cook had ready for him. and conniston, wondering vaguely what work the sunday was to bring for him, turned silently and followed rawhide and the man whom they called toothy to the stables. toothy was a little man, so stubborn, they said, that he even refused to let the sun brown his skin. instead of being the coppery hue of his companions, the parchment-like stuff drawn tight over his high cheek-bones was a dirty yellow. his eyes were small, set close together, and squinted eternally in a sort of mirthless grin. his teeth, which had given him his name, were the most conspicuous of his odd features. the two front incisors of his upper jaw protruded outward so as to close when his mouth was shut--and generally it wasn't--over his lower lip. he was the smallest man on the range and by long odds the ugliest. but he could ride! conniston was sorry to be separated from lonesome pete, the only man of the outfit with whom he spoke a dozen words a day, the only man who did not treat him as a rank outsider and an alien. but, on the other hand, he was glad that he was to be given a respite from the blistering wires of the cross-fence, that he was to be given change of work. and when he learned what the work was he was doubly glad. the three men were to ride twenty miles from the bunk-house to the lower corrals of the lone dog to gather up a herd of steers there and drive them across to the sunk hole. it would mean long hours in the saddle, but conniston told himself that riding, urging on lagging cattle, would be almost rest after the drudgery of the last four days. and in some elusive way, not clear to himself, he felt that this work carried with it a bit less humiliation than the sort of "hired man's work" which he had been doing with lonesome pete. like many men who know of the range only what they have read in books, only what they have seen in breezy pictures, it seemed to conniston that there could be no life so lazy as that of the cowboy who has nothing to do but ride a spirited horse, day in and day out to drive sluggish-blooded cows from one pasture to another or to a market-place, to watch over them as they grazed, or to ride along the outskirts of a scattering herd to see that they did not stray beyond a set boundary-line. that life, as he saw it, was an existence without responsibility, without fatigue, even tinged with something of exhilaration as one galloped up and down over wide grassy meadows. to-day he began to learn that a gay-colored picture may hide quite as much as it shows. they left the half moon corrals at a gentle canter, conniston swinging along beside the other men, actually enjoying himself. he wondered at the deliberate slowness with which rawhide jones and toothy began their errand. for he had heard the few short orders which brayley had given, and he knew that to-day was a day of haste, with much to be done. but before they had cantered more than a mile across the rolling country to the west he saw that there was going to be no loitering. they had ridden slowly only until their horses had "warmed up," and now, shaking out their reins loosely, they swept on at a pace which allowed of little conversation. they drew away from the half moon corrals at four o'clock. it was not yet six when they pulled in their panting, sweat-covered horses at the corrals of the lone dog. these corrals were at the lower, eastern end of the lone dog, and some ten miles from the lone dog bunk-house. to reach them the three men had ridden across three spurs of the mountains, across much rough country, and always at a swinging gallop. conniston's legs, where they rubbed against the sweat leathers of his saddle, were already chafed and raw. with the day's work still ahead of him he was tired and sore. he was more glad than he was willing to confess even to himself when he saw the corrals ahead. for now, he assured himself, there could be little to do but jog along after a slow-moving body of cattle. the three big corrals were crowded with a bellowing, churning, restless mass of cattle, big, long-horned steers for the most part, and vicious-looking. in a much smaller inclosure were a few saddle-horses--half-broken colts, to look at them--thrusting their long noses above their fence to stare at the seething jam of cattle, or, with tails and manes flying, to run here and there snorting. two men on horseback were sitting idly near the corrals, seeming to have nothing in all the world to do but smoke cigarettes and watch the milling cattle. conniston drew rein with his companions as they stopped for a word with the two men from the lone dog. and then he followed them when they turned and rode to the little corral. the horses in it bunched up, quick-eyed, alert, at the far side of the inclosure. rawhide jones and toothy as they rode were taking down the ropes coiled upon their saddles. "we're goin' to change hosses here," rawhide said, shortly. "pick out one for yourse'f, conniston." they had ridden into the corral, their ropes in their hands, each man dragging a wide loop at his right side. toothy rode swiftly into the knot of horses, scattered them, and, as they shot across the corral, sent his rope flying out over their heads. the long loop widened into a circle, hissed through the air, and settled about the neck of a little pinto mare, tightening as it fell. a quick turn about the horn of his saddle, and toothy set up his own horse. the pinto mare, checked in her headlong flight, swung about, confronting her captor with quivering nostrils and belligerent, flashing eyes. almost at the same instant rawhide's rope obeyed rawhide's hand as toothy's had done, settling unerringly about the neck of a second horse. and conniston, with grave misdoubtings and a thumping heart, took his own rope into his hand and rode among the untamed brutes, one of which he was to ride. here was another thing which seemed, upon the face of it, so simple and which was simple--to the range born and bred. he knew that there were four men watching him as he fumbled awkwardly with his rope. he knew that in spite of their grave faces they were laughing inwardly. he found that to hold the coil of rope in his left hand while that same hand must keep a tight rein upon his mount, to whirl the widening loop with his right, throwing it at just the right second with just the right force, was one of the things which in pictures looked to be so easy and which were not at all easy to accomplish. he grew hot and red as he became entangled in his own rope. at last he selected a big roan and threw his rope. he threw awkwardly and a second too late. the loop fell fifteen paces behind the horse, who had seen, understood, and shot by in a flash. again he coiled his rope, drawing it in to him as he had seen the others do; again he threw, and again he missed. he heard rawhide jones curse softly, contemptuously. now the horse which he was riding began to plunge and rear, frightened at the rope which now fell upon its back, now struck its flanks in the unskilled hands of the man who was growing the more awkward as his anger surged higher within him. "you blame fool!" yelled rawhide jones. "what in hell are you tryin' to do? want to throw your own cayuse?" conniston glared at him and again coiled his rope. the big roan was once more surrounded by a crowd of his fellows, his ears erect, his long neck outstretched, his eyes watchful and distrustful. the man who was beginning to look upon lassoing as a sheer matter of sleight of hand made his loop again carefully, slowly, trying to convince himself that here was an easy matter, and that the next time he should succeed. and even as he began whirling it above his head, one half of both mind and muscle given over to restrain his nervous mount, he saw another rope shoot out from behind him and settle, tightening, about the roan's neck. "bein' as we ain't got all summer to practise up lass'in' bosses," toothy murmured, apologetically. conniston tied his rope to his saddle-strings in silence. after all, there was something to do beyond sit in a saddle. and he soon found that even that was not always play. for the roan which he had selected fought at having the saddle thrown upon his back, so that toothy had to lend a helping hand. and when the cinch was drawn tight he fought at being mounted. he had been broken, at least--and at most--as much broken as the rest of the three and four year olds in the corral. but he had not been ridden above a dozen times, and certainly had not known the feel of rope or bridle or saddle for months. when at last conniston got his foot into the stirrup and swung up, violating all range ethics by "pulling leather," the colt shot through the gate of the corral which rawhide jones had thrown open, and across the uneven plain, determined, since he could not run away from his enemy, to run away with him. at home conniston was accounted an excellent horseman. that meant that he was used to horses, that he rode gracefully, that he was not afraid of them. horses like the maddened, terrified brutes in the corral, like the quivering, frantic thing he precariously bestrode, he had never even seen. and still, because he was doggedly determined not to fail in everything, because he knew that the men who were watching were enjoying themselves hugely and that they would be greatly delighted to see him thrown, he at last stopped his horse, and with spur and quirt urged him back to the corrals. the roan still fought, still half bucked. but he had not entirely forgotten his past defeats in encounters like this, and finally allowed himself to be mastered. then began the real day's work. there were perhaps fifty cows and young heifers in the corrals which were to be left behind, as only the steers were to be driven across country to the sunk hole. while rawhide jones and toothy rode into one of the corrals conniston was to sit his horse at the open gate, allowing the steers to run by him into the open, but heading off any of the smaller cattle. the two lone dog men were together working another corral. steer after steer passed by conniston as he held his horse aside, keeping a watchful eye for the cows. rawhide and toothy were "cutting them out" as best they could, urging the steers toward the gate, trying to keep the cows to the far side of the inclosure. but again and again a quick-footed heifer pressed her slender body against that of some big, long-horned steer, running with him. that she did not pass through the gate was conniston's lookout. they were not sluggish-blooded brutes. they were as swift as a horse almost, quick-footed, alert to leap forward or to stop with sharp hoofs cutting the dry dirt, and swing shortly to the side. in a sudden onrush toward him conniston shut off one cow by forcing his horse in front of her and threatening her with his waving quirt. as she turned and ran back into the mass behind her he saw two more cows running toward the gate. he swung his horse and dashed at them. but they had seen their opportunity, they had grasped it, and they shot through the gate, mingling with the herd outside. again rawhide cursed him, and conniston made no answer, having none to make. he gave over his place silently at rawhide's surly order and rode over to aid toothy. and he marveled at the ease with which rawhide did the thing which he himself had found simple from a distance and impossible near at hand. at last, behind the scattering herd of running cattle, they left the corrals and the lone dog men behind, and began their drive forty miles to the sunk hole. now a man must be a hundred places at the same time. in twenty minutes the three horses were wet and dripping with sweat. the herd was one which ordinarily, when there was not so much requiring to be done at once on the ranges, half a dozen men would have handled. the steers were wild; they were as stubborn as hogs; there was no narrow, fenced-in road to keep them in the way they should go. they broke back again and again; they turned off to right and left by ones and twos, by scores. while conniston galloped after one of them that had left the others and broken into a run to the right the main part of the herd over which he should have been watching took advantage of the opportunity to lose themselves in the timbered gulches to the left. both rawhide jones and toothy had to ride with him to drive them out of the gulches and back to the herd. conniston learned that day how a cattle-man can swear--and why. he learned that a steer is not the easiest thing in the world to handle, that sometimes he is not content with fleeing from his natural enemy, but charges with lowered horns and froth-dripping mouth upon man and horse. he learned many, many little things that day, and some big things. and the biggest thing came to him suddenly, and brought a look into his eyes which had never been there before. he learned that greek conniston, the son of william conniston, of wall street, was the most inefficient man upon the range. chapter viii day followed day in an endless round of range duties, and two weeks had passed since greek conniston began work for the half moon outfit. he admitted to himself over many a solitary pipeful of cheap tobacco that miss argyl crawford had been the reason for his coming out into the wilderness. and he asked himself what good his coming had done. he had not so much as caught a fleeting glimpse of her since her father had engaged him to go to work at thirty dollars a month. he did not even know that she was still on the range, that she had not gone to crawfordsville, where her father had a house, where he owned the electric-lighting plant, the water system, and a general merchandise store, and where both father and daughter spent many weeks each year. the range-house, although but a few hundred yards distant from the bunk-house, might as well have been in the next county. news from it seldom filtered to the men's sleeping-quarters. the foreman, brayley now, bat truxton before him, reported frequently to mr. crawford at his office in the big building, took orders from him there, advised with him. the other men went there only when they were sent for, and that was not more than half a dozen times yearly, when that many. conniston knew that hapgood had stayed with the crawfords two or three days, resting up, as he overheard brayley say with a fine scorn, and that then he had gone on into crawfordsville. conniston supposed that by now he had borrowed money and, if not again in new york, was on his way thither. of all else of the doings in the big house he was as ignorant as though he had never crossed the desert lands between the half moon and indian creek. conniston most of all men working for mr. crawford felt that he could not go to the house. he had come to these people as an equal, as one of their own station in life, even from a plane a bit higher than theirs. when he had gone to work he had not thought that he was to be put upon the same footing as every ignorant laborer who drew his pay from the owner of the half moon. he had thought that it would be a lark, that he would come to the house and laugh with the girl over his days of rubbing elbows with thirty-dollar-a-month men. that he would be, in a way, a guest. now it was evident that they had forgotten him, that if they thought of conniston it was merely to remember that he was one of the common outfit. and conniston's pride told him that if they chose to ignore him, to look down upon him, to shut him out of their world socially, he could do equally as well without them. which was all very well, but which did not in the least hinder him from dreaming dreams inhabited solely by a slender, lithe, graceful girl with big gray eyes like dawn skies in springtime. the two weeks had not been wasted. he had learned something, and he had made a friend. the friend was lonesome pete. night after night, with a dogged perseverance which neither towering barriers in the way of unbelievably long words nor the bantering ridicule of his fellows could affect, the red-headed man sat at the table in the bunk-house under the swinging-lamp and conned "macbeth." upon long rides across the range he carried "macbeth" in his hand, a diminutive and unsatisfactory dictionary in his hip-pocket. one day conniston and lonesome pete were riding together upon some range errand. lonesome pete was particularly interested in his study, and conniston asked him the question he had been upon the verge of asking many times. "how does it happen, pete," he said, carelessly, "that you're getting so interested in an education here of late?" pete did not answer with his usual alacrity. conniston, looking at him, about to repeat the question, thinking that it had been lost in the thud of their horses' hoofs, was considerably amazed to see the cowboy's face go as flaming a red as his hair. "look here, con," pete said, finally, his tone half belligerent, while his eyes, usually so frank, refused to meet conniston's amused regard, "what i do an' why i do it ain't any other jasper's concern, is it?" "certainly not," answered conniston, promptly. "certainly not mine. i didn't go to frolic into your personal business, pete." "i mean other jaspers, not you, con," pete continued, after they had galloped on for a moment in silence. "you been helpin' me so's i don't know how i'd 'a' made such fas' improvement without you. it's like this: here i am, gittin' along first-rate, maybe, like the res' of the boys, workin' steady, an' a few good hard iron dollars put away in a sock. an' all the time with no more eddication than a wall-eyed, year-ol' steer. an' some day, in case i might creep a ways off'n the range, i ain't no more fit to herd with real folks than that same steer is." "you're figuring, then, on leaving the range? on going to a city to live? to cut something of a dash in society? is that it, pete?" again pete blushed. "git out, con! you're joshin'! but what i says is so, an' you know it as well's i do. now, it's goin' on three months i'm down in rattlesnake valley, where the ol' man's stringin' his chips on makin' a big play. he's goin' to make a town down in that sand-pile or bust a tug; i ain't sayin' which right now. anyway, he's already got a school down there, an' they make the kids go. i figgered it out, seein' as them little freckle-nosed sons o' guns could learn readin' an' writin' an' such-like, by gravy, i could do it too!" the explanation was so simple, and lonesome pete had such difficulty in making his halting words come, and had such a way of refusing to look at conniston, that the latter began to suspect the truth. "how about the teacher, pete?" he asked, quietly, innocently. "they have a real fine teacher, i suppose? man or--woman?" "nuther! she's a lady! an' she's that smart as would make a man wonder! in case there's anything as that same miss jocelyn truxton don't know, i ain't wise to it none." "and--pretty?" lonesome pete's joyous grin was like a beam of summer sunlight. "they ain't none han'somer as ever wasted her time ridin' herd on a bunch of dirty-faced brats. say, con," a bit doubtfully, "i wouldn't mind showin' you--you ain't goin' to blow it off to the boys, are you?" conniston swore himself to secrecy and watched lonesome pete with twinkling eyes as the cowboy put his hand deep into the inside pocket of his vest--the left pocket. first he removed the safety-pin with which the top edges of the pocket were held securely together. then he brought out a bit of cardboard wrapped carefully in a wonderfully clean red handkerchief. whipping the handkerchief from the cardboard, he held out to conniston's gaze the picture it concealed. "that's her, con. an' i'll leave it to you if she ain't in the blue-ribbon class, huh?" she was pretty, decidedly pretty. very dark, evidently young, her face rounded, her mouth laughing, her eyes soft and big. and withal it was a doll-like prettiness, a prettiness which was a trifle too conscious of itself; there was a bit too much pose, too much studied effect. conniston thought that the girl's two chief characteristics were so close under the smiling surface that he could not help seeing them, and that they were, first, vanity; second, weakness. "so that's jocelyn truxton, is it?" he handed the picture back to lonesome pete, who, with a long, worshipful glance at it, restored it in its wrapping to his vest pocket. "not the daughter of bat truxton?" "you wouldn't think it to look at her after seein' him, would you?" never having seen either of them, conniston remained non-committal. "mrs. bat truxton was a boston, mass., girl, an' i reckon as how miss jocelyn takes after her." so there had sprung up between the two men a strange sort of friendship, a strange sort of intimacy. for even when he came to have a strong liking for lonesome pete, conniston could never for a second look upon this illiterate, uncouth cowboy as an equal, could not refrain from feeling toward him an amused and tolerant contempt. if palmy days ever came again, he was used to thinking, he would find a place for the red-headed man in his retinue of hired men. he could have an easy job at a good salary gardening about the adirondack country home, or perhaps he might grow into a fair chauffeur. gradually conniston had learned how to ride the wild devils they called broken saddle-horses as a cowman should, and without pulling leather. with lonesome pete a patient tutor, he was even beginning to learn how to throw a rope without entangling his own person and his own horse in it, and how to make it obey him and drop over the horns of a running steer. these things came slowly and with many discouraging failures. but they served as a stimulant and an encouragement to the man who taught him and whom he taught. when he had been with the outfit for three weeks conniston began to feel confident that he could perform the part of the day's work which was allotted to him. his muscles had begun to harden so that they no longer ached and throbbed day and night. then one morning he saw argyl crawford. he had begun of late to tell himself that he had invested her in his imagination with a charm which was not hers; that after the studied neglect that he had sustained at her hands and at her father's hands he was going to forget all about her. and now, as she came unexpectedly out of the circle of trees, pausing upon a little grassy knoll just where his idle eyes were resting, where the early sun found her out, making her a thing of light against the dull-green background, conniston caught his breath and told himself that she was in reality the queen of this land of enchantment. she came out of the forest as a mountain naiad might have done, her beauty a glorious, wonderful thing, her grace the free, lithe, unconscious grace of the wild things of this country of hers, swift-footed, firm-footed, and, it seemed to the man who watched her, with a sort of shyness which belongs to the creature of the woodlands. as she paused, her hands at her sides, her head lifted with tip-tilted chin, unconscious that any one saw her, not seeing the man who squatted by the spring below the bunk-house, he felt vaguely as though he were looking upon a nymph who, if he so much as moved, would turn swiftly and flash away from him into the depths of her shadowy forest. having no desire to be seen just then, conniston sat very still. the other boys were breakfasting within the bunk-house. he had hurried with his meal, and now was washing a pair of socks. he had no wish to have her see him doing this sort of work. he moved slightly so that the little clump of willows near the spring stood like a screen between them. he remembered suddenly that he had not had a shave for four days. rawhide jones, toothy, and brayley came out of the bunk-house together. they all saw her and as one man lifted their broad-brimmed hats. she called to brayley, and as the others went down to the stable he walked, lurching, to her. conniston could not hear what she was saying, but brayley's heavier voice came to him distinctly. the girl was asking something, and brayley after a moment's thought agreed to her request. she turned, smiling at him and thanking him, and went back through the trees toward the house. the big foreman came back to the bunk-house. conniston, his socks washed and now dripping, turned away from the stream and came to the clothes-line running from the corner of the low building to a tree sixty feet away. "hey, you, conniston," brayley called to him. "you're jest the man i'm lookin' for. saddle dandy for miss argyl an' take him up to the house for her. an' take your own hoss along. she wants you to go with her." conniston flushed up, suddenly rebellious. he had not gone to work to be a lacky to miss argyl. he had no desire to lead her horse up to the house for her that she might swing into her saddle, leaving him to follow her at due and respectful distance like a groom. why had she singled him out from the others to go with her, to play the part of the menial at her orders? was it simply so that she, a crawford, the daughter of a man who for all that conniston knew to the contrary had never been out of this little corner of the west and was in the beginning a nobody, might say in the future that she had been served by a conniston, by the son of william conniston, of wall street--boasting of it? if she crooked her finger must he run to do her bidding because her father was taking advantage of his temporary exile to have him work for him at a dollar a day? "well?" snapped brayley, as conniston stood frowning, making no answer, "did you think i said she wanted you to-morrow?" for a moment conniston hesitated. then, scarcely knowing why he did it, he turned upon his heel and went to hang out his wet socks. still making no reply to brayley, he got his hat and strode off to the stable. ten minutes later he rode through the circle of trees and to the front of the house, leading miss argyl's pony. miss crawford, in khaki riding-habit, gray gauntlets, and wide, gray hat, already booted and spurred for her ride, was waiting upon the front steps. as she saw conniston ride up she nodded gaily to him with a merry "good morning," and ran lightly down the steps to meet him. he answered her a bit stiffly--with dignity, he would have said--and swung down from his saddle to help her to mount. but before he could come to her side she had mounted, and sat watching him as he again got into his saddle. he saw a vast amusement in her eyes as they omitted no detail of his appearance, missing neither the stubby growth upon cheek and chin, nor the unbuttoned vest with durham tag and strings protruding, nor the not over-clean chaps, nor the gun at his belt. and when her eyes rested at last upon his they were smiling, and his stubbornly grave and vacant. "you are going to ride with me?" she asked, quickly. he inclined his head. "orders from brayley," he said, quietly. "oh!" and then, flicking her horse across the flank with her quirt, she turned away from the house and down the roadway which led by the pond and along which conniston had come that day when he first saw the half moon. and conniston, ten paces behind her, erect, sober-faced, followed her like a well-trained groom. for a mile they rode at a swift gallop, the girl in front not so much as turning her head to see if he were following, their way leading along the bank of indian creek and through the gloomy half-light which sifted down through the mesh of branches of the big trees reaching high overhead. then she left the road for a narrow trail which wound through trees and bushes down into the creek-bed and across it, coming out through the trees upon the dry grass-covered plain to the east. and now again she rode at a swinging gallop, and he followed her. he knew that twenty miles ahead of them was rattlesnake valley. he began to wonder if that were where she was going. suddenly she jerked in her horse and sat waiting for him. and conniston, grown stubbornly determined that if she wanted him she must call to him, stopped his own horse at a respectful distance behind her. she turned her head and looked at him wonderingly. "what is it, mr. conniston? what makes you act so strangely? don't you want to ride with me?" he touched his hat with mock solemnity. "i did not know that you wanted me to. i imagined that the hired man's place--" "oh, nonsense!" she broke in, impatiently. and with a swift smile which was so faint, so elusive that it was gone before he could be sure that he had not imagined it, "i thought that you were going--that we were going to be friends." "that was ages ago," he retorted, bitterly. "ages before i turned into a dollar-a-day laborer. before i went to work for your father, miss crawford." "and that is nonsense. a man does a man's work, honorable work with his two hands, and makes his own money, much or little. the most independent men in the world, mr. conniston, are men like brayley and toothy and rawhide jones and the rest. are you not as good a man as these, as independent, as free to do as you like, as they are?" "am i as good a man!" he laughed shortly. "conceit, no doubt, miss crawford, but none the less i really do fancy that a conniston is as good as the sort of men i have been herding with here of late!" she seemed not to notice his sarcasm, although his tones rang with it. "your going to work for father--i think it was brave of you. if it makes any difference at all it will be because you make it do so. i should be glad to have you ride with me as a companion if you wish." she pricked her horse with her spur and rode on. and conniston, after a brief moment of hesitation in which he began to see that he had been acting rather foolishly, galloped up to her side. "i am afraid i have been boorish, miss crawford. you must forgive me." "in three weeks you have learned a great deal, but there is still a great deal which you do not seem to have assimilated." "i have learned--" there was a question in his unfinished sentence. "you have learned to ride as a man must who is to do his day's work of twelve, maybe fifteen, hours in the saddle. surely that is something. you have learned to rope a steer on the dead run. you have learned to rope your own horse, to throw him while you saddle him, and to ride him when he gets up. you have learned to work." he stared at her in surprise. "how do you know what i have been doing?" she laughed, a happy gurgle of a laugh which made a man want to laugh with her without knowing the cause of her merriment. "lonesome pete has brought me news, and toothy, and even your friend brayley! do you know," mischief lurking in the depths of her eyes above the assumed gravity of her face, "i think that the boys are actually beginning to approve of you." "flattering, i must say!" "i think that it is." "even," he cried, incredulously, wondering if she could jest so earnestly--"even by such men as toothy and rawhide jones and the rest?" she looked at him steadily, frowning a little bit. "i don't know why you should speak of them so contemptuously. if, on the one hand, they have had no great social advantages, on the other hand have they not at least made men out of themselves?" "i had hardly looked upon them in that light," he answered, with something of the sneer still in his voice. "i had looked upon them rather as i had supposed you were ready to consider me, as machines of the type which ladies and gentlemen have to wait upon them, to do the unskilled labor for them, as common laborers." "common laborers! i hate that word. they are men, aren't they? they are stanch friends and good enemies. they are true to their own laws and to their conceptions of right and wrong. and they are strong and self-reliant and free and independent." "and still they are ignorant, unrefined, coarse. not your equals, miss crawford, and, i thank god, not mine!" "not yours? are you sure?" "you are serious--or are you making fun of me?" "i am very serious." there was no mistaking that when he looked into her eyes. "they are the sons of smith and jones and brown," he replied slowly. "smith and jones and brown before them were uneducated, ignorant, living lives with low horizons, seeing nothing, knowing nothing of the greater world beyond their ken. they were a degree higher than the horses which they mastered, the cattle which they drove to market. and now their sons, inheriting the limited natures of their sires, have grown like weeds in the environment in which fate put them, with no knowledge of the other things. i think that it is answer enough when i say that i am the son of william conniston." he did not mean to boast. he merely stated a simple fact simply. and the scorn leaping up in her eyes, ringing in her clear voice as she answered him, startled him. "we know a man by his hands, not by his name!" she cried, her face flushing with her eagerness. "our admiration, our respect is always for the man who does things, not for the man whose father did them for him. and now, because men like lonesome pete and brayley and the rest of the boys live a life which knows nothing of your world, you sneer at them!" "i'll admit," he granted, although stung by her hot words, "that the poor devils have hardly had a fair chance. they are handicapped--" "handicapped!" her scorn was a fine thing, leaping out at him, cutting into his words. "can't you see who it is that is handicapped in the great race here--here in the west? here where there is a fight going on every day, every night of the year, a battle royal of man against mother earth? and the man who fights here successfully a winning fight, not stopping to ask at what odds, must be endowed with a great strength, a rugged physical and moral constitution, self-reliance, a true, deep insight into the natures of other men. those things my father has. so has bat truxton, so has brayley, so, for that matter, has lonesome pete." he had never seen her so tense, so vehement, so warmly impulsive before. nor so radiantly beautiful. "do you know," she was running on, swiftly, "how it happened that you were selected to ride with me to-day?" "no. at first i thought merely because you wanted to humiliate me. now i am beginning to believe that you sent for me to instruct me in certain matters relative to the brotherhood of man!" "and you were not right at first, and are not right now. i asked brayley to let me have a man to help me with something i have to do over in the valley, and he said he would send you. do you guess why?" "no. it was a kindness from brayley, and i am not in the habit of expecting kindnesses from him." "then i will tell you. he sent you because you are the only man he has working under him whom he could spare. _because he needs all the good men!_" conniston felt his face go red. he tried to laugh at what she said, to show her that it mattered little to him what a man of brayley's type said or thought. and he was angry with himself because he knew that it did matter. biting back the words which first sprang to his lips, he tried to say, lightly: "i'm afraid that i shall have to lick brayley for that." "lick him!" again she laughed her disdain. "why didn't you do it that first night in the bunk-house? unless," she challenged, "in spite of all your blue blood and white hands and father's name, brayley is the better man!" "what do you know of that?" his voice was harsh, his question a command for an answer. "who told you?" "i knew there was trouble. i asked about it. brayley told me." he made no answer. there was nothing for him to say. she had brayley's account of the fight, she believed it, and conniston would not let her know that he cared enough to give his own version. "i have not meant to be unkind, mr. conniston," she said, after a moment. a new note had crept into her voice with what sounded like sympathy. he did not look toward her. "and, after all, it is none of my concern how you think, how you carry yourself. but i did want you to realize just what that great handicap is. you said on that day when you first came to the half moon that you were going to make yourself my friend, didn't you? do you mind if i talk to you now like a friend? you may call me presumptuous if you like. no doubt i am. as a friend i have a right to be meddlesome, haven't i?" she smiled at him as brightly as if she had never said or thought the things which she had flung at him a moment ago. "to begin with, then, i think that you have deep down in some corner of your being a strength which might do great things, that nature intended you to be a man, a great, big, splendid man!" "thanks," murmured conniston, dryly. "i don't know what i have done to deserve--" "nothing! you have done nothing! that is just it. oh, you see, when i start to meddle i do it very thoroughly! it is not what you have done but what you might do. and i was going to tell you what the real handicap is. it is not the being-without-things, without advantages, which has restricted the fuller growth of such men as bat truxton and brayley. it is something very different from that--essentially different. it is the being-raised-a-rich-man's-son! it is the being-born-something instead of the being-obliged-to-make-oneself-something!" "theoretically, miss crawford, i suppose that you are right. but theory is only theory, you know. frankly, would not a man be a fool to work when there is no need for it? would not a man be a fool to eschew the pleasures of life when fortune is ready to spill them into his lap for him? does not the rich man's son get a great deal more out of the game than the poor devil who spends his life punching cows at thirty dollars a month? even if i began to take myself seriously at this late hour and to take life as a serious sort of thing, too; even if i tucked in and fell in love with my work"--he shuddered for her benefit--"what good would it do me? if i turned out to be the best rider, the best shot, the best roper of steers, what then?" "my father," she answered, simply, "like every other man who does big things on a big scale, is always looking for good men, for foremen, for men like bat truxton, like brayley, and for men who must do work for which such men as brayley are unfit--men who have got an education and have retained their strength of manhood through it. you could grow; you could step from one position to another, you could yourself be a strong man, a big man, a man like my father, like your father. don't you see? you could be that sort of a man, a real man, a man's man, instead of being the sort of man who is sent upon a girl's errand because none of the other men can be spared. you have done the natural thing heretofore; the fault has not been yours. you have merely been unfortunate in being too fortunate. but now, don't you see, it is different. now you are being submitted to the test. why, even your friend, roger hapgood--" "leave out the _friend_ part. what about him?" "he is taking hold. he is shaking off the listlessness which has clung to him ever since he was born. father learned from him that he had studied law in college and got him a place with mr. winston in crawfordsville. and he is working, working hard, and making good!" "you seem to know everything, miss crawford." "oh, this is so simple. mr. winston is father's lawyer. mr. hapgood has ridden back to the half moon several times upon business for the firm." conniston frowned, little pleased. the half moon range-house, then, was open to hapgood as a friend, as an equal. it was closed to greek conniston as a day-laborer! and he knew well enough why hapgood was staying, why he was working so hard. he had not forgotten the pale-eyed man's appreciation of the girl--and of her father's wealth. he knew that roger hapgood was working for much more than his monthly stipend, for much more than the love of the law. he whirled suddenly toward the girl, surprising her in her scrutiny of his frowning face. "why do you care what i do?" he cried, almost fiercely. "why do you tell me to go ahead, to do something? what difference does it make to you? will you tell me?" she returned his look steadily, answered steadily, not hesitating. "because it seemed to me a shame for a man like you to be a pawn in a game all of his life while he might be playing the game himself, directing the pawns." "and there is no other interest?" "a friend's interest. for," smiling at him, "i believed what you said when you told me that we were going to be friends." "we are." he spoke slowly, thoughtfully. "you have talked very plainly to me to-day, and i can do no more and no less than to thank you. you have told me several things. some of them are true. i don't know that i agree with the others. you have a way of looking at life, at the world, which is new to me. i must think it all over. i shall know how to think, what to do, to-morrow." she looked at him questioningly. "for to-morrow i shall have decided. and then i shall ask for my time and quit, or--" "or--?" she asked, quickly. "or i shall tie into my work in earnest. i wonder which it will be?" "i don't wonder at all!" she cried, softly, her eyes very bright. "and to-morrow evening will you come up to the house and tell me what you have decided?" "i think," he answered her, quietly, "that i have already decided. but i shall not tell you until to-morrow evening." chapter ix that night conniston sat up late, perched high on the corral fence, staring at the stars while he tore down and builded up the world. he had ridden to rattlesnake valley with argyl, and had spent a big part of the day there with her. he saw scores of men at work with scrapers, picks, and shovels, and understood little enough of what they were doing. he rode with her into a town, a brand-new town, of twenty small, neat houses, as alike as rows of peas. in one of the houses he worked for argyl, tacking down carpets in the empty rooms, moving furniture which he had uncrated in the yard. this was to be her father's camp, she told him, where he would soon have to spend a part of each week superintending the work which bat truxton was pushing forward seven days out of the week. then they had at last ridden home together, and he had left her at the house, going slowly back to the corrals with the two horses. and now, his day's work done, he stared at the stars, rearranging the universe. he knew that he was william conniston, the son of william conniston of wall street. that fact was unchanged, unchangeable. but in some new way, vaguely different, it was not the all-important fact which it had been. it was still something to be glad of, something which he was not going to forget or underestimate. but it was not everything. sitting there alone, his pipe dead between his teeth, greek conniston asked himself many questions which had never suggested themselves to his complacency before. and he answered them, one by one, without fear or favor. in what was he better than brayley, than toothy even? was he a better man physically? no. was he a better man morally? no. was he a better man intellectually? he had thought he was; now he hesitated long before answering that question. certainly he had had an education which they had missed. certainly his intellect had been trained, in a fashion, by great men, by learned university professors. but was it any keener than brayley's and toothy's; was it any stronger; was it, after all, any more highly trained? in a crisis now was his intellect any better than theirs? in his present environment was it any better? and finally he answered that question as he had answered the others. was he a better man in the composite, in the grand total of manhood? measured by all the standards by which men are measured, stripping off the superficialities of surface culture and clothes, the thin veneer of education which in his case, as in the cases of the great majority of young men who have been graduated from this or that university, had imparted only a sort of finish, a neat, gleaming polish, and no great metamorphosis of the inner and true being, was he a better man? if there was any one particular, no matter how small, in which greek conniston was a better man than the men among whom he had moved with careless contempt, he wanted to know what it was! "i have been a howling young ass!" he told himself, his contempt suddenly swerving upon himself. "a conceited fool and a snob! lordy, lordy, why didn't somebody tell me--and kick me? a snob--a d--d, insufferable, conceited snob!" three weeks ago the things which argyl crawford had said to him would have amused the very self-satisfied young man. a week later, when something of the truth had begun to filter in dimly upon him, he would have felt hurt, insulted. now he was ready to go to her, to thank her, to tell her that a fool was dead, that he hoped a man was being born. "and i would right now," he muttered to himself, "only i suppose that anything i said would sound like the braying of a jackass!" the one thing which she had said to him which now returned with ever-increasing significance was the reason, as she had explained it, why he had been chosen to go with her to rattlesnake valley. out of the dozens of men who worked under brayley's orders he was absolutely the only one who could be spared from the day's work! every other man had a quicker eye, a stronger body, a firmer hand; every other man was a better rider, a better herder, a better roper, a better all-round man. when there was work that must be done, man's work, he was the one who could be spared from it. by nature headlong, when greek conniston went into a thing he was in the habit of going deep into it. when he drove a new car he drove it night and day and at top speed. when he spent money he spent lavishly, generously, recklessly. when he wasted time he wasted it profligately. and now that he abandoned an old position he did it as thoroughly as he had dissipated his father's money. he was plunging from what had so long seemed to him a great height. plunging; not cautiously lowering himself inch by inch down a dizzy precipice of self-respect, not looking the while for the first ledge upon which he might rest; plunging headlong from the zenith of self-conceit to the nadir of self-contempt. and the depths into which he hurled himself seemed to him very deep, very black. he ignored considerations by the way. that he had been handicapped in the race did not suggest itself to him to comfort him. he merely saw that the race was on and that he was far in the rear, choked with the dust of the going. he saw, and saw clearly, that of all the men who took their dollar a day from john crawford he, greek conniston, did the least to earn his. that he was not only not the best man on the range, but that he was the poorest man. he was just his father's son. _a man's son, not a man!_ he had not eaten supper, had forgotten that he had not eaten. long he sat in the thickening night, alone, feeling the part of a man marooned by his dawning understanding upon a desert island, vast, impassable, restless seas between him and his race. he watched the stars come out until they were thick set in the black vault above him, flung in sprays, flashing and scintillating down to the low horizons about him. his brooding eyes ran out across the floor of the plain toward rattlesnake valley. he remembered that he had promised to call to see argyl to-morrow night, to tell her then what he had decided. what was he going to decide? the obvious thing was not clear to him yet. he would work over it half the night. out of the confusion into which he had been hurled two things alone stood out to him now as he tried to review them; two things gathered the light which abandoned all other considerations to darkness. the first thing, the clearest thing, the most important thing in all of the new world which was being built up about him was that he loved argyl crawford. loved her, not as greek conniston would have loved yesterday, could have loved then, but with the love which was a part of the greek conniston who was being born to-night. loved her, not with the shallow affection which would have been the tribute of a greek conniston of yesterday, but with that deeper, eternal urge of soul to soul which is true love. loved her gravely, almost sternly, as a strong man loves. upon only two days had it been given him to speak with her. he thought of that, but he knew that made no iota of difference. for he knew her better than he knew any woman with whom he had danced or driven or attended theaters and dinners. in that first glimpse from the pullman window he had seen the purposeful character of her. to-day he had seen it again. to-day he knew that he knew argyl crawford, that she had been herself to him, unaffected, honest, womanly. her nature was simple, straightforward, open, unassuming. its beauty struck one as the beauty of a grecian temple, its lines pure and noble, the whole edifice the more wonderful in that it depended upon itself alone and needed no adornment. she had shaken hands with him last night when he left her at the house, not perfunctorily, but firmly, as the strong-handed cowboys shook hands, and had said to him, simply: "i wish you luck, greek conniston, in the fight you are about to make." he remembered the hand-clasp. she seemed unable to do anything, no matter how small, without putting her whole self into it, her frankness, her sincerity, her eagerness. and conniston of to-night, scowling at the match which he had swept across his thigh to light his pipe and now let die down to his fingers, muttered, not without cause, that he had his nerve with him even to think about her. the other thing which was clear to him was that he must "lick" brayley. if he did nothing else in all of his futile life, if he quit work or were fired the next minute, he must "lick" brayley. it did not strike him as amusing, as even strange, that these two things and these alone should be the only things of which he was sure. he merely accepted them as inevitable. he felt no particular resentment toward brayley. the man had treated him fairly enough since that first night in the bunk-house. he looked upon the matter calmly, almost impersonally, as a duty to which he must attend. and he was not going to wait for an excuse. an opportunity would do. it was half-past ten, and very late for cow-puncher land, when greek strode away through the darkness to the bunk-house. when morning came it happened that brayley rose fifteen minutes early, conniston fifteen minutes late. the foreman left immediately for a far corner of the range, and conniston, having made a quick breakfast, went about his own work. in the corral he selected a horse which heretofore he had carefully left alone, knowing the brute's half-tamed spirit and not caring to trust to it. but now it was different. he waited his opportunity before throwing his rope. then, as the horse, seeming to know that he had been singled out, shot by him, he cast his lasso. and there was a grim light, but at the same time a light of deep satisfaction in conniston's eyes as he saw that his whirling noose had gone unerringly, settling as toothy's rope would have done. he blindfolded the big, belligerent horse to mount him. when his feet were securely thrust into his stirrups he leaned forward and with a swift jerk snapped the handkerchief from the horse's eyes. for a moment the animal's sides between his knees trembled and throbbed like an overtaxed engine. then there was the sudden jerk which told of a mighty bunching of muscles, a gathering of force. and as conniston shot his spurs home, with the reins gripped tight in his left hand so that the horse could not get his head down, the forelegs were lifted high in air as the animal reared. a quick blow of the quirt and the forelegs sought earth again, and conniston began to realize what it was to ride a bucking bronco. a series of short jumps, every one threatening to unseat him, every one jerking him so that his body was whipped this way and that, so that he had much ado to keep his feet from flying out of the stirrups, and could hardly hold his right hand back from going to the horn, from "pulling leather." the bucks came so close together that it seemed to him that he did not rest a second in the saddle; that each time the big brute struck the ground with his four feet bunched together, to pause for a breathless moment, gathering every ounce of strength to wrench, leaping sideways, he must surely be thrown. but in spite of all he did not pull leather, he did not cease to ply spur and quirt, and he was not thrown. it was a perfectly quiet horse he rode away across the fields only three minutes later. he did a man's work that day, all that day, until long after the red sun had gone down. and when he came up from the corral to his supper, if he was tired, if the muscles of his body ached, it did not show in his steady stride or in his quiet eyes. the suit-case which he had left in indian creek had been brought out last week. he shaved himself and changed his clothes, putting on the first white silk shirt he had worn for many a day. he even found an old can of shoe-polish and touched up the pair of dusty shoes. and then, laughing at the looks the men turned upon him, at the few jesting remarks which they chose to make, he walked through the trees and to the range-house. the glow of electric lights through the wide-opened front doors ran out across the lawn to meet him. striding along the walk, his heels crunching in the white gravel, he again marveled at the comfort, the luxury even, which john crawford had brought across the desert. he ran lightly up the broad steps. before he could ring argyl was at the door, her eyes quick to find his searchingly. he knew what they sought to find in his. and when she put out her hand to him, swiftly, impulsively, he trusted that they had found what they sought. he followed her through the big front room and into the library. here there were many deep, soft leather chairs, here there was a blue atmosphere of tobacco smoke, and here mr. crawford, immaculate in white flannels, rose to meet him, his hand outstretched. "how do you do, conniston?" mr. crawford took his hand warmly, the fine lines of his stern old face softening genially. "i was mighty glad when argyl told me that she had asked you over. sit down, sit down. have something to smoke. tell us about yourself, and how"--the deep-set eyes twinkling--"you like the work?" conniston saw that argyl had seated herself and dropped into one of the big chairs himself, his whole body enjoying the luxury of it. at his elbow was a little table with cigars and cigarettes. mr. crawford laughed when he saw that conniston, having glanced at the table, drew out his own cheap muslin bag of tobacco and rough, brown papers. "i'm getting used to them," greek apologized. "and do you know that i'm beginning to like to roll my own 'cigareet'?" argyl clapped her hands, laughing with her father. "i told you so, daddy!" she cried, merrily. "didn't i say that mr. conniston was born to be a good cow-puncher!" "and i'm half persuaded that you are right, argyl," came from behind the dense cloud of cigar-smoke. "but you haven't told us how you like the work, conniston." "if you had asked me a week ago i should have had to ask to be excused from trying to tell you in the presence of ladies. i would have quit if i hadn't been too much of a coward. but now--" "now?" asked argyl, quickly. and it was to her that he made his answer, not to her father. "now i like it. and i am going to stick--unless i get fired for incompetency!" "i like that," said mr. crawford, slowly. "yes, i like that. i was afraid that it was rather too much for you. it's hard work, conniston, and long hours and little pay. but brayley tells me that you have the makings of a rattling good cow-hand." "thank you, sir. it was very decent of brayley." "i ought not to mix business into a social call, i know, but i want to tell you personally that i am very much pleased with the way you are tucking in. you asked if any one needed a good man the day you came. we all do. i do. why, i always want more of them than i can find. a young man like you, with your advantages, your education--there are all kinds of opportunities. yes, right with me. the west is the place for young men--provided simply that they are men! that's as true to-day as it was in forty-nine. and truer. opportunities are greater, the need of men is more urgent. right now, right to-day, i am looking for a man, a young man, who knows a thing or two about engineering, who can build bridges and cut irrigation ditches and save me money doing it." he threw out his hands. "and i can't get him!" "will you tell me about the position?" asked conniston, with keen interest in voice and eyes alike. "certainly. i am running four cattle-ranges, using close to eighty thousand acres doing it, too. that, of course, you know. but that is getting to be a side issue with me. i am doing something else which is going to be a thousand times bigger--ten thousand times more worth while. have you been to crawfordsville?" "no. i have been within a couple of miles of it. i saw it one day from blue ridge." "well, then you know something of it. it is in a valley ten miles long which has always been one of the richest valleys i ever saw; sheltered by the mountains, watered by the springs which create the source of indian creek. the climate is like that of the california foothills. and the soil is fertile--anything will grow there. i saw that twenty years ago. i knew that the place was made for a town-site--and i made the town. there are a lot of smaller valleys about it; there are orchards there now and vineyards. there are mines, paying mines. there is no end to the herds of cattle running through the valleys and at the bases of the hills. the town has a railroad, a narrow-gage from bolton on the pacific central & western. building such a town, giving it railroad connection, electric lights, and all the things which go with unlimited water-power was simple enough." conniston sat back and watched the man who spoke of city building as of the making of a summer home. mr. crawford was leaning forward in his chair, his cigar between his fingers, his eyes very steady upon conniston's. "but now," he went on, his eyes clear, but his brows drawn over them, "we come to something different--entirely different. out yonder in the lap of the desert is what they call rattlesnake valley. it is no valley at all, merely a great depression, a sort of natural sink. it is twenty miles wide, forty miles long. i have found no drop of water within thirty miles of it, no single spring, no creek. it is nothing but sand--dry, barren, unfertile sand--five hundred square miles of it, to look at it. and right there, in the heart of that sink, i am going to build a town." he spoke quietly, his voice low, no hint of boastfulness in his tone, no hint of doubt. he spoke as a man who has studied his ground and who knows both the difficulties which lie ahead of him and the possibilities. conniston, seeing only the impossibility, the madness of such a project, looked questioningly from him to the girl. argyl's face was flushed, her eyes were very bright with an intense eager interest. "it sounds so big," conniston hesitated, his gaze coming back to the older man's face. "so daring, so impossible!" "it is big! bigger than i have even hinted at. it is daring. of course, i take a chance of sinking everything i have out there and finding only failure in the end." he shrugged his shoulders, and conniston noticed for the first time how big and broad they were. "but it is not impossible. it is merely the repetition of such work as has been done successfully in the imperial valley. the stuff which looks to be sand--barren, unfertile sand--is the richest soil in the world. put water on it and you can raise anything. reclamation work is a fairly new thing with us, conniston. men have been content heretofore to squat in the green valleys and let the desert places remain the haunts of the horned toad and coyote. but now the green valleys are filling up, and there are hundreds of thousands of square miles like the country you rode over from indian creek to the half moon which are calling to us. to redeem them from barrenness, to do the sort of work which our friends have done in the imperial valley, is pioneer work. the pioneers ever since adam, be it the columbuses of early navigation or the wrights of aerial navigation, have always taken the long chances. they are the ones who have suffered the hardships, and who, often enough, have been forgotten by the world in its mad rush along the trail they have opened. but they are the men who have done the big things. the pioneers are not yet all gone from the west, thank god! and their work is reclamation work!" "and it's for the work over there that you want an engineer?" "yes. i want him bad, too. do you happen to know one?" "i know one. i won't say how much good he is, though. i'm an engineer myself." "you!" it was argyl's voice, surprised but eager. "my father is a mining engineer. he always wanted me to do something for myself, you know." conniston laughed softly. "he sent me to college, and since i didn't care a rap what sort of work i did, i took a course in civil engineering to please him. civil, instead of mining," he added, lightly, "because i thought it would be easier." "had any practical experience?" demanded mr. crawford. conniston shook his head. "it's too bad. you might be of a lot of use to me over there--if you'd ever done anything." conniston colored under the plain, blunt statement. there it was again--he had never done anything, he had never been anything. his teeth cut through his cigarette before he answered. "i didn't suppose that you could use me." he still spoke lightly, hiding the things which he was feeling, his recurrent self-contempt. "i don't suppose, that i know enough to run a ditch straight. i've been rather a rum loafer." mr. crawford smiled. "i suppose you have. but you are young yet, conniston. a man can do anything when he is young." there was the grinding of wheels upon the gravel outside, a man's voice, and then a man's steps. a moment later roger hapgood, immaculate in a smartly cut gray suit and gloves, came smiling into the library, his hand outstretched, his manner the manner of a man so thoroughly at home that he does not stop to ring. he did not at first see conniston half hidden in his big chair. but conniston saw him, was quick to notice the air of familiarity, the smile which rested affectionately upon mr. crawford and ran on, no doubt meant to be adoring and certainly was very soft, to argyl--and conniston was seized with a sudden desire to take the ingratiating roger hapgood by the back of the collar and kick him upon the seat of his beautifully fitting trousers. "good evening, mr. crawford. i ran in on a little business for mr. winston. ah, miss argyl! so glad to see you." his little hand, which had been swallowed up in one of mr. crawford's, and which emerged rosy and crumpled, was proffered gallantly to the girl. and then hapgood saw conniston. "oh, i say," he stammered, a very trifle confused. "it's conniston. i didn't know--" his pale eyes, under nicely arched brows, went from father to daughter as though roger hapgood were willing to admit that anything which they thought fit to do was all very right and proper, but that he was none the less surprised to find them entertaining one of the hired men. "yes, i'm still with the half moon," conniston said, still nettled, but more amused, making no move to rise or put out his hand. "how are you, roger?" "how do, conniston?" replied mr. hapgood, the rising young lawyer. conniston idly wondered what had made his friend go to work. on the surface the reason seemed to be argyl. yet hapgood showed a new side, a determination most unusual in him. later conniston was to know, to understand. "and you like it?" "immensely. you ought to try it, roger!" hapgood shuddered. "couldn't think of it. a lark, no doubt, but i haven't the time for larks nowadays. i'm in the law." he turned to mr. crawford. "thanks to you. fascinating, and all that, but it does keep a man busy. i hated to disturb you to-night," with an apologetic smile at argyl, "but mr. winston thought that the matter ought to be brought up before you immediately." he was bursting with importance, some of which seemed to have popped out of his inflated little being and now protruded from an inside pocket in the form of some very legal-looking papers. mr. crawford, upon his feet, said bluntly: "if we've got business, hapgood, we'd better be at it. let's go into the office. argyl, you will excuse us? and you, mr. conniston?" he went out. hapgood tarried a moment for a lingering look at argyl. "you will excuse us, miss argyl? i'll hurry through with this as fast as i can." "i say, roger," conniston called after him, "i want to congratulate you. i'm immensely glad that you have gone to work." he turned to the girl who was watching them with thoughtful eyes. "miss crawford, what do you say to a little stroll out on the front lawn while these men of business transact their weighty affairs? it's the most wonderful night you ever saw." chapter x when morning came, conniston was the last man to crawl out of his bunk. at breakfast he was the last man to finish. he dawdled over his coffee until the cook stared curiously at him, he used up a great deal of time buttering his hot cakes, he ate very slowly. only after every other man had left the table did he push his plate aside and go out into the yard. his manner was unusually quiet this morning, his jaw unusually firm, his eye unusually determined. he saw with deep satisfaction that all of the half moon men except lonesome pete and brayley had ridden away upon their day's work. the red-headed cowboy was even now going down to the corrals, a vacant look in his blue eyes, the corners of a little volume sticking out of his hip-pocket, his lips moving to unspoken words. brayley was going through the fringe of trees toward the house, evidently to speak with mr. crawford upon some range business. conniston strolled slowly down toward the corrals, stopping and loitering when he had got there. now and then he caught a glimpse of lonesome pete mending his saddle just within the half-open stable door, but for the most part his eyes rested steadily upon the little path which wriggled through the grove and toward the house. he made and smoked a cigarette, tossing away the burned stub. he glanced at his watch, noticed that he was already half an hour late in going to work, and turned back toward the house, his expression the set, even, placid expression of a man who waits, and waits patiently. five minutes passed--ten minutes--and he stood still, making no move to get his horse and ride upon his day's duties. and then, walking swiftly, brayley came out of the trees and hurried, lurching, toward the corral. "what are you waitin' for?" he cried, sharply, when twenty paces away. "ain't you got nothin' to do to-day?" conniston made no answer, turning his eyes gravely upon brayley's face, waiting for the man to come up to him. "can't you hear?" called brayley again, more sharply, coming on swiftly. "what are you waitin' an' loafin' here for?" "i want to talk with you a minute." conniston's voice was very quiet, almost devoid of expression. "well, talk. an' talk fast! i ain't got all day." brayley was standing close to him now, his eyes boring into conniston's, his manner impatient, irritated. for just a moment conniston stood as though hesitating, leaning slightly forward, balanced upon the balls of his feet. then he sprang forward suddenly, without sign of warning, taking the big foreman unawares, throwing both arms about the stalwart body, driving the heavier body back with the impact of the one hurled against it. brayley, standing carelessly, loosely, his feet not braced, but close together, unprepared for the attack, fell heavily, lifted clean off his feet, born backward, and slammed to the ground with the breath jolted out of him, conniston on top of him. "you d--n coward!" he bellowed, as his breath came back into his body. "sneakin' coward!" he bunched his great strength and hurled it against the man, who clung to him. still he was at a disadvantage, being under the other and having both arms locked to his side by the clinging embrace which held him powerless. for a moment the two men lay writhing and twisting upon the ground, half hid in their quiet struggle by the dust which puffed up from the dry ground about them. then, as brayley again gathered his strength in a mighty effort to rid himself of the man who held him down, conniston loosened his hold, springing back and up to his feet. and in each hand conniston held one of brayley's guns. a quick gesture, and as brayley rose to his feet he saw his two revolvers flying skyward, over the high fence and into the big corral. "you got 'em!" brayley cried, hoarse with anger. "shoot, you coward--an' be d--d to you!" for answer conniston jerked his own gun from his belt, tossing it to lie with brayley's two in the dust of the corral. "we're ruling guns out of this, brayley," he said, quietly. "it's going to be just man to man." for a moment brayley stood, open-mouthed, staring at him. then, as understanding came to him, a great roar burst from his lips, and with his huge fists clenched he rushed at conniston. in the sudden access of rage which blinded the man conniston might have stepped aside. but it was no part of his grim purpose to temporize. as brayley rushed upon him conniston, too, sprang forward, and the two men met with a dull, heavy thud of panting bodies. brayley's weight was the greater, his rush fiercer, and conniston was flung back in spite of his dogged determination not to give up an inch. he had felt brayley's iron fist before, but not with the rage behind it which now drove it into conniston's face. the blow laid open his cheek and hurled him backward, to land upon his feet, his body rocking dizzily, his back jammed against the corral. and only the corral kept him from falling. again brayley's great sledge-hammer fists shot out, brayley's eyes glowing redly behind them. conniston knew that one more blow like the last one, full in the face, and again he would have been beaten by brayley. he remembered--and, strangely enough, the remembrance came to him calmly even while the heart within him beat as though bursting against the walls of his chest and the blood hammered hot in his ears--what argyl had said the other day as they rode to rattlesnake valley. she had told him that brayley had licked him because brayley had been the better man. he knew that if brayley beat him down now it would be because he was the better man. and he had told argyl that he was going to lick brayley. she had laughed. none the less, it was a promise to her, his first promise, and he was going to keep it. as brayley charged for a second blow, conniston stepped aside swiftly and swung with his right arm, collecting every ounce of his strength and putting it into the blow. brayley tried to lift his arm to protect himself, but the fraction of a second too late. conniston's fist landed squarely upon the corner of the foreman's jaw, just below the ear. brayley's arms flew out, and with a groan driven from between his clenched teeth he went down in a heap. for a moment he lay unable to rise, the black dizziness showing in his swimming eyes. a month ago conniston could not have struck such a blow by many pounds. already the range had done much, very much, for him. but before a man could count five both the pain and astonishment had gone from brayley's eyes, giving place to the red anger which surged back. and with the return of clamoring rage brayley's dizziness passed and he sprang to his feet. again was conniston ready, again telling himself that he had a promise to keep, and that now or never was the time to make good his word. he was over the man whom he had set out to whip, and as brayley struggled to his feet it was only to receive conniston's fist full in the face again, only to be hurled back to the ground with cut, bleeding lips. again bellowing curses which ran into one another like one long, vicious word, brayley got to his feet. and again conniston's fist, itself cut and bleeding and sore, drove into his face, knocking the man down before he had more than risen. as the blow landed upon the heavy bone of the cheek, conniston's hand went suddenly limp and useless, his face went sheet-white from the pain of it. some bone had broken, he realized dully. he couldn't clench the hand again. the fingers hung at his side, shot through with sharp pain, feeling as though they were being slowly crushed between two stones. brayley got slowly to his feet, swaying like a drunken man, reeling when he first stood up, and lurching sideways until his shoulders struck the high fence of the corral. conniston put up his left arm, his right hanging powerless at his side, and followed him. brayley, his deep chest jerking visibly as his breath wheezed through his swelling lips, waited for him, the anger gone once more from his eyes, which followed conniston's movements curiously. for a moment they stood motionless save for the heaving of muscles with their quick breathing, eying each other, measuring each other. one thing stood uppermost in conniston's mind: the foreman, with every deep breath he drew, was shaking off his dizziness, was regaining his strength. the spirit within him, with all of the battering he had received, was still unbroken. and conniston himself felt his right arm growing numb to the elbow. in a very few seconds he would be like a rag doll in the other's big, strong hands.... "well," panted brayley, "what are you waitin' for? i'll lick you yet!" conniston came on, stepping slowly, cautiously. brayley stood still, his clenched fists at his waist, his back against the fence. his eyes left the other's face for a second and ran to the broken hand swinging at his side. a quick light of understanding leaped into the big cattle-man's face, and he laughed softly. and as he laughed he stepped forward, lifting his fists. conniston swung at him with his left hand. the blow whizzed by brayley's ear, for he had foreseen it and had ducked. but as he retaliated with a crushing blow, conniston sprang to the side, ducking. now it was brayley again who rushed, a leaping light of hope of victory, surety of victory, in his eyes. but conniston saw his one chance and took it. he did not give back. and he did not offer the poor defense of one arm against the flail of blows. instead he stooped low, very low, jerking his body double, dropping suddenly under brayley's threshing arms, and hurled himself bodily to meet the attack, his left shoulder thrust forward, striking brayley with the full impact of his hundred and eighty pounds just below the knees. they both went down, down together, and with conniston underneath. but to brayley the thing had come with a stunning shock of unexpectedness just as he saw the end of the fight, and conniston was on his feet a second the first. again as brayley sprang up, conniston stood over him. again conniston's fist, his left, but driven with all of the power left in him, beat mercilessly into the already cut face, driving brayley down upon his knees. now he was swaying helplessly, hopelessly. but still the dogged spirit within him was undefeated. a strange sort of respect, involuntary, of mingled admiration and pity; surged into conniston's heart. he was not angry, he had not been angry from the beginning. this was merely a bit of his duty, a part of the day's work, the beginning of regeneration, the keeping of a promise. he was sorry for the man. but he was not forgetting his promise. brayley was swaying to his feet, his two big hands lifted loosely, weakly, before him. through their inefficient guard conniston struck once more, the last blow, swinging from the shoulder. and brayley went down heavily, like a falling timber, and lay still. for a little conniston stood over him, watchful, wiping the blood from the gash in his cheek. he saw that brayley's eyes were closed, and felt a quick fear that he had killed him. then he saw the eyelids flutter open, close, open again, as the foreman's eyes rested steadily upon his. he waited. brayley lifted his head, even struggled to his elbow, only to fall back prone. they were not ten feet from the empty corral. lonesome pete, his saddle mended, rode slowly around the corner of the stable toward the gate. the horse which he was riding was a half-broken three-year-old, but lonesome pete was at home upon the backs of half-broken three-year-olds. and his red head was full of jocelyn truxton and "macbeth." he rode with his hat low over his eyes, one hand holding his horse's reins, the other grasping firmly a little book. so it happened that lonesome pete rode through the gate and close to the two men and did not see them. but the horse did see them, did see a man lying stretched upon the ground, and with the sharp nostrils of its kind the horse scented fresh blood. the result was that the frightened brute reared, snorting, and wheeled suddenly, plunging back through the corral gate. and lonesome pete, taken unawares as he sat loosely in the saddle, was jerked rudely out of his dreamings of the fair jocelyn and the bloody macbeth to find his horse shooting out from under him, and to find himself sitting upon the hard ground with his legs in brayley's lap. brayley's strength of lungs came back to him with a new anger. "you howlin' idiot, what are you tryin' to do?" "i was a-readin'," responded lonesome pete, still grinning vapidly, still not quite certain whether the things which he saw about him were real things or literary hallucinations. "a-readin'!" snapped brayley, sitting up. "that what i'm payin' you for, you blame gallinipper!" with a glance from brayley's lacerated face to the bloody smears on conniston's, lonesome pete got to his feet and, shaking his head and dusting the seat of his overalls as he went, turned and disappeared into the stable after his horse. brayley glared after him a second, grunted, and got to his feet. "well," he snarled, facing conniston. "you licked me. now what? want to beat me up some more?" "no, i don't," conniston answered him, steadily. "you know i had to do it, brayley. you had it coming to you after that first night in the bunk-house. now--i want to shake hands, if you do." with a keen, measuring glance from under swelling eyelids, and no faintest hesitation, brayley put out his hand. "shake!" he grunted. "you done it fair. i didn't think you had it in you. and"--with a distorted grin--"i'll 'scuse the left hand, con!" chapter xi brayley and conniston went together into the corral and picked up the three revolvers. then conniston turned toward the stable to get his horse. brayley's eyes followed him, narrowing speculatively. "hey, conniston," he called, sharply, "where you goin'?" "to work. it's late now." "yes, it's late, all right. but you better go up to the bunk-house first an' fix your hand up. oh, don't be a fool. come ahead. i'm goin' to straighten out my face a bit." so conniston turned back, and the two men went to the bunk-house. the cook was pottering around his stove, cleaning up his pots and pans. he looked up curiously as they came in, realizing that by now they should have been at work. the faint, careless surprise upon his face changed suddenly into downright bewilderment as he saw the dust-covered bodies, the cut lips, blood-streaked cheeks, and swelling eyes of the two men. the song which he had been humming died away into a little gasp, and with sagging lower jaw he stood and stared. "well," snapped brayley, pushing back his hat and returning the cook's stare fiercely. "well, cookie, what's eatin' you? ain't you got nothin' to do but stand an' gawk? by the lord, if you ain't i know where we can git a hash-slinger as is worth his grub!" cookie's bulging eyes ranged from one face to the other. then he turned back to his stove and began to wash over again a pan which he had laid aside already as clean. conniston and brayley washed with cold water in silence. then they found a bottle of liniment and applied it to their various cuts with a bit of rag. brayley, his big fingers unbelievably gentle, bandaged conniston's lame hand for him. and then they went back to the corrals. "you can go out to the east end an' give rawhide a hand," said brayley, as he swung up to his horse's back. "i reckon you won't be much good for a day or two except jest ridin'. an' say, con. i had a talk with the ol' man about you this mornin'. he wanted to know if you was makin' good. lucky for you," with a twisted grin, "that he asked before we had our little set-to! you're to git forty-five a month from now on. an' at the end of the week you're to report over to rattlesnake to go to work." as greek conniston rode out across the dry fields toward the east there was a subtle exhilaration in the fresh, clean morning air which he drew deep down into his lungs. for the moment the soreness of bruised muscles, the biting pain in his crippled hand, were trifles driven outward to the farthermost rim of his consciousness. his foot was upon the first step of the long stairway which he must climb. he had whipped brayley in a fair, square, hand-to-hand, man-to-man fight. he had done it through sheer dogged determination that he would do it. he had set himself a task, the hardest task he had ever essayed. and success had come to him as self-vindication. but it had been to him more, vastly more, than a mere duty, although from the outset he had looked upon it in that light. it had been a test. had the outcome been reversed, had he failed, had brayley worsted him, there was every likelihood that conniston would have left the range. but now, hand in hand with dawning regeneration, there came confidence. there were many things which his destiny had set ahead of him, and he was ready to face them with the same dogged determination with which he had faced the big foreman. then, too, this morning he had received more than mere self-approval. brayley had indorsed his work in his consultation with mr. crawford. and mr. crawford had seen fit to increase his daily wage. he had not been worth a dollar a day a month ago, and he knew it. now he was to be paid a dollar and a half a day, and because he was worth that to the half moon. so far, in the circumscribed area of his daily duties, he "had made good." he felt that the first heat of the great race was run, that in spite of his handicap he had held his own. the race itself was almost a tangible thing ahead of him. greek conniston was ready for it. and he dared think, with a sharp-drawn breath and a leaping of blood throughout his whole being, of the golden prize at the end of it--for the man who could win that prize. he worked all that day with rawhide jones, his left hand upon his reins, his right thrust into his open vest as a rude sort of sling. he met rawhide's surprise, answered his quick question by saying, simply, without explanation, "i got hurt." rawhide had grunted and dropped the subject. all day long one matter surged uppermost in conniston's mind to the exclusion of anything else: he was to be transferred from the half moon to rattlesnake valley. he did not know whether to be glad at the change or sorry. he was growing to know the men with whom he worked, growing to like them, to find pleasure in their rude companionship. now, just as he was making friends of them he was to be shifted among strangers. to-day he had found heretofore unsounded depths in the nature of brayley; he wanted to know the man better, to show him that he had not been blind to rough, frank generosity, nor unappreciative of it. through these latter days, during which the scales had been dropping from his eyes in spite of prejudice, he had been forced into a grudging admiration of the man's capability. brayley could read little and spell less; he was a clown and a boor in the matter of the finer, exacting social traditions; but he could run a cattle-range, and he read his men as other men read books. conniston realized suddenly, shocked with the realization, that in brayley there was that same sort of thing which he had come to respect in argyl crawford, the same open frankness, the same straightforward honesty, the same deep, wide generosity. argyl, too, entered into the confusion of his gladness and disappointment at the coming change of sphere. he had planned to spend many an evening with her; and now, just as he was finding the door to her comradeship opened to him, he was to be whisked away from her. but on the other hand conniston's optimism saw ahead of him, in the new field of work, the dim, shadowy, and at the same time alluring outline of a new and rare opportunity. he had not forgotten the things which mr. crawford had said of his big project. and in spite of his own deprecatory answer to mr. crawford's straightforward question, greek conniston had not forgotten all of the engineering he had absorbed during four years in the university. there was work to be done, there were men wanted, above all, men who could understand something beyond the pick-and-shovel end of the thing, men who knew the difference between a transit and a telescope. and the work itself appealed to him strangely now that that labor was not without independence, not without a stern sort of dignity even. to take a stretch of dry, hot sand, innocent of vegetation, to wrest it from the clutch of the desert as from the maw of a devastating giant, to bring water mile upon mile from the mountain cañons, to make the sterile breast of the mother earth fertile, to drive back the horned toad and the coyote, to make green things spring up and flourish, to carve out homes, to cause trees and flowers and vines to give shade and disseminate fragrance, even as time went on to wring moisture from the lead-gray sky above--it was like being granted the might of a magician to touch the desert with the tip of his wand, bringing life gushing forth from death. when night came conniston trudged from the corrals to the bunk-house and his evening meal devoutly thankful that the long day was gone. his hand pained him constantly, and in the sharp twinges which shot through it the lesser hurt of his cut cheek was forgotten. the greater part of the other men was there before him. as he stepped in at the door they were dragging their chairs noisily up to the table. brayley, one eye swollen almost shut, his lips thick like a negro's with the blows which had hammered them, had just taken his seat. the men's eyes were quick to catch the bruised countenance of the man at the door, and ran swiftly from it to brayley's face and back again. one man chuckled aloud, toothy giggled like a girl, and the others grinned broadly. for a moment brayley's face darkened ominously. then his frown passed, and he turned about in his chair toward the door. "hello, con," he said, quietly. "hello, brayley," conniston answered, in the same tone. brayley's eyes went back to the men at the table, shifting quickly from one to another. he ran his tongue along his swollen lips, but said no word until conniston had washed and taken his own chair. then he spoke, his words coming with slow distinctness. "conniston jumped me this mornin.' i had a lickin' comin' to me. you boys know why. an' i got it." he stopped suddenly, his eyes watchful upon the faces about him. conniston saw that they were no longer grinning, but as serious, as watchful, as brayley's. "that was between me an' conniston. there ain't goin' to be no makin' fun an' fool remarks about it. he done it square, an' i'm glad he done it! if there's any other man here as thinks he can do it i'll take him on right now!" again he paused abruptly, again he studied the grave faces and speculative eyes intent upon his own. no man spoke. and conniston noticed that no man smiled. "all right," grunted brayley. "that ends it. cookie, for the love of mike, are you goin' to keep us waitin' all night for them spuds?" the meal passed with no further reference, open or covert, to the thing which was uppermost in the minds of all. many a curious glance, however, went to where conniston sat. he was conscious of them even when he did not see them, understood that a new appraisal of him was being made swiftly, that his fellow-workers were carefully readjusting their first conceptions and judgments of him. when he had finished eating, conniston went straight to his bunk. he had no desire for conversation; he did want both rest and a chance to think. he was straightening out his tumbled covers when lonesome pete tapped him upon the shoulder. "no hay for yours, con," he grinned. "not yet. miss argyl wants you to come up to the house. right away, she said, as soon as you'd et. she said special she was in a hurry, an' you wasn't to waste time puttin' on your glad rags." why did argyl want him--to-night? he put his fingers to his cheek where brayley's fist had cut into the flesh. how could he go to her like this? he was on the verge of telling lonesome pete that he could not go, of framing some excuse, any excuse. but instead he closed his lips without speaking, picked up his hat and went straight toward the house. she was waiting for him at the little summer-house upon the front lawn. he saw the white of her lacy gown, the flash of her arms as he came nearer, her outstretched hand as he came to her side. with his hat caught under his right arm he put out his left hand to take hers. "you were good to come so soon," she was saying. "it was good to come," he rejoined, warmly. "you know how glad i am for every opportunity i have to see you." "what is the matter with your hand?" she asked, quickly. "your right hand?" "i hurt it," he answered, easily. "nothing serious. it will be well in a day or two." "how did you hurt it?" she persisted. "really, miss crawford," he retorted, trying to laugh away the seriousness of her tone, "there are so many ways for a man to damage his epidermis in this sort of work--" she was standing close to him, looking intently up into his face through the gathering darkness. "tell me--why did you do it?" "what? smash my fingers?" "yes. in the way you did!" "what do you mean?" he hesitated, wondering what she knew. "on brayley's face! why did you fight with him?" "who told you?" "brayley. he had to come to see father this evening. i saw his face. i heard him tell father that he had had trouble with one of the men. i was afraid that it was you! i followed him out into the yard and asked him. it is no doubt none of my business--but will you tell me why you fought with him?" "i think that i would answer anything you cared to ask me, miss crawford," he replied, quietly. "will you sit down with me for a little?" he moved slowly at her side, back to the seat in the summer-house, grateful for any reason which gave him the privilege of talking with her, watching her quick play of expression. "you see, my object seemed so clear-cut and simple--and now gets itself all tangled up in complexity when i try to explain it to you. for one thing, ever since my first night on the half moon when brayley put me out i have felt that it was up to me to finish what was begun that night. for another thing, i was trying to prove a theory, i imagine! i didn't really believe that brayley was the better man. and lastly, and perhaps most important of all, i told you the other day that i was going to lick him. it was a sort of promise, you know!" she sat with her elbow upon her knee, her chin on her hand, her eyes lost in the shadow of her hair. he knew that she was regarding him intently. he guessed from the line of her cheek, from the slightly upturned curve at the corner of her mouth, that she was half inclined to be serious, and almost ready to smile at him. "you are inclined to look upon brayley as an enemy?" was all that she said, still watching him closely. "no!" he cried, warmly. "i sneered at him the other day, i know. like the little poppinjay i was i thought myself in the position to poke fun at him. to-day i got my first true idea of the man's nature. to-day i found out--can you guess what i found out? that brayley in many things is just like--whom, do you suppose?" "tell me." "like you! the discovery was a shock. it nearly bowled me over. but it's the truth!" "what do you mean?" she asked, plainly puzzled. "how in the world is brayley like me?" "aside from externals, from refinement, from polish, from all that sort of thing"--he spoke swiftly--"his nature is much like yours. there is the same frankness, the same sincerity, the same heartiness. there is the same sort of generosity, the same bigness of--of soul." he broke off abruptly, surprised to find himself talking this way to her. "you must think i'm a fool," he blurted out, after a second. "i talk like one. you have a right to feel offended--to liken brayley to you--" "since i believe you mean what you say--since i think i understand what you mean--i am not offended! i am proud! yes, proud if i can be like brayley in some things, some things which count! if you do nothing beyond making a friend of that man your exile in this western country of ours will have been worth while. but you will do something more. i did not ask you to come to me just to hear what you had to say about your trouble with brayley. he told me before you came--told me that you had licked him, as you both put it, and that it served him right! that is your business and brayley's, and i should keep out of it. but there was something else--i wonder if you think me meddlesome, mr. conniston? if i _am_ meddlesome?" "if we are going to be friends, you and i--and you promised that you would let me make you my friend--hadn't we better drop that word?" "then i am going to tell you something. you are to go to work in the valley. brayley told you that? do you guess why--have you an idea--why father is sending you over there?" "i supposed because he is pushing the work--because he needs all the men there he can get, can spare from the half moon." "i am going to tell you. and i am afraid that father would not like it, did he know. but i know that i am right. i may not see you again before you go--i am going into crawfordsville in the morning for a few days. what i tell you, you will remember, is in strict confidence--between friends?" "in strict confidence," he repeated, seriously. "between friends." she leaned slightly forward, speaking swiftly, emphatically, earnestly: "you have heard of bat truxton? he is in charge there of all the men, general superintendent of all the work. you will be put to work under him. you will be in a position to learn a great deal about the project in its every detail. bat truxton is an engineer, a practical man who knows what he has learned by doing it. and he is a strong man and very capable. then there is garton--tommy garton they call him. you will work with him. he, too, is an engineer, and he, too, knows all there is to know about the work." she paused a moment, as though in hesitation. conniston waited in silence for her to go on. "father is sending you to the valley because he has begun to take an interest in you. before the year is over there is going to be an opportunity for every man there to show what there is in him. he is giving you your chance, your chance to make good!" argyl got to her feet and stood looking away from him, out across the duck pond. presently she turned to him again, smiling, her voice gone from grave to gay. "the race is on, isn't it? the great handicap! and, anyway, i have given you a tip, haven't i? now you are coming up to the house with me, and i'm going to make you a bandage for your broken hand." she didn't stop to heed his protest, but ran ahead of him to the house. and conniston, pondering on many things, saw nothing for it but to allow her to play nurse to him. saturday morning greek conniston pocketed the first money he had ever earned by good, hard work. brayley handed him three ten-dollar gold pieces--his month's wage. conniston asked for some change, and for one of the gold pieces received ten silver dollars. he knew that mr. crawford and argyl had gone into crawfordsville, so he gave one dollar to brayley, saying: "will you hand that to mr. crawford for me? i owe it to him for telegraph service on the first day i spent here." and then he made a little roll of the indispensable articles from his suit-case, tied it to the strings behind his saddle, and rode away across the fields toward rattlesnake valley. he was to report immediately at the office of the reclamation work in valley city. following the trail he and argyl had taken the other day, he rode into the depression, or sink, about the middle of that long, low hollow between the southern end and the clutter of uniform square buildings which was planned to grow into a thriving town in the heart of the desert. every foot of ground here now had a new personal interest for him. he studied the long, flat sweep of level land with nodding approval, trying to see just where the main canal should run, just how its course could be shaped most rapidly, most cheaply, most advantageously. for the mounds, the ridges where the winds had swept the sand into long winnows, he had a quick frown. after all, he realized suddenly, this desert was not the flat, even floor he had imagined it to be. a mile, two miles to his right as he rode into the "valley" he could see a slow-moving mass of men and horses, could catch the glint of the sun upon jerking scrapers and plows. there the front ranks of mr. crawford's little army was pushing the war against the desert. there was where the brunt of bat truxton's responsibility lay. to his left, still several miles away, was valley city. he swung his horse toward the camp, which as yet was scarcely more than a man's dream of a town, and rode on at a swift gallop. now more than ever he saw what some of the difficulties were in front of the handful of men scarring the breast of this western sahara. for a moment he could see the houses before him, even down to their doorsteps, and a moment later only the roofs peered at him over the crest of a gently swelling rise. here the water, when it was brought this far, must be swung in a wide sweep to right or left, or else many days, perhaps many weeks, must be sacrificed to the leveling of a great sand-pile. he began to wonder if there was enough water in the mountains for so mammoth a project; if what of the precious fluid could be taken from the creeks and springs would not be drunk up by the thirsty sands as though it had been scattered carelessly by the spoonfuls, as a blotter drinks drops of ink. he even began to wonder uneasily if lonesome pete had been right when he had said that another name for such an attempt at reclamation was simple "damn foolishness." the water had not come yet; it was still running in its time-worn courses down the mountain-sides; but something else was being drunk up daily by the parched gullet of the dry country. and that something else was mr. crawford's money. his fortune was no doubt very large; it must run into many figures before rattlesnake valley grew green with fertility. he came at last into the little town, passed the cottage where he had worked with argyl, and drew up before a four-roomed, rough, unpainted building, with a sign over the door saying, "general office crawford reclamation company." swinging down from his horse, which he left with reins upon the ground, he went in at the open door. within there were bare walls, bare floor, and three or four cheap chairs. under the windows looking to the south there ran a long, high table, covered with papers and blue-prints. another long table ran across the middle of the room. at it, facing him, perched upon a high stool, a young man, a pencil behind each ear, his sleeves rolled up, was working over some papers. in one corner of the same room another young fellow, hardly more than a boy--eighteen or nineteen, perhaps--was ticking away busily at a typewriter. the man in shirt-sleeves working at the second long table looked up as conniston came in. he was a pale, not over-strong--looking chap, somewhere about conniston's own age, his short-cropped yellow hair pushed straight back from a high forehead, his lips and eyes good-humored and at the same time touched vaguely with a tender wistfulness. conniston imagined immediately that this was garton, bat truxton's helper. "you're mr. garton?" he said, voicing his impression as he came forward. "no one else," garton answered him, pleasantly. "tom garton at your service. and you're conniston from the half moon?" he put out his hand without rising. conniston took it, surprised as he did so at the quick, strong grip of the slender fingers. "i'm glad to know you, conniston. glad you're to be with us. oh yes, i knew a couple of days ago that you were coming over. mr. crawford dropped in on us himself and told us about you. have a chair." they had shaken hands across the table. now, as conniston moved across the room to the chair at which garton waved, the latter swung about on his high stool toward the boy at the typewriter. "hey there, billy!" he called. "come and meet mr. conniston. he's going to be one of us. mr. conniston, meet mr. jordan--billy jordan--the one man living who can take down dictation as fast as you can sling it at him, type it as you shoot it in, and play a tune on his typewriter at the same time!" stepping about the table to meet the boy who had got to his feet, conniston received a shock which for a second made him forget to take young jordan's proffered hand. for the first time now he saw garton's body, which had been hidden by the table; saw that garton had had both legs taken off six inches above the knees. he remembered himself, and tried to hide his surprise under some light remark to billy jordan. but garton had seen it, and laughed lightly, although with a slight flush creeping up into his pale cheeks. "hadn't heard about my having slept with procrustes? well, you'll get used to having half a man around after a while. the rest do. i've gotten used to it myself. now sit down. have a smoke?" he pushed a box of cigarettes along the table. "and tell us what's the news on broadway." "you're a new-yorker?" "oh, i've galloped up and down the big thoroughfare a good many times in the days of my youth," grinned carton, helping himself to a cigarette. "i'm an easterner, all right; or, rather, i was an easterner. i guess i belong to this man's country now." "what school?" "yale. ' ." "why, that's my school! i was a ' man." "i know it." garton nodded over the match he was touching to his cigarette. "you're greek conniston, son of the big conniston who does things on the street. but we didn't happen to travel in the same class. i was shy on the money end of it. oh, i remember you, all right. i saw that record run of yours around left end to a touchdown. gad, that was a great day! i went crazy then with a thousand other fellows. i remember," with an amused chuckle, "jumping up and down on a fat man's toes, yelling into his face until i must have split his ear-drum! oh yes, i had two pegs in those days. the fat man got mad, the piker, and knocked me as flat as a pancake! i guess he never went to yale." for ten minutes they chatted about old college days, games lost and won, men and women they both had known in the east. and then, naturally, conversation switched to the work being done in rattlesnake valley. garton's face lighted up with eagerness, his eyes grew very bright, he spoke swiftly. it was easy to see that the man was full of his work, pricked with the fever of it, alive with enthusiasm. "you seem to be mightily interested in the work," conniston smiled. "i am. i am in love with it! a man can't live here ten days and be a part of it without loving it or hating it. it's the greatest work in the world; it's big--bigger than we can see with our noses jammed up against it! it's a man's work. and thank god we've got the right man at the head of it!" "meaning truxton?" "meaning the man who is the brain of it and the brawn of it; the heart and soul and glorious spirit of it; yes, and the pocket-book of it! that's john crawford, a big man--the biggest man i ever knew. who else would have the nerve to tackle a thing like this, to tackle it lone-handed? and to hold on to it in the face of opposition which would crush another man, and with the risk of utter financial ruin looming as big as a house, like a glorious, grim old bulldog! oh, you don't know what it means yet; you can't know. wait until you've been here a week, seeing every day of it a thousand dollars poured into the sand, a few square yards of sand leveled, a few yards of canal dug, and you'll begin to understand. why, the whole thing as it stands is as dangerous as a dynamite bomb--and john crawford is as cool about it as an anarchist!" "you speak of opposition. i didn't know--" garton rumpled his upstanding yellow hair and laughed softly. "i guess none of us know a great deal about it excepting john crawford. and john crawford doesn't talk much. oh, you will learn fast enough all that we know about it. and now i suppose you'll be wanting to know where you fit into the machine. bring any things with you--any personal effects?" "a tooth-brush and an extra suit," conniston laughed. "they're tied to my saddle outside." "you can bring 'em in here. i have a room in the back of this shack. you're to share it with me, if you care to. you'll find a shed in the back yard where you can leave your horse. there's a barrel of water out there, too. and, by the way, you might as well learn right now not to throw away a drop of the stuff; it's worth gold out here. when you get back i'll go over things with you. your first day's work, the better part of it, will be to listen while i talk." conniston unsaddled and tied his horse in the little shed, coming back into the office with his roll of clothes. garton swung about upon his stool and pointed out the room at the back of the house which was to serve for the present as the sleeping-room for both men. there were two cots along opposite walls, a chair, and no other furniture. conniston threw down his things upon the cot which garton called to him was to be his, and came back into the office. pulling a stool up to the table alongside of garton, he began his first day's work for the reclamation project. chapter xii tommy garton spoke swiftly, clearly, concisely, explaining those essentials of the work in hand which conniston must grasp at the beginning. filled with an ardor no whit less than mr. crawford's, there seemed to be no single detail which he did not have at his fingers' ends. taking from the drawer of his table a map which bore his own name in the corner, he pointed out just where their source of water was, and just how it was to be brought down from the mountains into the "valley." he indicated where the work was being pushed now. he showed where the big dam had already been thrown across a steep-walled, rocky cañon; how, when the time came, a second dam (this purely a diversion weir) was to be constructed across a neighboring cañon, higher up in the mountains, deflecting the waters which poured down through it into the lower dam, and from it turning them into the main canal at the upper end of rattlesnake valley. he pointed out, five miles to the north of these two big dams, the place where a third was to be flung across yet another cañon, imprisoning a smaller creek and turning it toward the southwest to join the overflow of the others in the main canal. he ran over blue-print after blue-print, to show the type of construction work being done. he explained where there was leveling called for, where the canal must be turned aside. "we'd bring her straight through, and d--n the little knolls," he cried, banging his fist down upon his table in sudden vehemence, "but there is a time-limit on this thing, conniston. and we've got to get water here, right here in valley city, when the last day is up. not twenty-four hours late, either. no, not twenty-four minutes!" he ran the back of his hand across his moist forehead, and sat staring out of the window as though he had forgotten conniston's presence. "what sort of a time-limit? i thought that mr. crawford was alone in this thing, that he had the rest of his lifetime to finish it in if he wanted to take that long." garton snorted. "he's got until just exactly twelve o'clock, noon, on the first day of october. if he is five minutes late--yes, five minutes!--there'll be men right here holding stop-watches on the thing like it was a blooming foot-race!--he'll be busted, ruined, smashed, and the whole project a miserable abortion!" he paused a moment, biting the end of his pencil. and before he went on he had turned his eyes steadily upon conniston's face, studying him. "if you're going to work with us, to get into it with your sleeves rolled up like bat truxton and billy there and me and a few others of us, you might as well know in the beginning what's what in this scrap. for it is a scrap--the biggest scrap you ever saw, a fight to the finish, with one man lined up against--do you have any idea what john crawford is bucking?" conniston shook his head. "i know virtually nothing of this thing, garton." "well, i'll tell you. single-handed that man is fighting the desert! and he'd beat it back, too, and conquer it and muzzle it and make it eat out of his hand if they'd only let him alone. but they won't, the cold-blooded highway robbers! he's got them to fight with his left hand while he hammers away at the face of the desert with his right! who are 'they'? 'they' are a syndicate; organized capital. 'they' spell many millions of dollars ready to be spent to defeat john crawford." he stopped suddenly, frowning and gnawing at his pencil. conniston was about to ask a question when garton went on rapidly, such hot indignation in his tones that billy jordan dropped his hands from the keys of his machine to listen to what he had heard many a time before. "you know already how mr. crawford built the town which is named after him? he made that town just as a man takes clay into his hands and makes a modeled figure out of it. and when the job was done he went to the pacific central & western and showed them why it would pay them to build a narrow-gage railroad from bolton, on the other side of the ridge, thirty miles through mountainous country. he had that planned out long before the first shack was put up in crawfordsville. and he knew what he was doing. the p. c. & w. built the road and have run an accommodation train back and forth daily ever since. and they have made money at it hauling freight, merchandise from the main line, building-material, farming implements--everything which had to go into crawfordsville; hauling farm produce from the new settlement back into bolton. "because he had shown the p. c. & w. that the thing could be done on a paying basis, because it _was_ done and did pay, the p. c. & w. listened to him when he made a second proposition to them. he went straight to colton gray, and colton gray listened to him. what gray advises, the p. c. & w. does. in the end, after many interviews and much investigation and discussion, crawford made gray see the matter the way he saw it. the p. c. &. w. contracted to begin work on a line from crawfordsville to valley city and on across the desert to the main transcontinental railroad at indian creek the day that sufficient water to irrigate fifty square miles of land had been brought into this part of the 'valley.' it was agreed by both contracting parties that the water was to be brought to this spot by noon of october first, or all contracts became null and void. "the day that gray agreed for the p. c. & w. mr. crawford put men to work on the first preliminary survey. he had already the necessary water concessions. he had studied his ground, made his plans with a carefulness which overlooked nothing which a man could foresee, and had every reason to believe, to be positive, that he could have all the water he wanted in the valley a whole month before the first of october. "and i tell you he could have done it if they had just let him alone! but they wouldn't. within thirty days after the first shovelful of earth was turned there was a strong organization perfected to defeat him. why? in the first place there is a certain bloated toad in our local puddle named oliver swinnerton who has his hatchet out on general principles for the old man. in the town of bolton he's the mayor and the chief of police and the board of city fathers and the municipal janitor all rolled into one pompous, pot-bellied little body. he's got money and he's got brains. no sooner does word get about of the old man's contract with the p. c. & w. than oliver swinnerton gets busy. he went straight to colton gray, and at first he could do nothing with him. gray had taken time for his investigations of mr. crawford's scheme, had been convinced that it was feasible, and now stood pat. but swinnerton with his counter-scheme interested a lot of other capital, and through some of the men he got in with him he got the ear of some of the higher-ups on the p. c. & w. he even got his scheme into the private office of the president, and from the president word ran down to gray. i think even gray began then to get shaky in the knees. i tell you, conniston, the old man's project is so big that until it is consummated there will always be a doubt in other men's minds whether the thing ever can be done. if it can't, if it proves impracticable to irrigate this country, to build first valley city and then a string of settlements across the desert, why then of course there would be nothing in it for the p. c. & w. to run a spur across to indian creek. "and oliver swinnerton made it his business to show the management of the railroad that the thing was impossible, that it was a mad fool's dream, that when the first day of october came there would be nothing accomplished because there never could be anything accomplished. he scored his point, and then he played his trump card. he showed that the same money which the railroad would have to spend in stringing rails across the sand here could be spent more advantageously in another direction. "on the other side of bolton there are grassy foothills, well watered--a big stretch of country very much like that about crawfordsville. already there are orchards there, considerable small farming, grain-raising and hay. swinnerton planned to build a town out there in the heart of that fertile country where there are now a number of settlements and to have the p. c. & w. run a seventy-five-mile spur out that way. the management naturally will not stand for the expense of both roads at the same time, since both would be very largely in the nature of experiments. swinnerton's scheme looked more promising than the old man's. swinnerton got his contract with the railroad. and that contract says that if on the first day of october mr. crawford has not made good he will be given not a day's grace, but work will be begun on the other road into swinnerton's country. do you see now what i mean by opposition? do you see what will happen if we don't come up to time on our end of the game? swinnerton is so confident that he holds the winning hand that he has already founded his town, already sunk a pile of money in it. somebody is going to go to the wall when the first day of october comes." "but," demurred conniston, "swinnerton and his corporation are doing nothing actively to retard our work--can do nothing. if--" "he isn't?" snorted garton. "that's all you know about it! how do we get all of our implements, our supplies, all of our men? they come to us by rail, don't they? and that means they come to us over the p. c. & w., doesn't it? and the p. c. & w. is scared out of its life, praying every day to its little gods for crawford's failure. what happens? we get delayed shipments, we wait for our stuff, and it lies sidetracked somewhere; we get our men stolen from us before they ever get to bolton, and shunted off to work for the opposition! there are a hundred ways in which swinnerton and the bigger men in with him can slip their knife into us every day of the week. and they are not missing very many bets, either. oh, gray's all right; he's square enough and willing enough to stand by his word. but he can't do everything. it takes time to get matters up to him, and it takes time for him to adjust them. and right now he's in san francisco attending a railroad conference, and he'll be there fifteen days, i suppose. what sort of service do you suppose we get in the mean time? you get that idea out of your head that swinnerton isn't doing anything actively to retard us. he's doing everything he can think of, and i told you at the jump that the man has brains." as well as a man could understand it without actually going over the ground, conniston learned that afternoon all that bat truxton's assistant could tell him. he learned, roughly, of course, how much had been done already, what remained to be done first, what could be allowed to wait until more men came to swell the forces now at work, what chief natural difficulties and obstacles lay across the path of the great venture. little tommy garton's enthusiasm was so keen a thing, so spontaneous, so whole-souled, that long before time came for the noon meal conniston felt his own blood pounding and clamoring for action. swiftly he was granted the first true glimpse which had ever come to him of the real nature of work. such work as he was now about to engage in was so infused with the elements of hazard, of risk, of uncertainty, of opposition, that it was shot through with a deep, stern fascination. it was not drudgery, and almost until now he had looked upon all work as that. it was a great game, the greatest game in the world. he already began to look forward to to-morrow, when he was to leave the office and go out upon the field of action with bat truxton with an eagerness such as he had felt in the old college days on the eve of the big thanksgiving football game. something of the spirit which had made old william conniston the dynamic, forceful man of business which he had always been, and which had never before manifested itself in old conniston's son, suddenly awoke and shook itself, active, eager, the fighting spirit of a fighting man. at noon billy jordan pushed back his chair and got to his feet, stretching his arms high over his head. "time to eat," he said, picking up his hat. "coming, mr. conniston?" "and you?" conniston asked of garton. "oh, me!" laughed garton. "i don't travel that far. not until my new legs come. i had trouble with 'em," he explained. "had to send 'em back to chicago. i'm hoping," with a whimsical smile, "that they don't get sidetracked with the rest of our stuff on the p. c. & w. go with billy, conniston. he'll show you where to eat." he whirled about on his stool, squirmed suddenly over on his stomach, and lowered himself to the floor. swinging the leathern-capped stumps of his legs between his hands, which he placed palm down on the floor, as a man may swing his body between crutches, he moved with short, quick jerks into the room where the two cots were. conniston turned away abruptly. with billy jordan he went nearly to the end of the short street before they came to a rude lunch-counter, set under a canvas awning, where a thin, nervous little man and his fat, stolid wife set canned goods and coffee before them. billy produced a yellow ticket to be punched, conniston paid his two bits, and they strolled back to the office. when conniston suggested that they take something to garton, billy told him that a boy took him his meals. there was so much to be got over that day, conniston was so eager to learn what details he could, tommy garton so eager to impart them, that it was scarcely half-past twelve when the two men were back at the long table going over maps and blue-prints. there were no interruptions. an imprisoned house-fly buzzed monotonously and sullenly against a pane of glass, his drone fitting into the heavy silence on the face of the hot desert so that it became a part of it. at four o'clock a handful of ragged children, barefooted, bronzed of legs and hands and faces, scampered by on their noisy way home from school. a pretty young woman in neat walking-habit and big white straw hat followed the children, smiling in through the open door at garton, noting conniston with a flash of big brown eyes and quickly dropping lids. billy, in seeming carelessness, had wandered to the door when the children passed, and stepped outside, chatting with her for five or ten minutes. "miss jocelyn," garton told him. "bat truxton's daughter, and the village schoolmistress. billy thinks he's rather hard hit, i fancy." "i've heard of her," conniston replied, frowning at the map he was holding flat on the table. "dam number two is the one which is completed, isn't it? and number three is the smaller auxiliary dam? how about number one, which seems to be the most important of the lot? when do we go to work on that?" garton chuckled. "you're going to be as bad as i am, conniston! can't even stop to look at a pretty girl? the lord knows they're scarce enough out here, too. yes, dam number one is the important one of the lot. it will be the biggest, the hardest, and most expensive to build, and it will control the water-supply which is going to save our bacon." whereupon he, too, forgot miss jocelyn and billy, and launched into further explanation. at six o'clock billy jordan covered his typewriter and put on his coat and hat. he came over to the table and leaned his elbow on it, waiting for garton to finish something that he was saying. "i'm going around to truxton's a little while this evening," he said, trying to speak as a man of the world should, but flushing up under garton's twinkling eyes. "if you find time dragging on your hands you might come along, mr. conniston. miss jocelyn"--he hesitated a moment--"miss jocelyn said i might bring you around." conniston thanked him and asked him to thank miss jocelyn, but assured him that instead of having time lagging for him he had more to do than he could manage. so billy went on his way alone. nor did he seem disappointed at conniston's refusal to accompany him. it was only when it began to grow dusk and the boy brought garton's supper that conniston got up and went down the street to his own solitary evening meal at the lunch-counter. it was after nine o'clock, and conniston was lying on his cot in the little rear room of the office-building listening to tommy garton talk about reclamation--it seemed the only thing in the world he cared to talk about during working-hours or after--when the outside door was flung open and a man's heavy tread came through the office and to their sleeping-room. "that'll be truxton," garton said. "wants to see you, i guess." the heavy tread came on through the office, and the door to garton's room was flung open with as little ceremony as the front door had been. in the light of a kerosene-lamp upon the chair near his cot conniston saw a short, squat, heavy-set man of perhaps forty-five, very broad across the forehead, very salient-jawed, his mustache short-cropped and grizzled, his mouth large and firm-lipped, his eyes steady and keen as they turned swiftly upon conniston from under shaggy, tangled, iron-gray brows. the man had nodded curtly toward tommy garton, and then stood still in the doorway regarding young conniston intently. "you're conniston." it was a positive statement rather than a question, but conniston answered as he sat up on the edge of his cot: "yes. i'm conniston." "all right." truxton removed the lamp from the one chair in the room, placed it upon the window-sill, and sat down, pulling the chair around so that he faced conniston. "you're goin' to work with me in the mornin'. now, what do you know?" his manner was abrupt, his voice curt. conniston felt a trifle ill at ease under the man's piercing gaze, which seemed to be measuring him. "not a great deal, i'm afraid. you see, i--" "i thought you were an engineer?" "i am--after a fashion. graduate of yale--" "ever had any actual, practical experience?" "only field work in college." "ever had any experience handlin' men? ever bossed a gang of men?" "no." "ever do any kind of construction work?" "in college--" "forget what you did with a four-eyed professor standin' over you! ever build a bridge or a grade or a dam or a railroad?" "no." conniston answered shortly, half angrily. "then," grunted truxton, plainly disgusted, "i'd like to know what the old man meant by sendin' you over here! i can't be bothered teachin' college boys how to do things. what i need an' need bad is an engineer that can do his part of the day's work." "look here!" cried conniston, hotly. "we all have to begin some time, don't we? you had your first job, didn't you? and i'll bet you didn't fall down on it, either! it's up to you. if you think i'm no good, all right. if you give me my work to do i'll do it." "it _ain't_ up to me. the old man sent you over. you go to work in the mornin'. if i was doin' it i wouldn't put you on. i don't say you won't make good--i'm just sayin' i wouldn't take the chance. i'll stop here for you at four o'clock in the mornin'." he swung about from conniston and toward garton. "how're they comin', tommy?" all of the curt brusqueness was gone from his tone, the keen, cold, measuring calculation from his eye. with the compelling force of the man's blunt nature the whole atmosphere of the room was altered. "first rate, bat," tommy answered, cheerfully. "how's the work going?" "good! the best day i've had in two weeks. we get to work on those seven knolls to-morrow. you remember--miss argyl calls 'em little rome." "what have you decided? going to make a detour, or--" "detour nothin'. i'm goin' right straight through 'em. it'll take time, all right. but in the end we'll save. i'll cut through 'em in four days or four an' a half." "and then--it's dam number one?" truxton swore softly. "if i can get the men, it is! swinnerton stole my last gang--seventy-five of 'em. the blamed little porcupine offered 'em two bits more than we're payin' an' grabbed every one of 'em. the old man has wired denver for a hundred more muckers. swinnerton can't keep takin' men on all year. he's got more now than he knows what to do with. i guess this gang 'll come on through. as soon as they come, tommy, i'll have that big dam growin' faster'n you ever saw a dam grow before." for half an hour the two men talked, and conniston lay back listening. in spite of bat truxton's sour acceptance of him, conniston began to feel a decided liking for the old engineer. after all, he told himself, were he in truxton's place he would have small liking for putting a green man on the job. he realized that there was nothing personal in truxton's attitude toward him. truxton was not looking for a man, but for an efficient, reliable machine, one that had already been tested and found to be strong, trustworthy, infallible. again the question had been put to him, "what have you done?" and it was nobody's fault but his that he had done nothing. "i wish you had two legs, tommy," truxton said, when at last he got up and went to the door. "you an' me workin' together out there--well, we'd make things jump, that's all." tommy laughed, but his sensitive mouth twitched as though with a sharp physical pain. "oh, i'm doing all right inside," he answered, quietly. "somebody's got to attend to this end of the game. and conniston will be on to the ropes in a few days. he'll help you make things jump." truxton made no answer. for a moment he stood frowning at the floor. then he turned once more to conniston for a short, intent scrutiny. "you have your blankets ready, conniston," he said, shortly. "you'll sleep on a sand-pile to-morrow night." and he went out, slamming the door behind him. chapter xiii at half-past three, conniston, awakened with a start by the jangle and clamor of tommy garton's little alarm-clock, got up and dressed. at the lunch-counter the man who had been fidgety yesterday and was merely sleepy this morning set coffee and flapjacks and bacon before him. before four he had saddled his horse, rolled into a neat bundle a blanket and a couple of quilts from the cot upon which he had slept last night, tied them behind his saddle, and was ready for the coming of bat truxton. then truxton on horseback joined him. conniston mounted, acknowledged truxton's short "good mornin'," and rode with him away from the sleeping village and out toward the south. "tommy's told you somethin' about what we got ahead of us?" truxton asked, when they had ridden half a mile in silence. "yes. we went over the whole thing together as well as we could in a day's time." "that's good. if any man's got a head on him for this sort of thing, that man's tommy garton. he'd make it as plain as a man could on paper, without goin' over the ground. to-day we're tyin' into those seven sand-hills i mentioned last night. i've got two hundred men workin' there. so they won't get in each other's way i've divided 'em up in four gangs, fifty men to the gang. there's all kinds of men in that two hundred, conniston, and about the biggest part of your day's work will be to sort of size your men up. i've divided 'em, not accordin' to efficiency, but partly accordin' to nationality an' mostly accordin' to cussedness. i'm givin' you the tame ones to begin on. i'll take care of the ornery jaspers until you get your hand in. but i can't spare more'n a day or two. then it'll be up to you. you'll have to swing the whole bunch, if you can. an' if you can't it'll be up to you to quit! oh, it ain't so all-fired hard, not if you've got the savvy. i've got a foreman over each section that knows what he's doin' an' will do pretty much everything if you can furnish the head work." "where is the trouble with them? what do you mean by the ornery ones? they're all here because they want to work, aren't they? if they get dissatisfied they quit, don't they?" truxton looked at him curiously. "you got a lot of things to learn, conniston. just you take a tip from me: you keep your eyes an' ears real wide open for the next few days an' your mouth shut as long as you can. tommy explained to you about the opposition? about what oliver swinnerton is doin' an' tryin' to do?" "yes." "then you remember that; don't overlook it for a minute, wakin' or sleepin'. it'll explain a whole lot." when they rode into the camp at little rome the two hundred men employed there were just beginning to stir. conniston's eyes took in with no little interest the details of the camp. there was one long, low tent, the canvas sides rolled up so that he could see a big cooking-stove with two or three men working over it. this, plainly enough, was the kitchen. from each side of the door a long line of twelve-inch boards laid across saw-horses ran out across the level sand. upon the parallel boards were tin plates stacked high in piles, tin cups, knives and forks, and scores of loaves of bread. there were in addition perhaps twenty tin buckets half filled with sugar. scattered here and there upon the sand, some not twenty feet from the tent, some a hundred yards, some few with a little straw under them, the most of them with their blankets thrown upon the sand or upon heaps of cut sage-brush, were truxton's "muckers." they lay there like a bivouacking army, their bodies disposed loosely, some upon their backs, still sleeping heavily; many just sitting up, awakened by the clatter of the cook's big iron spoon against a tin pan. behind the tent, picketed in rows by short ropes, were the horses and mules. and lined up to the right of the tent were twenty big, long-bodied studebaker wagons, each with four barrels of water. two more wagons at the other side of the tent were piled high with boxes and bags of provisions. truxton and conniston unsaddled swiftly, and after staking out their horses, conniston throwing his roll of bedding down behind the tent, they walked around to the front. already most of the men were up, rolling blankets or hurrying to the rude tables. several of them had gone to the aid of the cooks, and now were hurrying up and down between the parallel boards, setting out immense black pots of coffee, great lumps of butter, big pans of mush, beans, stewed "jerky," and potatoes boiled in their jackets. the men who had rolled out of their beds fully dressed, save for shoes, formed in a long line near the tent door and moved swiftly along the tables, taking up knives, forks, plates, and cups as they went, helping themselves generously to each different dish as they came to it. many stopped at the farther ends of the boards, standing and eating from them. many more took their plates and cups of coffee away from the tables and squatted down to eat, placing their dishes upon the sand. there was remarkably little confusion, no time lost, as the two hundred men helped themselves to their breakfast. they did not appear to have seen truxton; they glanced swiftly at conniston and seemed to forget his presence in their hunger. never had conniston seen a crowd of men like these. there were americans there, and from the broken bits of conversation which floated to him he knew that they hailed from east, west, north, and south. there were hungarians, slavonians, swedes--heavy, stolid, slow-moving men whose knowledge of the english language rose and set in "damn" and "hell." there were chinamen and japs--a dozen of the slant-eyed, yellow-faced orientals--the chinamen all big, gaunt men with their queues coiled about their heads. there were italians, the lower class known to the west as "dagoes." and almost to the last man of them they were the hardest-faced men he had ever seen. there was a big, loose-limbed giant of an englishman who walked like a sailor, who carried a great white scar across his cheek and upper lip, and who wore a long unscabbarded knife swinging from his belt. there was a wiry little frenchman who showed a deep scar at the base of his throat, from which his shirt was rolled back, and who snarled like a cat when another man accidentally trod upon his foot. conniston saw a dozen faces scarred as though by knife-cuts; twisted, evil faces; dark, scowling faces; faces lined by unbridled passions; brutal, heavy-jawed faces. but if their faces showed the handiwork of the devil, from their chins down they were men cast in the mold of the image of god. from the biggest dane standing close to six feet six inches to the smallest jap less than five feet tall, they were men of iron and steel. quick-eyed, quick-footed, hard, they were the sort of men to drive the fight against the desert. breakfast finished, the men dropped their cups and plates into one of two big tubs as they passed by the tent, their knives and forks into another, and went quietly and promptly to work. each man had his duty and went about it without waiting to be told. they filled buckets at the water-barrels and watered their horses; they harnessed and hitched up to plows and scrapers; half a dozen of them hitched four horses to each of six of the wagons whose barrels had been emptied, and swung out across the plain toward the half moon for more water. truxton beckoned to conniston and led him toward the south. and suddenly, coming about the foot of a little knoll, conniston had his first glimpse of the main canal. here it was a great ditch, ten feet deep, thirty feet wide, its banks sloping, the earth which had been dragged out of it by the scrapers piled high upon each side in long mounds, like dikes. truxton stood staring at it, his eyes frowning, his jaw set and stern. "there she is, conniston. a simple enough thing to look at, but so is the business end of a mule. this thing is goin' to make the old man a thousand times over--or it's goin' to break him in two like a rotten stick." the workmen were coming up, driving their teams with dragging trace-chains to be hitched to the scrapers and big plows standing where they had quit work the night before. truxton, tugging thoughtfully at his grizzled mustache, watched them a moment as they "hooked up" and dropped, one behind another, into a long, slow-moving procession, the great shovel-like scrapers scooping up ton after ton of the soft earth, dragging it up the slope where the end of the ditch was, wheeling and dumping it along the edge of the excavation, turning again, again going back down into the cut to scoop up other tons of dirt, again to climb the incline to deposit it upon the bank. here conniston counted forty-nine teams and forty-nine drivers. one man--it was the big englishman with the scarred lip and cheek and the unsheathed knife--was standing ten feet away from the edge of the ditch, his great bare arms folded, watching. "that's one of your foremen," truxton said, his eyes following conniston's. "ben, his name is. he knows his business, too. he'll take care of this gang for you while you come along with me. i'll show you your other shift." they followed a line marked by the survey stakes for a quarter of a mile past the camp. here another fifty men were at work; and here, where the top of the sand had already been scraped away, a harder soil called for the use of the big plows before the scrapers could be of any use. the foreman here, a south-of-market san-franciscan by his speech, shouted a command to one of the drivers and came up to truxton. "whatcher want to-day?" he demanded. "ten foot?" "nine," truxton told him, shortly. "nine an' a half by the time you get to that first stake. nine three-quarters at the second. can you get that far to-day?" the foreman turned a quid of tobacco, squinted his eye at the two stakes, and nodded. "sure thing," he said. and then he turned on his heel and went back to the point he had quit, yelling his orders as he went. "another good man," truxton muttered. "thank the lord, we've got some of them you couldn't beat if you went a thousand miles for 'em." still farther on was the third gang, and beyond that the fourth. these hundred men were at work on the "seven knolls." and there truxton himself would superintend the work to-day. he stopped and stood with conniston upon one of the mounds, from which they could see all that was being done. and with slow, thoughtful carefulness he told conniston all that he could of the work in detail. "you do a good deal of watchin' to-day," he ended. "ben an' the lark--that's what they call that little cuss bossin' the second gang--listen to him whistle an' you'll know why--know well what to do. right now an' right here the work's dead easy, conniston. only don't go an' let 'em drive you in a hole where you have to admit you don't know. you've _got_ to know." the work here was in reality so simple that men like ben and the lark grasped it quickly. conniston had little trouble in seeing readily what was to be done. the details truxton furnished him. when noon came they ate with the men. and at one o'clock truxton called ben and the lark aside and told them shortly that conniston was the new engineer and that they were to take orders from him. whereupon conniston took upon himself the responsibility of "bossing" a hundred men, the biggest responsibility which he had ever taken upon his care-free shoulders. he had seen the slow, measuring glances which both of his two foremen had bestowed upon him when truxton told them; knew that they accepted him as their overseer because they took orders from truxton, but saw in their faces that they reserved judgment of him personally until such time as they could see how much or how little he knew. he was not greatly in fear of the outcome. the work was running so smoothly, there were so few possible difficulties to come up now, that it seemed to him that all he had to do was to stand and watch. and at first he did little but watch and, as truxton had suggested, try to study his men. he saw that both the lark and ben said very few words, that when they did speak they barked out short, explosive commands surcharged with profanity, that when they interfered there was a good reason for it, that their commands were obeyed without hesitation and without question. not once in two hours did either of them so much as look toward him. and the long processions of men and horses came and went, scooped and dumped their big scraper-loads, and swung back into the ditch, each man of them moving like a machine. it was after three o'clock when he noticed something which he would have seen before had he been used to the work and the men. he saw the long string of scrapers come to a halt for perhaps two minutes; saw that the cause of the halt was a big northlander who had stopped just as he came upon the bank and was working over at race-chain which seemed to be causing trouble. in a moment he started up again, the other scrapers began to move, and conniston dismissed the matter as of no consequence. this was the gang over which ben was foreman. he glanced quickly at the big englishman and saw that his eyes were upon the northlander. again, not twenty minutes later, came a second brief stoppage, again the swede was working over a trace-chain--and now ben had swung about and was striding toward conniston. "hi say there," he said, as he came to conniston's side. "bat says hi'm to take horders off you. do you want me to 'andle those johnnies? hor do you figure on a-stepping in? hi?" "what do you mean?" demanded conniston, a bit puzzled. "i haven't interfered with you, have i?" "no. hi just want to know, you know. hi 'andle 'em my wi, hor hi quit, you know." "you are to do just as you have always done," conniston told him, shortly. "if you can handle them, all right. go to it. if you need any help--what's the matter?" "hi don't awsk any 'elp," muttered ben. "just one man--" "you mean that swede with the big white mare in the lead?" interrupted conniston, quickly. ben looked at him swiftly. grunting an answer which conniston did not catch, he turned and went back along the edge of the ditch. the swede was again coming up the bank. at the top he did as he had done more than once before: turned out in a wide circle, letting two men pass him. the englishman strode swiftly toward him. "hi, there, you big swede!" he yelled, his words accompanied by a volley of insulting epithets born in the slums of london. "wot you trying to do? want the 'ole works to pawss you w'ile you rest? you blooming spoonbill, get inter that! step lively, man!" the northlander's heavy, slow-moving feet stopped entirely as he turned a stolid face toward the foreman. "i bane to like i tam plase," he muttered, slowly. "yo bane go hell." the big englishman sprang back, swept up a broken pick-handle half buried in the sand, and leaped forward. as he leaped he swung the bit of heavy, hard wood above his head. the swede dropped his reins and threw up his arms to guard himself, but the pick-handle, wielded in a great, sinewy right hand, beat down his arms and struck him a crashing blow across his forehead. conniston heard the thud of it where he stood. the swede's arms flew out and he went down like a steer in a slaughter-house. "you bloody spoonbill!" cried the englishman, standing over the prostrate body. "wot are you laying down for? get hup, hor hi'll beat the bloody 'ead hoff your bloody shoulders! get hup!" slowly, weakly, reeling as he got upon his knees, the swede rose to his feet. a great, smoldering, cold-blooded wrath shone in his blue eyes, mingled with a surly fear. he made no motion toward the man who stood three feet from him threatening him. nor did he stir toward his fallen reins. instead he turned half about toward the camp. "i bane quit," he muttered, thickly. "i bane get my time." "quit!" yelled ben--"quit, will you!" the swede muttered something which conniston did not catch. ben took one short, quick step forward, swinging his pick-handle high above his head. for a moment the swede paused, hesitating. and then, again muttering, he stooped, picked up his reins, and swung his team back into the cut. the other men had all stopped to watch. now ben swung about upon them, his voice lifted in a string of cockney oaths, commanding them not to stand still all day, but to get to work. at almost his first word the teams began to move again, the men laughing, calling to one another, jeering at the defeated swede, or merely shrugging their shoulders. and greek conniston, his face still white from what he had just witnessed, began to see, although still dimly, what it was he had taken into his two hands to do. he glanced down at his hands. the middle finger of the right one, with which he had struck brayley's heavy cheek-bone, was swollen to twice its natural size, stiff and sore. the nails were broken and blackened. there were a dozen scratches and little cuts. the palms were hard and calloused, with bits of loose skin along the base of the fingers where blisters had formed and broken and healed over. he lifted his head, and his speculative eyes ran back along the ditch. the work was again running smoothly, quietly, save for the clanking of the scrapers and the men's voices calling to their horses and mules, each man intent upon his own duty, the face of the desert as peaceful as the hot, clear arch of the sky above. chapter xiv three days passed, four, a week, and still no word came of the men for whom the "old man" had wired to denver. conniston had nearly forgotten them. his day was from daylight until dark, often until long after dark. upon more than one evening, after the men had had their suppers and crawled into their blankets, he and truxton had sat in the tent at the cook's rude table, a lantern between them, figuring and planning upon the next day. he began to notice a vague change in the older engineer as the days went by. at first he was hardly conscious of it, at a loss to catalogue it. but before the middle of the week he realized that each evening found truxton more irritable, more prone to explode into quick rage over some trifle. the man's eyes began to show the restless fever within him, and some sort of an unsleeping, nervous anxiety. throughout the days the men stood clear of him. his flaming wrath burst out at a blundering mistake or at a man's failure to follow to the last letter some short-spoken instructions. it was only one night when conniston made careless mention of oliver swinnerton, and truxton flew into a towering, cursing rage, that he began to believe that he saw the real reason for truxton's growing ill temper. "the thievin', mangy, pot-bellied porcupine!" truxton had shouted, banging his fist down upon the cook's table so hard that the lantern jumped two inches in the air. "i'll just naturally rid the earth of him one of these days. those men ought to have arrived from denver three days ago. how am i ever goin' to get anything done, an' no men to work for me? with colton gray gone an' the rest of the p. c. & w. thieves playin' into that scoundrel swinnerton's hands, where do we get off? we send for a hundred men, an' it saves swinnerton the trouble an' expense of a wire. by now every man jack of them is makin' fences an' buildin' houses for him, or i'm the worst-fooled man in the country." and he swung off into a string of curses which would not have been unworthy of ben the englishman. one afternoon when they had run the ditch through the seven knolls and were cutting rapidly through a level stretch with a double line of smaller hills a mile ahead of the foremost team, truxton came striding along the ditch to where conniston was standing. "think you can handle all four gangs without me for the rest of the afternoon?" he asked, as he came to conniston's side. "yes," answered conniston. "i can handle them." truxton laughed softly. "you're comin' ahead, youngster. wouldn't have wanted the job a week ago, would you? i believe you could handle 'em, too. but i'll do it this trip. i want you to go to the office for me. see tommy and run over these figures with him. i told you last night that i was sure of 'em. to-day i'm gettin' balled up. tell him that i'm puttin' a gang on that double line of hills first thing in the mornin'. run over the thing with him and verify our figures. if there's anything left of the afternoon when you get through you can take it off an' see the sights in valley city. find out how they're fixed for water an' grub an' wood. tommy's got all that dope at the tip of his tongue. an' be back here the first thing in the mornin'." he went back to his work, and conniston hurried away, decidedly glad for the change of work. just to grip his horse between his knees, to swing out alone across the rolling fields, to drink deep of the untroubled stillness of the wide places, to be an independent, swiftly moving figure with nothing to break the silent harmony of the still, hot sky above and the still, hot sands beneath--a harmony which the soul leaped out to meet--brought a quiet, peaceful content. the day was serene and perfect, like yesterday and to-morrow in this land of dreary barrenness and of infinite possibility; the faint blue of the cloudless sky met the gray monotone of the earth between two mounds in front of him; and as his horse's hoofs fell noiselessly, as though upon padded felt, his sensation was that of drifting across the wide sweep of a gently swelling ocean toward a landlocked sea of pale turquoise. it was shortly after four o'clock when he rode into valley city. he passed the one-room school-house, with its distinctive little belfry and flag-pole, and a glance in at the open windows told him that the children had been dismissed. at the corner of the building he came suddenly upon a saddled horse biting and stamping at the flies which defied swishing tail and savage teeth. half smiling, he stopped. he had recognized the horse as a half moon animal, one he had ridden several times, and thought that he could guess who was inside paying his respects to the schoolmistress. even as he paused jocelyn truxton came out, opening her white parasol. and in all the holiday regalia of shaggy black chaps, bright-blue neck-handkerchief, and new stetson hat, lonesome pete followed her. pete, as he emerged from behind the parasol, saw conniston and called a hearty "hello, con!" to him. and conniston turned his horse and rode back to the front steps. "miss jocelyn says as how she ain't been interdooced," lonesome pete was saying, his hat turning nervously in his hands, his face flushing as he met conniston's eyes. "shake han's with mr. conniston, miss jocelyn." miss jocelyn lifted her dropped eyelids with a quick flutter, favored conniston with a flashing smile, banished her smile to replace it with a pouting of pursed lips, and said, archly: "i have half a mind _not_ to shake hands with mr. conniston! if he had wanted to meet me he would have come with billy jordan the other night." but, none the less, she finished by putting out a small, gloved hand, and conniston, leaning from the saddle, took it in his. "i was sorry, miss truxton," he said, lightly. "didn't jordan tell you? garton and i had a lot to do that night, and worked late. it was very kind of you to say that i might come." "if you had wanted to come _very_ much--" she said, shaking her head saucily. "_you_ would have found time to come, wouldn't you, pete?" lonesome pete, his spurred boots shifting uneasily, put on his hat, noticed immediately that conniston still held his in his hand, snatched it off again, spun it about upon a big forefinger, and grinned redly. "i sure would, miss jocelyn," he declared with great emphasis. miss jocelyn turned back to lock the school-house door, and then came down the steps and into the road. "i'll go git my hoss an' walk along," lonesome pete said, and hurried around to the back of the house. "are you going my way, mr. conniston?" conniston said that he was, and swung down, walking at her side and leading his horse. "if you really _do_ care to come to see me," jocelyn said, quickly, before the cowboy had rejoined them, "you may call this evening." conniston thanked her, and, not to seem rude, said that he would drop in after he and tommy garton had finished their work. jocelyn smiled at him brightly. "you may come early, if you like. i am sure that you will have a whole lot of things to tell me about the progress you and papa are making with the ditch. i'm _so_ interested in the work, mr. conniston." pete had taken up his horse's dragging reins and led him into the street. jocelyn, her chin a trifle lifted, her air more than a trifle coquettish as she smiled at conniston, pretended not to see her red-headed adorer. walking between the two men, she even tilted her parasol so that it did no slightest good in the world in the matter of protecting her from the sun, but served very effectively in shutting out lonesome pete. conniston laughed and talked lightly with her, vastly amused at the situation and the discomfiture upon her ardent lover's expressive face. and so, with pete trudging along in silence, unnoticed, they came to the office and stopped, jocelyn and conniston still talking to each other, lonesome pete tying and untying knots in his bridle-reins. "can't you give up enough of your precious time to walk on home with me? i have some icy cold lemonade waiting for me," she tempted. "i'm sorry. i'd like to, but i've got a lot of work to get over with garton--" only three or four doors from the office was the little cottage which he had helped argyl to prepare for her father. even while he was making his excuses he saw the door open, and argyl herself, lithe and trim in her gray riding-habit, step out upon the tiny porch. "i beg pardon," he broke off, suddenly. "i--will you excuse me?" and, jerking his horse's reins so that the animal started up after him at a trot, he strode down the street, his hat off, his face lifted eagerly to argyl's. a moment later he was holding her hand in his, oblivious of jocelyn, pete, valley city, everything in the world except the girl with the big gray eyes, the girl whom he had seen through his shifting day-dreams. when the cowboy and the schoolmistress passed him lonesome pete was talking once more and she was being very gracious to him, but conniston had no eye for such trifles. jocelyn nodded a bit stiffly to argyl, and, smiling at conniston, cried gaily, "you won't forget, mr. conniston!" but he had already forgotten. he had not hoped to see argyl for many days yet, perhaps many weeks, and the unexpected sight of her thrilled through him, driving all thoughts of jocelyn out of his mind. and when in a few minutes he was forced to remember that he had business with garton he left reluctantly and with a promise to have dinner at six o'clock with her and her father. tommy garton he found as cheerful as a cricket and heartily glad to see him. billy jordan had looked out as jocelyn and her two escorts came by, and now was back at his typewriter, pounding the keys for dear life, the ticking and clicking of his machine keeping time to "yankee doodle," which he was whistling softly. he, too, shook hands, but his cheerfulness was of a grade noticeably inferior to garton's. and immediately he went back to his machine and his rhythmical pounding. conniston was of a mind to get the business of the day done with before six. the first part of his errand took up the greater part of an hour. then garton reported upon the other matter which truxton had wanted ascertained. there was water enough to last four days. provisions were holding out well, but soon there would be a need for fresh supplies of sugar, flour, and jerked beef. there was enough of canned goods at the general store to last for a month, a fresh shipment having been recently received--two big wagon-loads from crawfordsville. "i expect mr. crawford to drop in on us some time before dark," garton said, as he put away carefully into a drawer the papers he had taken from it during the consultation. "miss argyl is already here. stopped in a minute to let us know that the old man is coming." "yes, i know. i saw her a minute just before i came in." they chatted for a while longer, until conniston saw by his watch that it was six o'clock. then he got up and reached for his hat. "you'll spend the night with me, conniston," tommy garton offered. "i've got plenty of bedding; a man doesn't suffer for covers these nights. drop in as soon as you and billy get through supper. i think that i can beat you a game of crib." "much obliged, garton. but i may not run in for an hour or so. miss crawford has asked me to eat with them to-night." "oh." there was a great lack of expression in garton's monosyllable, but as he swung about upon his stool, bending over the box of cigarettes which he swept up, conniston thought that he saw a little twitch as of pain about the sensitive lips. not understanding, feeling at once that he would like to say something and not knowing what to say, he went slowly to the door. as he was going out garton called to him, his voice and face alike as cheerful as they had been throughout the afternoon. "i say, conniston. remember me to miss argyl, will you? she's a glorious girl. i never saw her match. she's got the same capability for doing big things that her father has. i said the other day that he was the whole brain and brawn of this war for reclamation. i ought to have been kicked. do you know that the whole project, from its inception, has been as much hers as his? why, that girl has ridden over every foot of this valley, knows it like a book. dam number three, that auxiliary dam, is her idea. and a rattling good idea, too. the men call it 'miss argyl's dam.' better brush up on your engineering before you talk reclamation with her, old man. she's read all the books i've got. a glorious girl, conniston." conniston came back into the room. "see here, garton," he said, gently. "why don't you come along. she told me that she wanted you, that she had asked you and--" garton waved an interrupting hand, smiling quickly. but conniston saw that his face looked tired. chapter xv at conniston's knock argyl's voice from somewhere in the back of the cottage called "come in!" he opened the door, went through the cozy sitting-room, which was scarcely larger than the fire-place at the range-house, and at a second invitation found his way into the rear room. there an oil-stove was shooting up its yellow flames about a couple of stew-pans, and there argyl herself, in blue gingham apron, her sleeves rolled up on her plump, white arms, was completing preparations for the evening meal. she turned to nod to conniston and then back to her cooking. "you'll find a chair in the corner," she told him, as he stopped in the doorway, looking amusedly at her. "that is, of course, if you care to call on the cook? otherwise you will find cigars and a last month's paper in the sitting-room." "there isn't any otherwise," he laughed back at her. and after a moment, in which she was very busy over the stove and he very content to stand and watch her: "we're even now. last time we were here i was the hired man and tacked down carpets for you. now i'm the guest of the family, if you please, and you're the cook." "you can have two cupfuls of water to wash your hands and one for your face. you'll find the barrel and basin upon the back porch. and don't throw the water away! i'll save it for you to use the next time you come." "thank you. but i washed over at garton's. he lets me have two cupfuls for my face. and now i'm going to help you. what can i do?" "nothing. if you wanted to work, why did you wait until the last minute? unless you know how to set a table?" "i can set anything from an eight-day clock to a hen," he assured her, gravely. "where's mr. crawford? has he come yet?" "no. i expect him any minute. but we won't wait for him. it's against the law in the crawford home to wait meals for anybody." under her direction he found the dishes in a cupboard built into the walls, knives, forks, spoons, and napkins in drawers below, and journeying many times from kitchen to dining-room, stopping after each trip to stand and watch his hostess in her preparations for dinner, he at length had the table set. and then he insisted upon helping play waiter with her until she informed him that he was positively retarding matters. whereupon he made a cigarette and sat upon the kitchen table and merely watched. for many days conniston had longed to see mr. crawford, to talk with him concerning the big work. now, as he and argyl sat down together, his one wish was that mr. crawford be delayed indefinitely. as he looked across the table, with its white cloth, its few cheap dishes, its simple fare, he was conscious of a deep content. he helped argyl to the _pièce de résistance_--it consisted of dried beef, potatoes, onions, and carrots all stewed together; she passed to him the biscuits which she had just made; they drank each other's health and success to the great work in light, cooled claret made doubly refreshing with a dash of lemon; and they dined ten times as merrily as they would have dined at sherry's. he told her of tommy garton, and suddenly surprised in her a phase of nature which he had never seen before. her eyes filled with a quick, soft sympathy, a sympathy almost motherly. "poor little tommy," she said, gently. "he laughs at himself and calls himself 'half a man,' while he's greater than any two men he comes in contact with once in a year. i call tommy my cathedral--which sounds foolish, i know, but which isn't! do you know the feeling you get when you steal all alone into one of those great, empty, silent churches, where it is always a dim twilight? not that tommy is as somber and stately as a great cathedral," she smiled. "just the opposite, i know. but his sunny nature, his unruffled cheerfulness affect me like a sermon. when i allow myself to descend into the depths and see how tommy manages it, i feel as if i ought to be spanked. i think," she ended, "that i have pretty well mixed things up, haven't i? but you understand what i mean?" "i understand. and since we have drunk to the great work, shall we drink to a great soul who is a vital part of it? i don't know how we'd manage without tommy garton." they touched glasses gravely and drank to a man who, as they sat looking out upon life through long, glorious vistas, dawn-flushed, lay alone upon his cot, his face buried in his arms. they finished their meal, cleared away the dishes together, and still mr. crawford had not come. then conniston dragged two of the chairs out to the front porch, took a cigar from the jar where it had been kept moist with half an apple, and they went out to enjoy the cool freshness of the evening. the sun had sunk out of sight, the mood of the desert had changed. all of the dull gray monotone was gone. all the length of the long, low western horizon the dross of the garish day was being transmuted by the alchemy of the sunset into red and yellow gold, molten and ever flowing, as though spilled from some great retort to run sluggishly in a gleaming band about the earth. a little wandering breeze had sprung up, and went whispering out across the dim plains. it swirled away the smoke from conniston's cigar; he saw it stir a strand of hair across argyl's cheek. the glory of the desert was still the wonderful thing it had been, but it was less than the essential, vital glory of a girl. suddenly a great desire was upon him to call out to her, to tell her that he loved her more than all of the rest of life, to make her listen to him, to make her love him. and with the rush of the desire came the thought, as though it were a whispered voice from the heart of the desert: "what are you that you should speak so to her. _what have you done to make you worthy of this woman?_ you, a laggard, as frivolous a thing until now as a weathercock, and by no means so useful a factor in the world, your regeneration merely begun; she the incomparable woman!" it was argyl who spoke first, and only after nearly an inch of white ash had formed at the end of conniston's cigar. "people who do not understand--they are aliens to whom the desert has never spoken!--ask why father gives the best part of a ripe manhood to a struggle with such a country. does not an evening like this answer their question? no people in the world can so love their land as do the children of the desert. for when they have made it over they are still a part of it and it has become a part of them." he told her all that he could of the work and truxton and the men, going into detail as he found that she followed him, that tommy garton had not exaggerated when he had said that she knew every sand-hill and hollow. she listened to him silently, only now and then asking a pertinent question, her eyes upon his face as she leaned forward in her chair, her hands clasped about her knees. and when he had finished he found that his cigar had long since gone out and that she was smiling at him. "it has got you, too!" she cried, softly. "you are as enthusiastic already as tommy garton is. i wonder if you realized it? and i wonder," her eyes again upon the fading colors in the west, the smile gone out of them, "what it would mean to you if, after all, our dream came to nothing, if it proved that we were more daring than wise, if we lost everything where we are staking everything?" "i have been a small, unnecessary cog in a great machine for only a week," he told her, slowly. "and yet you will know that i am telling you the plain truth when i say that such a failure would bring to me the biggest disappointment i have ever felt. failure," he cried, sharply, as though he had but grasped the full significance of the word after he himself had employed it--"there won't be failure at the end of it for us! there can't be. it means too much. i tell you that we are going to drive the thing to a successful conclusion. it's got to be!" "yes," she repeated, quietly, after him, "it has got to be. i don't doubt the outcome for one single second. down in my heart i _know_. and i know, too, how much there is yet to be done, how much you men have to contend with, how swiftly the time is slipping by us. do you realize, mr. conniston, how little time we have ahead of us before the first of october?" "yes, i know. and there are four miles of main canal to dig, mile after mile of smaller cross ditches, to irrigate the land after we get the water here, and two dams to complete." he got to his feet, his cigar again forgotten, his eyes frowning down upon her. "truxton is right. we've got to get more men--many more men. and we've got to get them in a hurry." "father, when he comes to-night, will know about the men we have been expecting from denver. he has been all day in crawfordsville. what do you think of bat truxton?" "he is a good man who knows his business. he is a skilful, practical engineer, and he knows how to get every ounce of power out of the men under him. he is as much the man for the place as if he and the job had been created for each other." she was now standing with him, watching his face eagerly. "have you noticed," she asked, quietly--through the gathering dusk he thought that he could see a faint shadow upon her face which was not a part of the thickening night--"any sort of change in the man since you went to work with him?" conniston hesitated, frowning, before he answered. "he has been irritable," he finally admitted, with slow reluctance. "but the reason is not far to seek and does not discredit him. he is heart and soul in this work, miss crawford. like all of us--you, your father, tommy garton, me--i think that he feels his responsibility heavily, very heavily. and when day after day rushes by and finds the work far from being finished, and he has to have more men, and the men don't come--good heavens! isn't it enough to make a man restive?" for a long time argyl made no answer, but, rising, stood looking far out into the misty obscurity, as though she would look beyond to-day and deep into the future for an answer to many things. the short twilight passed, the warm colors in the west faded, the breeze of a moment ago died down in faint and fainter whispers, the stars grew brighter, ever more thick-set, in the wide arch of the heavens. "i hope that you are right," she said, slowly, at last. and then, with a queer little laugh which jarred upon conniston strangely: "i am getting fanciful, i suppose, and faint-hearted! never has our undertaking seemed so big to me; never have the obstacles loomed so high. i find myself waking up with a start night after night from some horrible dream that the water has failed in the mountains, or that oliver swinnerton has stolen all of our men, or that bat truxton has gone over to the opposition! oh, i know that i am foolish. for, as you say, we _can't_ fail. everything has got to come out right! and now," in the manner native and natural to her--frank, hearty, even eager--"i am going to tell you some good news. in the first place, i see that i have been doing nothing too long, and that always makes one morbid, i think. i am going to get back to work. isn't that good news? it is to me, at least. and, secondly, i have made a discovery. you'd never guess." conniston shook his head. "what is it?" "what," she asked him, laughingly, and yet with a serious note in her voice, "is the one thing which we should like to discover here? if a good old-style genie straight from between the covers of the _arabian nights_ were to drop down in front of you and say, 'name the thing which thou wouldst have, and thou shalt have it!' what would that thing be?" and conniston, with his thoughts upon the great work, knowing that her thoughts were with his there, answered quickly: "water! but that is impossible!" "my secret--yet," she answered him. "i had not meant to say anything about it so soon. promise to say nothing about it until i give you leave, and i'll tell you a little--oh, a very little--about my secret." conniston promised, and she went on, speaking swiftly, earnestly: "it was last week. i was riding out into the desert to the north of here--no matter how far--when i came upon it. it is a spring. oh, not much of a spring to look at it. just a few square feet of moist soil, here and there a sprig of drying grass, three or four brown willows. but those things mean that there is water there. how it came there while all of the rest of the desert so far as we know it is bone-dry does not matter so much as _what can we do with it?_ i hardly dare hope," she finished, thoughtfully, "that my spring is going to prove a factor in our irrigation scheme. but i hope that it may help to supply us here with drinking-water, water for our horses. that in itself would mean a good deal, wouldn't it, mr. conniston?" "there is no end to what it might mean--may mean. if your spring can be made to supply valley city and the men working out yonder with water, to supply the horses and mules, it will mean that all the men and teams being used daily to haul from the half moon creek can be put to active work on the ditch. and--who knows?--if you can find water at all in the desert we may be able to use it to irrigate! god knows we want water on this land soon--and the mountains are still a long way off! but," and he tried to make out her features in the darkness, "how does it happen that this spring has never been found before?" "the country all about it is what the desert is everywhere. no one would dream of water in it. then there is a rude circle of low-lying sand-hills. within their inclosure, consequently shut off from view unless one rides to the crest of the hills as i happened to do, is the spring." he thought that she was going to add something further, perhaps more in the way of a description of the location of the spring, when he heard horses' hoofs and the rattle of dry wagon-wheels, and she broke off suddenly. "it is father at last," she said, softly. "remember, mr. conniston, i want to keep this a secret from father for a while--until i know what it is worth." "i'll remember," he answered, rising with her and turning toward the two figures which had leaped down from the wagon and were hastening toward the cottage. the man slightly in front of his companion, coming first into the rays of the lamp streaming through the window, was mr. crawford. and conniston saw with a quick frown that the other man was roger hapgood. "argyl, my dear," said mr. crawford, as he kissed the girl who had gone to meet him, "i am sorry we are late. you'll be sorry, too, for i'm amazingly hungry. anything left? ah, mr. conniston, isn't it? glad to see you." he took conniston's hand in a strong grip. "haven't seen you since you came to the valley. i'm glad you're here. i want to talk with you about the work." he went on into the house, argyl with him. she had shaken hands with roger hapgood, and, with an invitation to him and conniston to follow, went ahead with her father. for a moment the two men faced each other in silence through the half-darkness. then hapgood turned upon his heel and went into the house. in a moment conniston followed him, smiling. he took a chair at the side of the room and lighted a fresh cigar while he watched the two men at table and argyl bringing them their supper. he saw that mr. crawford's manner was what it always had been--bluff, frank, open, cheery. but he saw, too, or thought that he saw, little lines of worry upon the high forehead which had not been there a month ago. hapgood's face, seen now clearly, was as smug as ever, but there had been wrought in it a subtle change. in place of the fresh, pink complexion, the desert had given him a healthy coat of tan. but that, while conniston was quick to note it, was not the change that startled him. there was an indefinable something in hapgood's eyes, at the corners of his thin-lipped mouth, that had not been there before. conniston wondered if the hand of this western country had touched the inner man as it had the outer, if the new life had found certain small seeds of strength in the heretofore futile hapgood and were developing them? hapgood's manner, however, was unchanged, irreproachable. he placed salt and pepper, bread, butter, whatever it was that mr. crawford wanted, before him before the older man had realized that he wanted it. his attitude toward argyl was at all times deferential, eloquent of respectful admiration. hapgood was nothing if not urbane. toward conniston, however, he did not once glance. to his way of thinking, evidently, there were but three people in the room--the wonderfully masterful mr. crawford, the radiantly beautiful argyl, the deeply appreciative hapgood--and certain negligible, necessary furniture. during the short meal mr. crawford spoke little, contenting himself with a few light remarks to argyl and the others. often he ate in silence, abstractedly. argyl had looked curiously at him and thereafter offered few words. hapgood took his cue from the masterful mr. crawford. conniston smoked and watched the three of them, his eyes finding oftenest argyl and resting longest upon her. finally, when he had finished and pushed away his plate, taking the cigar argyl offered him, mr. crawford spoke shortly, emphatically. "i got word to-day from the men we have been expecting from denver. they have gone to work by now." "under bat truxton?" demanded conniston, quickly. the older man cut off the end of his cigar, rolled the black perfecto between his lips, and lighted it before he replied. "they have gone to work," he repeated, as though discussing a matter of no moment, "for oliver swinnerton. shall we go into the front room? i want to ask you some questions about the work, conniston. i did not have a chance to see truxton this afternoon." he rose and led the way into the other room. conniston, casting a swift glance at argyl's face, which had suddenly gone white, followed him. argyl had stepped forward as though to go with them when hapgood laid a detaining hand lightly, respectfully, upon her arm. "may i speak with you a moment, miss argyl?" he whispered, but not so low that conniston did not catch the words distinctly. "it will take just a moment, and--and it is very important." reluctantly she paused. conniston went out and heard hapgood shut the door after him. he shrugged his shoulders. mr. crawford did not again refer to the bad news which he had brought, but instead seemed to have forgotten it. he asked conniston question after question, seeking significant details, demanding to know how many feet the ditch had been driven upon each separate day of the week, what difficulties had been met, how the men did the parts allotted them, what truxton counted upon accomplishing upon each day to come. and after ten minutes of sharp, quick questions he leaned forward and, with his eyes steady and searching upon conniston's, demanded, abruptly: "is truxton showing any signs of nervous irritability?" "yes." conniston hesitated, wondering what was in the other man's thoughts. he began an explanation such as he had made argyl, but mr. crawford cut him short. "that will do. thank you. that is all that i wanted to know." he got to his feet and strode back and forth in the little room, his brows bunched together. conniston, seeing for the first time in this man whom he had held unendingly resourceful, indomitable, signs of a militating anxiety, felt a sudden chill at his heart. were they, after all, playing a losing game? was the combination of desert and swinnerton and capital going to prove too much for them? was john crawford even now looking clearly into the future and seeing himself a beaten, broken man? for a moment of torture, during which he realized to the uttermost what success would mean, what failure, he feared that the vision which he had thought to have glimpsed through this sturdy pioneer's eyes was the true vision, feared that the fight was going out of john crawford. and a moment later a little shiver tingled through him as john crawford stopped in front of him, looking down at him, as he saw that the make-up of this man was not broken, but that it was being bent like a powerful spring which draws its strength from outside pressure. he thought swiftly that the greater the weight put upon a powerful spring the greater was its recoil, the greater weights might it fling aside. mr. crawford was half smiling. his lips were calm. in his eyes there was no hint of fear or of failure. instead a steady light there spoke with clear forcefulness of an unshaken determination, and more than hinted of a certain grim joy of combat. "young man," he said, almost gently, "you are mighty fortunate." conniston rose, making no reply, as he waited for an explanation. "yes, mighty fortunate. you are taking hold. i know what you were when you came to us; i know what you are now. i can see what you are going to grow to be. i congratulate you. and i congratulate you upon being placed in a position from which you are going to see the biggest fight that was ever heard of in this part of the country. things are going dead against us these days. do you know what that means?" he squared his shoulders, and for a moment his lips came together in a straight line. then he smiled again. "are you never--afraid of the outcome?" asked conniston. "i believe in god, mr. conniston. i believe in my work. i believe in myself. we are not going to fail." in that one brief, fleeting second conniston had a view of john crawford he had never glimpsed before. he made no reply. for a moment there was complete silence, broken after a little by hapgood's voice from the dining-room. mr. crawford, walking composedly back and forth, drawing thoughtfully at his cigar, gave no evidence of so much as hearing the low-toned voice. to conniston, who thought that he could guess what it was that had put the pleading note into the guarded tones, the words came in an indistinguishable murmur. conniston, having no desire to play the part of eavesdropper, strolled out upon the porch. it was only a moment later when the door which he had softly closed behind him was thrown violently open, and roger hapgood, his hat crushed in his hand, hastened out, ran down the steps, and with no word of farewell disappeared into the darkness. conniston gazed after him in wonderment a moment, and then turned toward the open door behind him. argyl had come into the room, her face flushed, her eyes bright with anger. mr. crawford, looking up from his papers, was saying, quietly: "what is it, argyl? what is the matter with hapgood?" "i told him to go," she cried, hotly. "i told him never to speak to me again, never to come into this house!" mr. crawford stroked his chin thoughtfully. "for good and sufficient reasons, argyl dear?" he asked, gently. "yes. and--and i slapped his face, too!" a little smile rippled across her father's face. "then i am sure that the reason was good and sufficient. and i shall take pleasure in horsewhipping the little man for you, dear, if you wish." argyl ran to him and threw her arms about his neck. "god bless you, daddy!" she cried, softly. "i just love you to death. and," holding him away from her and smiling brightly at him, "i don't think that it is necessary. i slapped him _hard_!" conniston came back into the room. argyl was speaking swiftly, emphatically. "mr. hapgood has just done me the honor to ask me to marry him. he told me that he had acquainted mr. conniston with his intentions, so it is no secret. no, i did not slap him for that. but you, father, and you, too, mr. conniston, since you are one of us in our work, ought both to know what he threatened. he says that we are upon the very brink of failure; that swinnerton has almost sufficient strength to ruin us and our hopes. and he threatened, if i did not marry him, to turn his back upon us and join the opposition. and i slapped his face." mr. crawford took her hand and kissed it. "i can think of no more forceful answer you could have made him, argyl girl. fortunately, i have not confided in him to any dangerous extent. he knows--" "he knows," she cried, quickly, "all that you have let mr. winston know! everything you have told your lawyer--" she paused, hesitating. mr. crawford looked at her sharply. "what?" he demanded, a vague hint of anxiety in his tone. "he knows--for he told me--the exact condition of your finances." "had i not better go?" suggested conniston. "i do not want--" "no. you are with us. if hapgood knows, if he is going to peddle what he knows, you might as well know too! what did he say, argyl?" "he said, father, that you had played to the end of your string. he said that you did not have ten thousand dollars in the world. he said that you did not know where to turn to raise the cash for the rest of the work we have before us. i--i--" she looked anxiously at him. "did i do wrong, father? should i have temporized with him--ought i to have kept him from going away angry?" "you should have let me throw him outdoors. i am not afraid of him." he turned from her to conniston. his face was very grave, his eyes troubled, but he spoke firmly, confidently. "you see, mr. conniston, that we have a fight ahead of us. some people would say that we are on a sinking ship. what do you think?" "i think," said conniston, simply, "that we will win out in spite of what people say. i hope i may help you." "thank you. to-morrow morning i am coming out to see what you and truxton are doing. i shall want to have a talk with him--and with you. you will of course say nothing of what has happened to-night." out in the darkness conniston walked slowly toward the office building, his brows drawn, his eyes upon the ground, a fear which he could not argue away in his heart. with untold capital to back them the fight against the desert was such a fight as most men would not want upon their hands. with oliver swinnerton and the gold behind him which he was spending with the recklessness of assurance, the fight was tenfold harder. and now, when it was clear that the great bulk of john crawford's fortune was already sunk into the sand, the fight seemed hopeless. it had been a bad night for lovers. at the office building, leaning against the wall, a cigarette dangling dejectedly from his lips, lonesome pete was waiting for him. "that you, con?" "yes. what are you doing here?" "waitin' for you, an' meditatin' mos'ly." he cast away his cigarette, sighed deeply, and began a search for his paper and tobacco. "i was wantin' to ask you a question, con." conniston said, "go ahead, pete," and made himself a cigarette. "it's this-a-way." the cowboy lighted a match and let it burn out without applying the flame to his brown paper. for a moment he hesitated, and then blurted out: "you've knowed some considerable females in your time, i take it. huh, con?" "well?" conniston repeated. "i gotta be hittin' the trail back to the half moon real soon. i wanted to ask you a question firs'." again he hesitated, again broke out suddenly: "i take it a lady ain't the same in no particulars as a man. huh, con?" conniston, thinking of argyl, said "no," fervently. "if a man likes you real well you can tell every time, can't you? an' if he ain't got no use for you, you can tell that, too, can't you?" conniston nodded, thinking that he began to guess pete's troubles. "don't you know--can't you tell--how miss jocelyn feels toward you, pete? is that it?" "that's it, only how in blazes you guessed it gets me! con, i tell you, i can't tell nothin' for sure. it's worse 'n gamblin' on the weather. one day i'm thinkin' she likes me real well, an' she shows me things about grammar an' stuff, an' we git on fine. an' then--maybe it's nex' day an' maybe it's only two minutes later--she's all diff'rent somehow, an' she jest makes fun of the way i talk, an' you'd suppose she wouldn't wipe her feet on me if i laid down an' begged her to." chapter xvi after a long night, during which he slept little and thought much, conniston rose early, breakfasted at the little lunch-counter, and without waking tommy garton rode swiftly toward truxton's camp. he hastened, for although it was still early morning it was time for work to begin upon the ditch. from the top of a knoll half a mile out of camp he could look down into the little hollow where the men and teams should be already at their daily grind. a little frown gathered his brows as he saw instead that the horses were standing at their stakes in a long row, that the men were gathered together in clumps, obviously idle. and even then he had no way to guess what new trouble had come to the great work. shooting his spurs into his horse's panting sides, he swept down the gentle slope of the sand-hill and galloped straight toward the cook's tent. he saw that not only were the men idle, but that they gave no evidence of an intention to go to work. he saw, too, that they looked at him as he rode among them, that they watched him curiously, that many of them were laughing. fifty paces from the tent he came upon his two foremen--ben the englishman and the lark--talking in low tones with the two foremen who had worked under truxton's eye. "what's the matter?" he called, sharply, angrily, although he did not know it. "where's truxton?" "inside the tent," the lark answered him, shortly. and, asking no further questions, waiting for no explanation, conniston swung down from his horse, hurried to the tent, flung back the flap, and entered. only then did the truth dawn on him, and he staggered back as though a man had struck him a stunning blow full in the face. the air in the tent was reeking and foul with the fumes of cheap whisky. at the little table bat truxton sat slouched forward, his face hidden in the arm he had flung out as he slipped forward. an empty quart bottle lay on its side at his elbow. a second bottle, with an inch of the amber fluid in it, stood just beyond his clenched fist. truxton made no sign, did not so much as stir, as conniston dropped the flap of canvas and stood over him. his breath came heavily, saturated with whisky. conniston laid a rude hand upon the slack shoulder, shaking it roughly. still truxton did not lift his head, did not even mutter as a drunken man is apt to do in his stupor. with the full purport of this thing upon him, conniston was driven to a fury of rage. he jerked truxton's head back and slapped him across the face until his fingers tingled. now truxton's eyes opened, red-rimmed, bloodshot, fixed in a vacant, idiotic stare. and before conniston could speak the eyes were closed again, the head had sunk forward upon the table. "my god!" cried conniston, feeling now only a great despair upon him, seeing only the death to all hopes of success for the reclamation project with truxton lost to it. he started to leave the tent, and suddenly swung about again, grasping truxton's two shoulders in his hands. "it ain't no go, pardner. he's very--hic--drunk!" he had not seen the other man, had seen little enough but the sprawling, inert figure. it was the camp cook. and as conniston turned upon him he saw that this man's face was flushed, that he was little better than truxton. and if he needed further indication of the reason for the cook's plight it was not far to seek. the man held in his left hand, thrust clumsily behind him, a third bottle, half empty. "you, too!" shouted conniston. "drop that bottle, and drop it quick!" the cook, with a drunken assumption of dignity, tried to straighten up, grasping his bottle the more firmly. "who're you?" he leered. "g'wan; chase yourself. i ain't throwin' away--" he did not finish. conniston stepped forward quickly and jerked the bottle out of the cook's hand, hurling it against the stove, where it broke into a score of pieces. the bottle upon the table he treated in similar fashion. "now," he said, sternly, "you get to work and get something cooked for the men. haven't even a fire, have you?" he stepped close to the cook again, thrusting his face close up to the other's. he did not know his own voice, which had gone suddenly hoarse and low, as he went on: "you have a fire going in two minutes. where are your helpers? and you have breakfast on the tables in half an hour, or i give you my word i'll come back here and beat you half to death!" he turned and went out with no single look behind him, glad to be out in the open, thankful for the fresh air, which he drew deep down into his stifling lungs. and, realizing only that nothing could be done with truxton for the present and that he himself was next in command, he hastened to where the four foremen were standing, grinning at him. "get your men busy," he snapped at them. "ben, send some men up to the tent to help get something to eat. let them put on anything. if the cook doesn't get coffee ready in fifteen minutes let me know. all of you have your men hook up their teams. they can do that while breakfast is getting ready. and hurry!" the men looked at him curiously, then at one another. ben was the first to move. "aye, aye, sir," he said, with a grin, lifting his hand from his hip to his forelock, and dropping it to his hip again as he walked away. the others followed. "hold on!" cried conniston, suddenly, before they had gone ten paces. "do all of the men know about this?" the men laughed. "they ain't blind," explained one of them. "and do they know--does any one of you know--where he got the whisky?" they shrugged their shoulders. only the lark answered. "i know, pal," he said, slowly. "i seen it." "all right. you wait a minute. i want to talk with you. you other fellows get busy." the little san-franciscan dropped back and waited. conniston came up with him and demanded shortly: "tell me about it." "it was last night, 'bo, about 'leven o'clock, i guess. it was sure some dark, too, take it from me. i woke up thirsty as a water-front bum, an' beat it for the water-barrel. comin' back, i come past the tent. bat was in there figgerin' when i went to the wagon. when i come back he was talkin' to another guy. i stops an' listens, just for fun, you know. the other guy i hadn't never saw. an' he said as how mr. crawford had sent him out to ask how everything was runnin'. purty soon he puts a bottle on the table an' says, 'have one?' bat says 'no,' but you could see with one eye shut an' in the dark o' the moon as he wanted it worse 'n i'd wanted the water i walked clean over to the barrel to git. the stranger has one, an' fills a glass an' shoves it under bat's nose. an' if any longshoreman i ever seen had saw the way ol' bat put that red-eye under his vest he'd 'a' died with jealousy. i knowed as how there wouldn't be nothin' in it for me, so i went an' got another drink of water an' hit the rag-pile. that what you wanted to know, 'bo?" "who was the man?" conniston insisted. "what did he look like?" "that's dead easy. i'm sure the gumshoe when it comes to pipin' a man off so's i got his photograph in my eye. he was a little cuss an' dressed to kill, with gloves on, an' all that. he was skinny an' pale an' weak-eyed-lookin'." "that will do!" cut in conniston, brusquely. "and now get your men going. we've got a day's work ahead of us." a little more than fifteen minutes later conniston himself pounded one of the cook's pans as a summons to breakfast. the cook, surly, glowering as he moved, set forth the big pots of coffee. less than half an hour after he had ridden into the idle camp conniston saw the two hundred men resume their work of yesterday as though nothing unusual had happened, saw the teams string out in the four sections of the ditch where truxton had left off, watched the long lines of scrapers and plows cutting into the soft soil, scooping it out and piling it upon the banks of the canal. he climbed to a little knoll from which he could glance over them before and behind the ditch-cutters. yonder, toward valley city, truxton's two foremen were directing their men with the same quick-eyed, steady competence which they had manifested under the eye of the older engineer. from them he turned to the men working under ben and the lark. there, too, was machine-like regularity; there, too, each man, each straining animal was in its place, putting forth its utmost of capability. there came to the man who watched an irritating sense of his own uselessness: the work was going forward with great, swinging, rhythmic effectiveness. this thing had leaped out upon him unawares, and he was half afraid of the responsibility which had fastened itself upon his shoulders. for, after all, greek conniston had not yet entirely found himself, was not sure of himself. brow drawn and anxious, watchful, deeply thoughtful, conniston did not see mr. crawford until the buckboard driven by half-breed joe had stopped close behind him. he wheeled about, startled at mr. crawford's voice. "good morning, conniston. how's the work going?" "all right, i hope." he came to the buckboard and, resting his hand upon the wheel, looked up into the face of the man who was to learn of another savage blow dealt to the hopes of his project. "where is truxton?" mr. crawford was standing up in the wagon, looking as conniston had looked at the sweep of work being done. "he--" conniston hesitated. "he's in the tent." mr. crawford turned suddenly upon him, his eyes narrowing. "what's the matter?" he demanded, hurriedly. conniston shook his head slowly, turning his eyes away from the face which a glance had shown him was drawn with quick anxiety. "drive to the tent, joe!" commanded mr. crawford, his voice very stern. conniston watched them as their horses leaped forward in the slack traces, saw mr. crawford jump down, enter the tent, saw him come out again and spring back into the buckboard. "now, joe," as he got down beside conniston, "you can unhook your horses. i am going to be here this morning." joe drove away to where the camp horses had been picketed. and mr. crawford turned to conniston. "this is going to make it hard, conniston," he said, slowly, his face and voice alike very grave. "it is the one thing which i had hoped would not happen. but we've got to make the most of it." he paused suddenly, and his keen eyes ran thoughtfully from one to another of the four gangs of men. "they're working all right," he ended, his eyes coming back to conniston's. "yes. they're good men. the four foremen are as capable as a man could ask for." "were they working this way when you got here?" "no. they were waiting for orders." mr. crawford nodded, making no reply. "i don't know," conniston offered after a moment, "that there is any immediate call for worry. i think that i can handle them until truxton gets around--" "truxton won't get around!" "you mean--" "that the moment he is sober enough to know anything he will know that he is discharged!" "but we can't get along without him. he is the one man--" "we shall have to get along without him. i have told him that if he touched whisky again on this job he could go." "but would it not be better to wait a few days--to give him a chance to sober up?" "conniston, i have never found it necessary to break my word. i am through with truxton. and if my last hope of success goes with him he must go just the same. i am sorry for the man--the poor fellow can't help these periodic drunks of his. but i am through with him." conniston frowned into the eyes which were fixed intently upon him. "you know best. i am ready to do what i can to help out. i think i can promise you to keep the work going until you can get a man to take his place." mr. crawford bent a long, searching regard upon him. and when he spoke it was slowly, sternly. "what am i paying you, conniston?" "forty-five dollars a month." "all right. i'll give you seventy-five dollars a week to take bat truxton's place for me--not for a few days, but until the first day of october. will you do it?" a hot flush spread over conniston's face, and surged away, leaving it white. "do you think that i can do it?" "i am not the one to think. you are. you know what the work is, what it means. can you do it?" and conniston stared long out across the wide sweep of the desert, his lips set hard in white, bloodless lines, before he answered, briefly: "yes." "it's a big job, conniston, and, frankly, i wouldn't put it into your hands if i had a man i thought better qualified to carry it on. a big job! i wonder if you know how big? you will hold the whole fate of this country in the palm of your hand, to make or to mar. you will hold in the palm of your hand my whole life-work. for if you succeed i succeed. and if you fail, all hope of reclamation here dies, still-born, and i am a ruined man. understand what you are to do? i cannot even stay here to help you. i will leave to-night for denver. i can't send another man in my place. would to god that i could! i must go myself; i must raise money--fifty thousand dollars at the very lowest figure. and when i come back i shall bring the money with me, and i shall bring at least five hundred more men. and you will have to oversee the work of seven hundred men then; you will have to drive this ditch night and day; you will have to complete two big dams. and you will have to do that before the first day of october. it is a big job, conniston. can you do it?" conniston wet his dry lips and hesitated. "mr. crawford, it is a big job. i do not even know that the thing is possible. i believe that it is. i do not know, i cannot know, if i can do it. i believe that i can. if you have a better man, if in denver or anywhere else you can find a better man, put him in truxton's place. if you can't, if you want me to go ahead with the work, i'll do it." "then that is settled. confer often with tommy garton. if you need advice while i am away, go to him. but remember that in all things it will be up to you to make the final decision. there can be no sharing of responsibility." "then," said conniston, with quiet decision, "i want an absolute and unrestricted authority here. i want the power to take on new men, to fire old men, to raise wages, to do what i think wise and best. i want every man working for you to know that he is under my orders, and that there is no recourse from my judgment. i want to be able to call upon the half moon outfit, if i find it necessary, just as you would call upon them." "you are asking a great deal, conniston." "i am asking everything." "and you can have what you ask!" "to begin with, i shall want a man here to take my place if i find it necessary to be away at all. i want brayley here, and right away." "brayley is the best man on the half moon. you can have him." "thank you. there is one further thing." "name it." "i do not draw a cent of wages until the first day of october. then if i have water in the valley i get it in a block. if i do not have water--i don't touch it!" a curious little smile flitted across mr. crawford's lips. "you are in a position to dictate, conniston. let it be as you say." "and now, if you have no immediate orders for me, i want to get to work. i am going to shift the gang under the lark out yonder, in front of the others. he's the best pace-maker i've got." "go ahead. i'll be here until noon." unconsciously squaring his shoulders as he went, conniston strode away toward the ditch. chapter xvii at noon mr. crawford told the men gathered at the long tables that in the future they were to look to conniston for all orders, that he was empowered to act as he saw fit in any crisis, that he would have absolute command over every part of the reclamation work, here or elsewhere. and then he gripped conniston's hand warmly, gave him an address in denver where a telegram would find him, and drove away toward crawfordsville, promising to telephone to brayley to report to the valley immediately. before he was out of sight the new superintendent called his four overseers aside. "what wages are you fellows drawing down?" he asked, bluntly. "three bones," the lark told him. "now, look here. do you fellows know that we have got to get this whole job done by the first of october? that's a lot of work, and maybe you boys know it. it is up to you four fellows as much as it is up to anybody to see that the work is done. you've got to get every inch done every day that you can. you've got to drive your men all they'll stand for. you know what will happen if you make a mistake and try to get too much out of them?" "dead easy, mr. conniston," grinned the lark. "they'll quit. they say there is lots of easy graft up in the mountains with a guy named swinnerton." "then," went on conniston, quietly, "you've got to be careful not to drive them too hard. keep your men good-natured. if you see any signs of balking let me know. i haven't any kick to make about the way you have been working, but i want you to work harder! get me? and i am going to pay you four dollars a day instead of three. wait. i am going to make you another proposition: over and above your wages i'll pay each man of you for every day between the day we get water on the land and the first of october. and for that time i'll pay each man of you at the rate of twenty dollars a day!" "gee!" exclaimed the lark. "you ain't stringing us, are you?" "no. understand what i mean: in case we get the work done five days before the first each man of you draws down one hundred dollars above his wages. drive your men as hard as you can; but don't forget what will happen if you try to do too much. what wages are your men getting?" "two dollars and a half." "go back and offer them two-seventy-five. and tell them that for every day between the first of october and the day we get water on the land each and every man of them will draw down an extra five dollars. now get to work. i want to see what you can get done by quitting-time." that afternoon conniston left everything in the hands of his foremen. he did not once go to the ditch to see what they were doing. instead he took truxton's note-book from the table in the tent--truxton was still in a deep stupor--and from one o'clock until dark worked over it, seeking desperately to grasp every detail which he must know later and to plan for the morrow and the morrows to come. when he heard the men coming in from work he got his horse and saddled it, and then waited for the foremen with their daily reports. "i beat my record by twenty feet to-day," the lark told him, with a cheerful grin, as he handed conniston a soiled bit of paper. "i'm hot on the trail of my bonus, take it from me." that evening conniston spent with tommy garton. he did not even take the time to call on argyl. he told the little fellow what had happened, received a hearty grip of the hand which meant more to him than a wordy congratulation, laid what few plans he had had time to outline before him, and asked his advice upon them. "i want the plans and specifications for dam number one, tommy." garton took them from a drawer and passed them across the table. "i will look over them on the job to-morrow. and i want to know how long you think it will take to get that dam built when once we get to work on it?" "i don't see how it can be done and done right," garton answered, promptly, "in much less than thirty days. you might be able to do a temporary job of it--put in a bulwark that would do until we could get water down here and live up to our contract--and then build the real dam after the first of october. that might be done in less time." "how big a shift of men were you planning on putting to work up there?" "two hundred. you couldn't use more than that. there isn't room. they'd get in one another's way." conniston sat frowning moodily, his fingers tapping the roll of blue-prints in his hands. "isn't there any way," he asked suddenly, swinging upon garton, "of making a go of this without building that dam?" "no, greek, there isn't. you see, there isn't any too much water up in the mountains at best. we have to get every drop that the law allows us." "figure on it, tommy. i want your chief work for the next few days to be just figuring out where we can cut down, where we can save not only money but men. it's men we need." he broke off suddenly and leaned forward, putting his hand on garton's arm. "damn it, tommy," he said, huskily, "i want you to know that i don't enjoy giving you orders. i want you to know that _i_ know you ought to be doing what i am doing to-day. you are a better man than i am every day in the week, and i know it. if it were not--" "oh, shut up, greek!" laughed garton, frankly. "you're an old liar, and that's what i know! and," and his voice softened as he put out his hand for a second time that night, "i love you for it. now let's cut out the slush and get to work." "then, since it's up to me, here goes: i want your advice at every jump. i need it, tommy, need it bad now, and the lord knows how i'll need it before the time is up! in about three or four days i'll come to you or send for you. i don't know which it'll be. to-morrow morning i am going up into the mountains. brayley will be in camp some time to-night. he'll take my place for a few days. no, he doesn't know a thing about the work, but my foremen do, and brayley knows men as you know your multiplication-tables. and i will take a gang of fifty men with me. i don't like to remove them from the ditch, but i've got to get that dam started. i won't be able to sleep until i see that country and get my hands on it. and, tommy, one thing more: mr. crawford tells me that there will be a telephone line into valley city from crawfordsville within the week. he is to get five hundred men to me as soon as he can rush them through. when they are within twelve hours of us i want you to let brayley know. that is, of course, in case i am not back here. brayley will then double his men's pay and keep them at work all night. then i'll send half of the new men--half of five hundred, i hope--to brayley, and he'll put on a day shift and a night shift--with all the work they can stand up under. and i'll have a day shift and a night shift slinging that dam across deep creek. it's up there, tommy, that i expect you'll have to help me out." "anything i can do, conniston. and i'll get busy first thing in the morning along the line you suggest. and," he hesitated a moment, and then finished, gravely, "i'm glad to see the way you're tying into this. and, do you know, i'd bet a man every cent i've got that we put the thing across!" conniston stood up, thrusting his papers into his pocket. "if truxton--" he began. "forget truxton. he was all right and a mighty good man. one of the best men i ever worked with. but," and his rare smile worked about the corners of his sensitive mouth and lighted up his eyes warmly--"but i have an idea that the man who made that end run for yale back in the old days is going to score a touchdown such as bat truxton would never have thought of. go to it, conniston--only let me get into the interference!" conniston's plans for the next day had been founded upon his assurance that brayley would arrive before morning. but brayley did not come. and even had he arrived on time conniston would not have dared leave. at first he had thought to remain overnight with tommy garton. then, remembering that he alone was responsible for the camp, he told garton good night and rode out into the desert. it was late when at last he came to the tent and found his roll of blankets behind it. and ten minutes later cares and responsibilities alike succumbed to bodily fatigue, and he slept soundly. it was long after midnight, perhaps three o'clock, and still very dark, when he awoke. two men off in the distance were talking. he paid little attention to them, but rolled over and went to sleep again. and even as consciousness slipped away from him he was vaguely aware that more voices had joined the two which had awakened him. but he thought only that some of the men were calling to one another from their sleeping-places, and attached no further importance to the matter. it was an hour or two later when he again awoke. there were already faint streaks of dawn lying low, close to the face of the desert. his first connected impression was that he had overslept and that the men were already going to work. for he saw a long line, fifty men at the least count, filing out toward the spot where the water-barrels stood in the long-bodied wagons, while other crowds of men were grouped about one of the wagons. and then suddenly he sat bolt upright, strangely uneasy. it was still long before day--and something was wrong. he pulled on his boots and, without stopping to lace them, hurried toward the wagons. and before he had gone twenty paces he knew what it was that had happened. the men had been talking in hushed voices, so as not to wake him; but, now that two or three made out who he was, a shout rose sharply into the morning stillness, a shout at once of warning and of derision. and it was clearly the shout of drunkenness. it was taken up by fifty throats, a hundred throats, clamorous, exultant, jeering. as the men moved back and forth, many of them staggered perceptibly. conniston saw one of them pitch forward and lie helpless. a man passed by him, swaying and lurching, and in the pale light there was something fiendish in the fellow's leering face, his open mouth, his wide, staring eyes. off yonder he heard two men quarreling, their voices raised in windy gusts of snapping oaths; saw one of them lift his hand and strike, not as a man strikes with his bare fist, but as a man strikes with a knife; saw the other man fling out his arms, heard his gurgling, choking cry above the sudden clamorous tumult; saw him settle quietly to the ground as though every bone in his body had jellied. his eyes accustomed to the half-light, his ears free of the wax of sleep, it seemed to conniston that he was peering into a scene which could be no part of earth, but which must be some frenzied corner of hell. as he ran forward, brushing past tottering forms which cursed him thickly, he saw yet another group of men beyond the wagons; saw that there, too, the spirit of alcohol was rampant; heard a man's voice, high-raised and raspingly shrill, in a monotonous song. and as he ran men did not fall back, but glared at him belligerently, many a coarse-featured countenance distorted hideously, while the men about the wagon bunched up close together threateningly. he stopped suddenly, trying to think. a mighty laugh greeted his hesitation. he saw a big fellow thrust a tin cup down into one of the barrels, the head of which had been knocked in, lift his cup high above his head, laughing, and then put it to his lips. then he understood while he did not understand: one of the barrels which should have contained water was nearly full of raw whisky! conniston did not believe that there were a dozen sober men in camp. he had recognized the big man standing at the barrel. it was ben the englishman. mundy and peters, obviously drunk, stood close to him. the little san-franciscan was standing in the body of the wagon, trying to put his two short arms about the barrel. he had the grotesque look of a dwarf embracing a fat wife. he could look to no one for help. these two hundred men--men whose hard, brutish natures had known nothing of the excitation of alcohol for weeks, perhaps months, whose brains were now inflamed with it, whose reckless spirits were unchained by it--would listen to words from him, from any man in the world, as much as they would listen to the sighing of the breeze which was beginning to stir the scanty desert vegetation. and above all other considerations, above even the half-formed wonder, "how came it there?" rose the knowledge which would not down, _he and he alone was responsible for what these men did_. he turned away with white, wretched face, and strode back toward the tent. he must get away from them for a little, he must try to think, he must find something to do. and as he turned a yell of derisive triumph from two hundred throats went booming and thundering out across the desert. until now he had been merely grief-stricken that such chaos should have sprung into being under his hand where there should be only order and efficiency. now there surged into his heart a flaming, scorching rage. the whiteness left his face, and it went a dull, burning red. he prayed dumbly for the might of a nero that he might wreck the vengeance of a nero. no words came, but he cursed them in his heart. he saw their blackened fingers choking the life out of the last hope of success of the great work, and he longed with an infinite longing to have those yelling throats in the grip of his own two hands that he might tear at them. he stalked on blindly, his back turned upon them, his ears filled with laughter and shouting, cursing and discordant singing, his brain so teeming with a score of broken thoughts that no single thought remained clear. he told himself that this thing was a nightmare, that it could not be, that it was impossible, ludicrously impossible! he tried to ask himself what it would mean. he tried to answer--and could not. it would mean that there could be no work done to-day! and to-morrow? would the men be fit to work to-morrow? and the next day? how long would the stuff last?--how long the effects of it when it was gone? he thought suddenly of the revolver which lonesome pete had given him, and which struck against his hip as he walked; and he stopped dead in his tracks at the thought of it. and then he laughed at himself for a fool and strode on. half of the men were armed. true, they were drunk, but what of that? they were two hundred against one, and they were not cowards. and in the end he would not have helped the great work; he would only have done a fool's part and lost his own life. no, there was no chance-- one thought suggests another. he had not gone on a dozen steps before he stopped again, a light of hope and of determination creeping slowly into his eyes. a moment he hesitated. and then, flinging all hesitation from him, seeing clearly his one desperate hope, crying aloud, "i'll do it!" he broke into a run toward the tent. yesterday they had taken bat truxton to valley city. but they had forgotten bat truxton's rifle. chapter xviii with eager fingers conniston struck a match. almost the first thing which his searching eyes found was the heavy winchester, three inches of its barrel protruding from a roll of bedding. he flung the bedding open upon the ground. there was half a box of cartridges with it. he made sure that the magazine was filled, threw a shell into the barrel, thrust the box into his pocket, and ran outside. no one had seen him. there were no eyes for him. a very few stragglers moved unsteadily here and there; the great majority of the men were packed in a mass about the barrel. tin cups, dippers, even buckets and pans ran from hand to hand, from those nearest the wagon to the clamorous fellows upon the outskirts of the crowd, spilling the liquor freely as they were jolted and jostled. this his eyes took in at a quick glance. then he saw that fifty yards from the group of men there was another wagon which had been drawn aside with its four empty barrels. walking slowly now, the rifle held vertically close to the side which was turned away from them, he moved toward this second wagon. he reached it, attracting no attention. springing into its low bed, he dragged the four barrels close together. the broadside of the wagon was turned toward the clamorous crowd. keeping his body hidden behind the bulwark he had made, he watched and waited for more light. slowly the pale glow in the east lengthened and broadened and brightened. once conniston lifted his rifle quickly to see if he could find the sights. it was still too dark for quick, accurate work. so again he waited. a strange, cool calmness had succeeded to his almost frenzied agitation of a moment ago. he knew the danger of the thing which he was about to do; he knew and realized clearly what he might be called upon to do in self-protection alone when once he had taken his stand. but there was no other way; and, no matter what the consequences, no matter what the results, he accepted the only chance which circumstances had left him. and moments of unswerving determination do not make for nervous excitement. it is the anxious uncertainty, like that through which he had just passed, that makes a man's finger tremble upon the trigger. louder and ever louder rose the throaty voices, faster and faster passed the cups and dippers. ben and mundy had their arms about each other. in the wagon the lark had slipped down, and now lay upon his back, staring at the dim, swirling stars and babbling incoherent nothings. men sang in strident, raucous, unmusical voices. a swarthy little italian was playing waltzes upon a harmonica, and heavy-booted feet shuffled and stamped upon the sand as men flung their brawny arms about one another and swayed back and forth. conniston saw that when a man thrust his arm down into the barrel for a fresh cupful of whisky it did not disappear three inches above the elbow. swiftly the desert daylight came. conniston stooped and tied his boot-laces, that they might not trip him when he moved. he stood up and whipped his revolver from its holster, spinning the cylinder, and then shoving it back. and then, laying the rifle across the top of one of the barrels, he cleared his throat and called out loudly. one of the men nearest him heard him above the shouting and pointed him out to another. the two laughed loudly and turned away from him, forgetting him as they turned. again he called, louder than before. no one heard him, no one looked to him. he waved his hat above his head. if any one saw, no one gave sign of seeing. he licked his lips and lifted the rifle. "god see me through with it!" he muttered. he fired high above their heads. the sudden report crashed through the babel of shoutings, a veritable babel into which half of the tongues of europe mingled with chinese and japanese sing-song. as the crack of the gun died away all other sounds died with it. the desert grew as suddenly still as it ever is in the depths of its man-free solitudes. staring, wondering faces which had first turned to one another turned now toward him. again there broke out a volley of abrupt cries, followed by as sudden a silence, as they watched him to see what he meant, what he would do. and conniston took quick advantage of this short hush. "leave that wagon, every man of you!" he shouted. "move toward the ditch. and move fast!" no man of them stirred. their numbers, their intoxication, gave them assurance. he was no longer the "boss." they were all just men now, and he was only one while they were two hundred. they began to laugh. the italian with the harmonica struck up a fresh, jigging air. the heavy-booted feet took up the rhythm. a man climbed into the wagon and scooped up a dipperful of whisky, holding it aloft before he drank. the light was still uncertain, but the dipper was a bright, clear target. conniston waited a moment, his teeth hard set, hardly breathing. then, as the man lowered the dipper from his face and held it out invitingly over the heads of the men on the ground, he fired. the bullet crashed through the tin thing, hurling it into the crowd. the man who had held it cried out aloud, and, clutching the fingers of his right hand in his left, leaped down from the wagon. the lark rolled over and to the ground, dived between the wheels, and disappeared. and again came a sudden silence. now conniston did not wait. he fired at the barrel itself, hoping to smash in the staves, to drill holes near the bottom through which the confined liquor could escape. and now the men ceased singing and dancing and leaped back, crowding away from the barrel, plunging and stumbling out of the line of bullets. for a moment conniston thought that in that wild, headlong scramble for safety he saw the end of the thing. and almost before the thought was formed he knew better. the men were talking sullenly. he could hear their angry, snarling voices, no longer shouting, but low-pitched. he began to make out their faces and saw nowhere an expression of fear, everywhere black wrath, restless fury. they no longer moved backward, but stood their ground, muttering. in a moment--he knew what would happen. he could read it in their faces, could sense it in their low, rumbling tones. and so he shouted to them again, his voice ringing clear above their mutterings. "i drop the first man that takes a step this way!" tense, anxious, watchful, he waited. he saw hesitation, but saw, too, that the hesitation was momentary, that it would be followed by a blind rush if he could not drive fear into their hearts. and he realized with a sick sinking of his own heart that there was little fear in men like these. "it looks like an end of things for greek conniston," he muttered, dully. his watchful eyes saw a little commotion upon the fringe of the knot of men who had moved a little toward the tent. he saw one of the men step out quickly and raise a big revolver. the man, as he lifted the revolver, fired, not seeming to aim. the bullet struck one of the front wheels of conniston's wagon. almost at the same second conniston fired. fired and missed, and fired again. with the second report came a shrill cry from the man with the revolver, and conniston saw him stagger, drop his gun, wheel half around, and fall. and where he fell he lay, writhing and calling out to his fellows. for a moment the others hung back, hesitating. the man upon the ground lifted himself upon an elbow, glared at conniston, and began to crawl slowly back toward the tent. obviously, he had been struck in the thigh or side. the man who had shot him, and who was new to this sort of work, thanked god that he had not killed the fellow outright. the next moment he forgot him entirely. ben and mundy were a pace or two in front of their men, who from force of habit had begun to flock toward their daily leaders. they were talking earnestly, their voices lowered so that the pressing forms about them had to crane their necks to listen. still the whisky-barrel stood scarcely more than touched. conniston, seeing that as long as it stood there he could hope to do nothing toward a restoration of order, emptied the magazine of his rifle into it. he saw the splinters fly, saw that the bullets had torn great holes into the hard wood, heard the snapping of oaths from those of the men who had drunk only enough to arouse their thirst, and began slipping fresh cartridges into the magazine. "there'll be precious little of that stuff left, anyway," he grunted, with grim satisfaction. he had expected a charge, but it did not come. ben and mundy had in all evidence taken command now. their backs were to him as they issued short orders which he could not catch. but their purport was plain enough. he took his revolver from its holster and laid it in front of him upon a board across the top of one of the barrels. silently the men were falling back. and as they retreated they spread out into a great semicircle, wider and wider. he saw that fifty, perhaps seventy-five, of them had revolvers in their hands. and he saw that these men stood in advance of their companions. in another five minutes, in less than five minutes, the semicircle would be a circle of which he would be the center. then they would close in on him, and then-- there must be no _then_. that was the one thing clear. he might shoot down a dozen of them, but they would get him in the end. at one end of the slowly widening arc was ben the englishman. at the other was mundy. "ben!" shouted conniston, sharply. "you've got to stop that! mundy, stop where you are! i don't want to kill you fellows, but i'll do it if you keep on!" in the beginning he had hoped to bluff them. now such hope had died out of him. these were the sort of men who would want to see the other man's cards laid down on the table. and he knew that he must make good his bluff or there would in sober truth be an end of him. his voice rang with cold determination. and ben and mundy stopped. conniston watched that line of black faces, and as his eyes clung to the threatening arc he thought with a queer twitching of the lips of the football line-ups which he had watched in other days. he was surprised that his feelings now were much as they had been then. it was a game, and that in the other games a goal had been the thing he schemed and battled for while now it was his life made little difference. he was surprised that he was cool, that his heart beat steadily, that his hands upon his gun were like rock. there was something strange in the way the men were watching him, something in their sudden silence, in their eager faces, which puzzled him. their whole attitude spoke of one thing--a breathless waiting. what were they waiting for? had his words put the fear of death in them? were they watching to see if he was going to shoot down the men who led them? was there a chance-- his taut senses told him of a danger which he could not understand. something was wrong; death hovered over him--close, closer. what was it? his eyes flashed up and down the long curve of motionless figures, seeking an explanation and finding none. a little shiver ran up and down his backbone. he could not understand-- a sound, scarcely louder than the footfall of a cat, but jarring harshly upon his straining, over-acute ears, told him. he swung about with a sharp cry. there was the explanation. there, just behind him, barefooted, bent almost double, crouching to leap upon him, a great chinaman, a long, curved knife clenched in his hand, was not three feet away. even as he swung about the giant asiatic sprang forward, the knife flashing up and down. conniston struck with his rifle--the range was too short for him to use the thirty-thirty save as a club. it struck the big man a glancing blow upon the shoulder. the lean, snarling, yellow face was so close to his that he could feel the hot, whisky-laden breath. he parried, and the rifle was jerked from his grasp, falling with a clatter to the bed of the wagon. the knife struck and bit into the shoulder he had thrown forward. again it was raised. conniston sprang back, and as he leaped he swept up the revolver from the barrel-top. as the knife fell, cutting a long gash again in his shoulder, he jammed the muzzle of lonesome pete's gun against the chinaman's stomach and fired. the chinaman grunted, coughed, and sank limply, vomiting blood. for a moment conniston forgot the men out yonder, growing suddenly sick at the sight of the ugly, twitching thing at his feet. and then as quickly as it had come, the nausea was gone, and he was clear-headed and watchful. he snatched up his rifle and whirled toward ben and mundy and the men between them. they had not moved, had taken no single step forward. he remembered having seen a man near mundy standing with open mouth and bulging eyes; the fellow's jaw still sagged, his eyes were fixed in the same strange stare, his eyelids had not so much as winked. "that's one!" yelled conniston. he laughed out loud, the laugh of a man whose nerves are strained almost to the point of snapping. "come on, come on! who'll be next?" they muttered among themselves; here and there a man called out sharply. but still they did not move. a thing like that which they had just witnessed drives the fumes of alcohol from a man's brain like a dip in ice-water. they could beat him down, they could take him, they could kill him as he had killed the chinaman. but he could kill more than one of them before they could drop him. these things were clear. and the men hesitated. "afraid?" he laughed, taunting, jeering them, all discretion swept away from him. "why don't you send some more men? there might be a little whisky left--if you hurry!" he saw ben and mundy stir uneasily, saw them glance at each other, at the barrel with its shattered staves and gushing liquor, at the men whom they were self-elected to lead, and back to him. he saw the lark and the man peters standing close together, talking earnestly, seeming to argue with growing heat. and as the wave of hot blood left him and he grew cool and his saner judgment came back to him he called out to them sternly, but not threateningly, not mockingly: "ben! mundy! you, peters! and you, lark! what's the use? hasn't this thing gone far enough? you can kill me, but what good will it do? your whisky is spilled, and you can't get it back. you know the wages i offered you fellows yesterday. you can go back to them, and nothing said. i have five hundred more men coming from denver. they can take your jobs if you like. you can go to swinnerton, but when he knows that i have fired you he won't take you on. you know that he is just taking men to keep us from getting them. you'd be fools to give up your jobs now. what's the word, boys? will you go back to work, ben? and you, peters? and you, mundy and the lark? shall i tell the cook to get coffee ready? talk up lively. what is it?" a rumbling chorus of murmurs rose up to greet him. the men were sullen, and they snarled openly at him. but he could see that already the thing had gone further than the more law-abiding spirits had thought to see it go. a sudden soberness had fallen upon many of them, and with it a cooler sanity. they broke into quick talk everywhere up and down the line. he could see that no longer at least were they united against him. he could see that the argument between peters and the lark was strong, heated. and he hoped and prayed that good might come of it and of the brief hesitation. suddenly the lark broke away from his comrades and ran forward. conniston, ever watchful, ever suspicious, covered him with his rifle. but the lark was grinning, and as he came closer he lifted his two hands. "i'm with you!" he shouted. "i got a bellyful of this here racket. an'," with a glance over his shoulder, "i got a bellyful of that rotgut, too. besides, it's all gone. how about coffee, boys?" "and you, mundy? how about you?" conniston called, quickly. "do you want to keep your job at the wages i offered you yesterday? or shall i put another man in your place? quick, man! speak up!" mundy hesitated, glancing at ben before he answered. and then slowly he stepped out to where the lark already stood. "i'll keep my job," he grunted, sullenly. "please, sir," grinned the lark, shaking his hand high above his head like a ragged urchin in school, "kin i go git a drink? water, i mean," he finished with widening grin. "yes," answered conniston, trying to keep from his eyes the gladness which was surging up within him. "come this way first. there--stop. now throw your gun toward me. you've got some sense. now go get your water." ben came forward; and slowly, reluctantly, with evil, red-rimmed eyes, peters. and, as the lark had done, they tossed their revolvers to the sand near conniston's wagon and trudged off toward the nearest water-wagon. a dozen men followed them. gradually the line broke up as the call of water grew imperative to parched throats. from the corner of his eye conniston saw these men go to the first wagon, tilt up the barrels, and go to the next. and suddenly he heard a great shout go up from them--a shout no longer of anger, but of sheer surprise. in the bottom of every barrel there was an auger-hole. there was not a single drop of water in camp! in a flash of inspiration conniston saw the thing which he must say. "who wants to go to work for swinnerton now?" he cried. "you know whose work this is; you know who is trying to block every move we make. you know as well as i do that it was swinnerton, or one of the men working for swinnerton, the same man who got bat truxton drunk, who has given you your whisky--and taken away your chasers! and you know as well as i do how many miles it is to water." the rest of the men had flung down their guns and rushed to the empty barrels. already the burning thirst engendered by the raw, vile whisky was making them lick their dry lips, making their throats work painfully. they pulled over barrel after barrel, seeking to find that somewhere there was a cupful of water. and they found none. "it's swinnerton's gang you have to thank for this, boys," conniston shouted again, seeing and taking his opportunity. "swinnerton, who wants to break us like a rotten stick. he will be a millionaire many times over if he breaks us. and if we put our work across, if we make a go of it, swinnerton will be the rotten stick!" he stopped suddenly and watched them. and as often as he heard them curse him he heard them curse swinnerton. "ben," he cried, when he had waited for them to understand what he had said, "get the harness on some horses and take one of the wagons to valley city. take a couple of men with you. go to the general office and ask for tommy garton. tell him we've got to have water. you, lark, take the rest of the wagons as fast as you can send your horses to the half moon for more water. take what men you need. cook, see if you have enough water in your tent to do any good. and then get us something to eat. ben will be back from valley city before you know it. the rest of you fellows better lie around and chew tobacco until water comes. we'll get an early start to-morrow to make up for lost time. peters, you and mundy see that somebody looks out for the men that are hurt. take them to the tent. they get first water if the cook has any. if not, ben, you take them with you to valley city." his orders came with staccato precision. there was no tremor of doubt in his tones. and there was no slightest hesitation in obeying the orders from the man who was again "boss." ben shouted out his own commands to two men who stood close to him, and they ran for the horses. the lark was at the same time snapping out his orders, and the men he called by name hurried for horses, and many hands made quick work of the hitching-up. other fingers whittled plugs, wrapped them about with bits of sack, and drove them tight into the holes in the barrels. the cook sped to his tent, found a bucket half full of water, and was drinking thirstily when mundy jerked it from his hands. "none of that, you sneakin' skunk!" he shouted. "them guys as got hurt gets the first show." the fellow conniston had shot in the thigh, and the man whom he had seen a companion strike with a knife, cutting him deeply in the neck, were carried into the tent, water thrust up to their parched lips, their wounds bound swiftly and gently. the chinaman mundy rolled over with his foot. "deader 'n hell," he grunted. "might as well leave him where he is until plantin'-time." once more order had grown quietly out of chaos. the men stood here and there talking, chewing tobacco, cursing the thirst which as the minutes dragged by grew ever more tormenting. already the sun had rolled upward above the flat horizon. already the desert heat had leaped out at them. a dozen men climbed upon ben's wagon, thinking to go to valley city with him to get water there. but he drove them back, threatening them with his big fists and cockney oaths, and they dropped down and watched him as the wagon, rocking and swaying and lurching, was drawn away from them by galloping horses. at a sharp word from conniston two of the men brought the broken barrel which had contained whisky to where the discarded revolvers lay glinting in the early light and tossed them into it. and then brayley came. "what's up, con?" he asked, swinging down from his panting horse, his keen eyes taking in the fading excitement, the general idleness. and then, as he stooped forward and looked into the barrel: "good heavens! what _is_ the matter?" in a few words conniston told him. for a moment brayley said nothing, shaking his head and eying him curiously. "you sure got your nerve, con," he said, simply, after a minute. conniston laughed shakily. again a sinking nausea made him faint and dizzy. he could remember now the way the nose of his revolver had sunk into the chinaman's stomach, could see again all of the horror of the thing which he had done. "i'm sick, brayley," he said, unsteadily. "the thing will drive me mad. i--i had to kill a man--and i can't forget how he looked!" "how you managed to stop 'em jest killing _one_ gets me. where is he?" conniston nodded to the wagon and turned away shuddering. the half moon foreman strode over to the wagon and looked closely at the limp body. and then he came to conniston with long strides. "hell," he grunted, disgustedly. "i thought you said you'd killed a man! that's only a chink!" chapter xix the few barefooted, tattered urchins of valley city had scampered homeward through the quiet street, swept along upon the high tide of glee. bat truxton had got drunk again; mr. crawford had fired him; miss jocelyn had gone away with him to crawfordsville; there was every reason for their glad optimism to see a long vacation before them. what was the importance of reclamation somewhere off in the misty future when vacation, unexpected and thence all the more delectable, smiled upon them now? "mr. crawford has been just as mean to poor papa as he could be," miss jocelyn had confided to them, in tear-dampened scornfulness. "papa doesn't want me to teach, anyway. and"--with a sniff and a toss of her head--"we'll be in town now where we can enjoy ourselves." it is not a pretty thing to contradict a lady, but certainly if miss jocelyn's papa made the remark which she attributed to him it must have been at some time prior to his return from the camp to valley city; prior, too, to his exit from valley city to crawfordsville. for her papa went out of the valley reclining wordlessly upon a thick padding of quilts in the bed of a big wagon, with his few household effects so arranged about him as to screen him from the sun and the curious gaze of a chance passer-by, and in no condition to express himself upon any matter whatever. there was in crawfordsville, upon a pleasant, shady avenue, a little vine-covered cottage belonging to bat truxton, and thither the big wagon conveyed him, his scornful daughter, and his few household effects. and there shortly after twilight upon the third day after the closing of school in valley city mr. roger hapgood, sartorially immaculate in shining raiment, glorious as to tie and silken socks, presented himself. miss jocelyn truxton, a big, yellow-hearted rose peeping forth at him from a carefully careless profusion of brown hair, came out upon the porch at his knock, smiled at him saucily, and offered him her hand. "how do you do, mr. hapgood? we didn't expect you again so soon. i thought that maybe you had forgotten us." and then, blushing prettily over the hand which mr. hapgood was still holding ardently in his, "won't you come in?" mr. hapgood, having assured her that he should forget all else in the world before he forgot her, called her attention to the fact that it was a deucedly fine evening, and that it would be too bad to lose any of it by going into the house. his smile and eloquent eyes pointed out that there was a not uncomfortable rustic bench, large enough to accommodate two nicely, at the cozy, vine-sheltered end of the porch. "and how is mr. truxton?" he asked, his tone gently solicitous, when they were seated. "i have had dr. biggs call since you were here," she told him, assuming the pose which a certain broadway favorite had discovered (the photograph of the leading lady in this particular pose had been cut from the latest theatrical gazette which now lay upon the sitting-room table; it is denied us to enter the room set aside for miss jocelyn to see if the picture be pinned to the wall over her dresser!)--a pose which was not lost to the appreciative and admiring eyes of mr. hapgood. "dr. biggs says that papa's is a high-strung, nervous disposition which at times makes the taking of--of a little alcohol absolutely necessary. and that the--the stimulant is liable to upset him. it is entirely a nervous trouble, and in a few days, with perfect rest, he will be well again." mr. hapgood nodded gravely, sympathetically. "mr. truxton has been so great a factor in the reclamation project--he has been the very heart and soul of the actual work done--that i wonder how mr. crawford's schemes will get along without him?" "i hope they fail," cried jocelyn, hotly. "papa has given the best in him to help them, and look how they send him adrift when--when he makes one little slip!" "do you know why crawford really let him go?" hapgood, speaking in hushed tones, continued to eye her keenly. "don't you know that crawford was just waiting and looking for an excuse--any excuse?" jocelyn turned widening eyes upon him. "what do you mean?" hapgood gave the impression of a man hesitating over a serious matter. and then, with a sudden burst of something remarkably like ingenuous ardor, he exclaimed: "why should i say anything? perhaps i should keep my peace and let matters take their own course. i have a distinctive dislike to interfering in any way with the affairs of other people. and yet, miss jocelyn, i feel so strong an interest in you--you will forgive me if i have to speak plainly; you will pardon me when you know i mean no offense?--that i cannot keep my peace." a momentary struggle between his desire to befriend her and his dislike to say evil of others, and then with vehement intensity, "i will _not_ remain silent." whereupon he became immediately silent and remained so until the curiosity which he had fired urged him to go on. "when conniston left the half moon and went to work in the valley under your father"--leaning forward, his low-toned voice again deeply confidential--"the whole plot was laid and perfected. he was to work there until he had learned all that mr. truxton could teach him, until the greater part of the work had been done, and then your father was to be discharged so that conniston could take his place. yes, and so that when the work was completed--the work which your own father had made possible--conniston would reap the rewards of it, take all the honors." he paused suddenly, and again his pale eyes, intent upon the girl's face, were keen with the shrewdness in them. jocelyn sprang to her feet, her face flaming, her body tense. "the--the wretches!" she gasped. roger hapgood made no reply, content for the moment to rest upon his oars, watching the boat he had launched drift as it would. "why," asked jocelyn, after a little, her face puzzled--"why do you tell me this, when you are one of mr. crawford's lawyers?" he lifted his hand as though warding off a blow. "don't say that! miss jocelyn, did you think that i was the sort of man, so forgetful of his manhood, that i would remain in the service of such people when i had found them out? did you dream that i could remain a part of a project a second after such a man as conniston had been put at the head of it? did you think," half sadly, half reproachfully, "that i could continue my affiliations with such men after the treatment which mr. truxton--_your father_--had received? miss jocelyn, i went straight to mr. winston and handed him my resignation. thank god that if i must give up my position i can at least keep my self-respect!" it was very effectively done, and jocelyn thrilled with it. "i am so sorry!" she said, softly, her light touch sympathetic upon his arm. "so sorry that because of us--" "don't say it--please don't, miss jocelyn! i can never forget that it was i, no matter how innocently, who helped them in getting the excuse they were looking for. and don't you see, i shall feel in a way that my fortune is linked with yours, i shall feel that there are certain bonds between us, i shall feel that in a small, very small way i am being of some light service to your father and," very softly--"and to you." "but what will you do? you have so few friends here. this is a new country to you--" "for a moment i thought of returning immediately to the east. but i could not. why? i won't tell you now; i dare not." he paused long enough to look the things which short acquaintance forbade him saying, and then, as though shaking himself mentally, went on, "what shall i do? i have already done it. just so long as i thought blindly that the right was with us i worked for reclamation as a man does not often work. and now that the scales have dropped from my eyes, do i hesitate? i have gone to mr. swinnerton. i have offered him my services. and he has seen fit to accept them. and now i shall not have to sit idly by, my hands in my lap, waiting to see the crawfords reap the rewards and assume the honors which belong--elsewhere!" jocelyn had read stories of heroes. never before had she known what it was to find herself in the actual bodily presence of one of these creatures. and small wonder she thrilled again, not alone because of the fact that this great-hearted gentleman had sacrificed himself upon the altar of righteousness, but, further, that in the reasons for such self-immolation had entered thoughts of her. a real, perfectly delightful romance was being enacted, and _she_ was its heroine! "you are very good," she murmured, quite as the heroine should. "and papa will appreciate it when i tell him. and," shyly, "if you care to know it, i think that your generous kindness is the finest thing i have ever known." it was the psychological time for a love avowal. but mr. hapgood had not played out his other rôle. he rose hastily, looking at his watch. "i stopped in for just a moment," he said, quickly. "i am on my way to the post-office. i expect some important mail to-night. by the way," stopping with a glove half drawn on, "if your father cares to accept a position again soon i think that i know of one which would suit him. mr. swinnerton wants a competent engineer to aid him in a bit of work. i took the liberty to mention mr. truxton to him. he was delighted at the bare mention of your father's name. but"--and again the old shrewd look crept into his eyes--"maybe mr. truxton does not care to work against the reclamation? maybe he is willing to see the crawfords and that conniston fellow succeed in their scheme?" "i am going right in to talk with papa," she told him, quickly. "i am going to tell him the real truth. and i think, mr. hapgood, that you can tell mr. swinnerton that papa will come out to see him to-morrow or the next day." mr. hapgood took the hand which she held out to him, bestowed upon her a look which spoke of warm admiration tinged with half-melancholy longing, sighed, relinquished her hand with a gentle pressure, and ran down the steps. "good night, jocelyn," he called, softly, from the little gate. "good night, roger," she whispered. chapter xx a certain old football phrase rang day and night in conniston's brain, "_it is anybody's game!_" anybody's game! for there was a chance for success in the great work, and he saw that chance clearly, and fought hard for it. if everything went smoothly now, if mr. crawford gave him five hundred more men, if there were no unforeseen obstacles set in his way, no smashing accidents, he would see the ditches in rattlesnake valley filled with water by the last day of september. he had figured on everything, he had sat late into many a night after the grind of a twelve or fifteen hour day, frowning over details, calculating to the cubic yard what he must do each and every day, going over his calculations with a care which missed no detail. and he knew that he could play this game safely and win--if they would only let him alone! and still he knew that it was anybody's game. could swinnerton block him in some way which he could not foresee, could swinnerton make him lose a single day's work, could swinnerton steal his five hundred men as he had stolen men in the past, it was swinnerton's game. brayley was driving the work in the valley now. tommy garton had his new legs from chicago, and from the seat of a buckboard, sometimes from the ground where his crutches sank into the soft sand, he advised brayley and watched the work. conniston was in the mountains, and the lark with fifty men was with him. once in deep creek, with the site of dam number one before him, conniston studied long before he gave the order to the lark to begin work. here were the stakes of truxton's survey, here were the foundations already laid, here was a nature-made dam-site. he had not needed the stakes to show him the spot. and still he hesitated. here, where plans had been made for the chief dam, deep creek belied its name. it ran clear and untroubled over a gentle slope, widening out until from edge to edge of the water it measured close upon forty feet. still farther back upon either hand the sides of the cañon stood in perpendicular walls thirty feet high. above the site the walls widened gradually until they formed a pocket, flat-bottomed, half a mile wide. still farther up the creek's course these natural walls grew steadily closer together until perhaps three-eighths of a mile deeper in the cañon they drew so close together that there was scarcely more than the width of an ordinary room between them. it was this point--the lark had been here with bat truxton when the survey was made and called it the "jaws"--that inspired conniston's hesitation. here was a second dam-site, and not until he had studied both long and carefully, with a keen eye to advantage and disadvantage, did he give the word to begin work. if it were only a question of a site, with time not an element to success, he would have chosen as truxton had done and without a second's doubt. had he had only to consider the building of a dam across deep creek in the shortest possible time, he would have chosen the site at the jaws. but the thing which he wanted now was the largest possible dam in the shortest possible time. there was a pocket above the jaws, but it was shorter, narrower. and above it the creek-bed plunged downward, at times broken into perpendicular waterfalls, until, yonder at a sharp bend, the water as it now frothed through its narrow, rocky cañon was on a level with the top of the jaws. he needed to take out water in vast quantities, countless millions of gallons of it, to turn into the ditches thirty miles away across the dry desert. "the one question," he told himself, as he stood upon a boulder whence he could overlook the two sites, "is, can i get the dam finished where bat truxton planned it--get it done in time?" and in the end he told himself that if the five hundred men came he could have his dam completed in time; and that if the five hundred men did not come the whole task before him was hopeless. then he waved his hand to the lark, and the lark shouted a command which set fifty idle men to work before the echoes of his voice had died away between the rocky walls of the cañon. the materials he should require--the lumber for the great flume which was to turn the water from the weir into the cut which was to be made across the spine of the ridge separating deep creek from the wider cañon through which indian creek shot down upon the uplands of the half moon, the kegs of giant powder, the horses and implements--he had brought with him or had conveyed hither yesterday from crawfordsville. he knew that in a very few days now the main canal would be completed, stretching like a mammoth serpent over the five miles of rolling hills through which it twisted intricately to avoid rocky ridges and knolls to follow natural hollows; that when at last dam number one should be an actuality of stone and mortar, with the water rising high above the flood-gates through which he could send it hissing and boiling into the flume, the way was open to shake his victorious fist in the face of nature itself, to drive water across thirty miles of desert and into the heart of rattlesnake valley. upon one thing conniston had set his heart before he had been twenty-four hours in bat truxton's shoes. he would forget the date which had been marked in red numerals since his first talk with tommy garton; he would not think once of the first day of october. he would have everything in readiness upon the twenty-fifth day of september. he knew that the water would at first run slowly through the dry canals, that the thirsty soil would drink up the first of the precious gallons, that he must allow himself those five days in order that he play safe. and now that he had seen the scope of the work to be done, now that he felt that he could manage without the auxiliary dam until after the first of october, that the two dams here on deep creek and indian creek would give him enough water to keep to the terms of the contract, he believed that he would have everything in readiness by the twenty-fifth of september. for this he had hoped, at first half heartedly; for this he was now working. besides the inducements he had offered his men he now promised them a wage of once and a half for overtime. that meant that from the first light of morning until dark, with often less than an hour off at noon, they worked day after day. they fought with the uneven bed of the stream, they fought with great boulders, until their arms ached in their sockets and their scanty clothing was drenched with sweat. conniston, while he urged them on to do all that was in them, marveled that they did not break down under the strain. nor did he spare himself. many a night during the swift weeks which followed he had no more than three or four hours' sleep. until the lark yelled to his men to "knock" off at night, conniston labored with them. then, when they had rolled heavily into their blankets, he more than once had saddled his horse and ridden down along the foothills across the stretch of sand and to valley city to advise with garton, to learn how the work was going there, to plan and order for the days to follow. he grew gaunt and nervous and hollow-eyed. heavier and heavier the load of his responsibility rested upon his shoulders. nearer and nearer came the end of the time allotted to him, and always the things still to do loomed ahead of him like mountains of rock. he went for two weeks without shaving, and scarcely realized it. his hands grew to be like the hands of his men, torn and cut and blackened with dirt ground into the skin. his boots were in strips before he thought of another pair; his clothes were ragged. he thought only of the great work. in the present, which came to him with tight-clenched, iron fingers gripping the promise which he must rend from them with the strength of brain and brawn, there was only the great work. the past extended back only to the day when bat truxton had fallen and he had been called to take the place of command; and since then there had been only the great work. and the future, mocking him now, smiling upon him the next day, then hiding her face in her misty veil, held high above his head the success or the failure of the great work. and as he grew haggard and tense-nerved and unkempt, little lines formed about the corners of his mouth which would have told william conniston, senior, that there had been wrought in his son a change which was not of the body, not of the mind alone, but even of the secret soul. he thought that he should have heard from mr. crawford by now, and yet no word had reached him. when the day's work had been done upon the dam he rode the ten miles into crawfordsville and inquired at the western union office for a telegram. no, nothing had come. the next day he was as short-spoken as bat truxton had been the day before hapgood had tempted him, as irritable. he saw half a dozen men struggling with a great rugged mass of rock, and cursed them for their slowness. and then he turned away from the lark's curious eyes, biting his lips. for he knew that they were doing all that six big iron-bodied men could do, and that he was not fit. again that night he rode to crawfordsville. he thought that the telegraph agent grinned maliciously as he tossed a yellow envelope upon the counter. "sign here, mr. conniston," he said. conniston signed and, stepping outside, read the words which drove a groan to his lips: "william conniston, jr., "general supt., crawford reclamation, crawfordsville. "no success yet. may have to go to st. louis for the money. hope to have men in four or five days. "john w. crawford." he did not see jocelyn truxton in front of the post-office as he rode past, did not see hapgood come out of the two-story building and join her. he saw only the days which were rushing down upon him, offering him a broken, blunt weapon to fight a giant. never once had conniston doubted as he doubted now. never before had all glint of hope been lost in rayless blackness. if he had the five hundred men, _if he had them now_, there was a fighting chance. but if he must wait another week before they came-- to-day the telephone line had been completed to valley city. all day he had looked forward to a talk with argyl. now he swept by the little office without lifting his head. he could not talk with her; he could not talk with tommy garton even. they would know soon enough, and they would know from other lips than his. that night he slept little, but sat staring at the stars, searching stubbornly to find his lost hope, struggling over and over to see the way. and all that he could see was a long, dry, ugly cut in the desert, a vain, foolish, stupid thing; mr. crawford a ruined, broken man; argyl smitten with sorrow and disappointment; himself the vanquished leader of a mad campaign; oliver swinnerton and his servitors flushed with victory. still he fought to find the way, and shut his lips tight together, and strove to shut from his mind the pictures which his insistent fancy painted there. and when morning came and he walked to the dam which was taking form, pale, worn with the fatigue of the night after the fatigue of the day, he snapped out his orders half viciously, and watched with a hard smile while his handful of men resumed their mammoth task. "take it from me"--the lark was regarding him curiously--"you better go git some sleep, or it's goin' to be a redwood box for yours." the sun had just pushed a shining edge of its burning disk over the mountain-tops when conniston suddenly cried out like a man awaking from the clutch of a frightful nightmare, and pointed with shaking finger to the road winding up the cañon. "what's up, 'bo?" asked the lark, swinging upon him. "i don't know," conniston said, harshly. "i--guess i'm just seeing things. look!" a wagon had crept around a turn in the road, and its long bed was close packed with the forms of men standing upright, their hands upon the back of the high seat or upon one another's shoulders to steady themselves as the wagon pitched and lurched over the ill-defined road. around the bend another wagon, similarly loaded with a human freight which taxed the strength of four puffing horses, came into view. and behind that another and another-- "am i seeing things?" snapped conniston, his hand biting into the lark's shoulder. "what is that?" "them," grunted the lark, wriggling like an eel in conniston's grip, "is your five hundred new guys, or i'm a liar! an' fergit you're the strong man in a sideshow doin' stunts with a rag doll--" but conniston did not hear him. already he was running toward the wagons. and there was a light in his eyes which had not been there for many days. a little, youngish man, sandy of hair, with bird-like brightness of eye and the grin of a sanctified cherub, swung down from the seat of the foremost wagon, lifted his hand, thereby stopping the laboring procession, and came forward to meet conniston. "i want to talk with the superintendent," he said, as the two men met. "where is he?" "i'm the superintendent. i'm conniston. you want me?" "all right, mr. conniston. i'm jimmie kent." he put out his hand, which was painfully small, but which gripped conniston's larger hand like a vise. "there are your five hundred men. or, to be exact, five hundred and five. i started with five hundred and seven. lost two on the road." "but," interrupted conniston, staring half incredulously at him, "mr. crawford's telegram--" jimmie kent laughed. "mr. crawford kicked like a bay steer over that telegram. and in the end, when he wouldn't put his name to a lie, i did the trick for him." "but why?" "simply, sir, because i am under contract to deliver five hundred men into your hands. simply because the telegraph agent in crawfordsville belongs body and soul, bread and butter, to our esteemed friend mr. oliver swinnerton. know oliver personally? capable man, charming host, but the very devil to buck when he has his back aloft! and they tell me that he is playing high this trip. it was just as well, don't you think, that i sent that wire? had oliver known that this consignment of hands was coming, and when they were coming--well, i don't know how he would have managed it, but one way or another he would have come mighty close to taking them off my hands. and now," whipping a big, fat note-book from his pocket, "will you sign right there?" kent removed the cap from a gold-filigreed fountain-pen, handed it with a bit of paper and the note-book to conniston, and pointed out where the signature was wanted. and conniston set his name down under a statement acknowledging the receipt from james kent of five hundred and five men, "in good and satisfactory shape." "thank you, mr. conniston," as he blotted and returned the document to his breast pocket. "perhaps, however, you would have preferred to have counted before signing?" "that's all right. i'll take your word for it. if there aren't five hundred, there are as good as five hundred. and thank god, and you, jimmie kent, that they are here!" "need 'em pretty bad? well, i'm glad i got 'em to you in time. and you might as well know how i did it. i unloaded my men at littleton, two hundred miles east of here. and then i chartered a freight and sneaked 'em into bolton at night. got into bolton last night, and came right out. i don't believe," with a genial grin, "that our friend oliver knows a thing about it yet. i do believe that that wire to you at crawfordsville has got him sidetracked." conniston called the lark to him. "i am going to put two hundred more men to work right here and right now," he said, swiftly. "you get double salary to act as general foreman over the two hundred and fifty. divide your old gang of fifty into five parts, ten each. break up the new gang of two hundred into five sections, forty men to a section. then put ten of our old men to work with each section of forty, making, when that is done, five gangs, fifty men to the gang. understand?" the lark nodded, his eyes bright. "then pick out from your old gang the five best men you have. no favoritism--understand me? the five best men! you know them better than i do. i want them to do the sort of thing you have been doing, each of them to act as section boss, under you, over fifty men. send them to me. and get a move on!" the lark shot away, losing no time in question or answer. a moment later five big, strapping fellows stood before conniston, eying him curiously. "you fellows," conniston told them, bluntly, "are to act as section bosses. you are to get the wages the lark here has been getting. you are to get the same money i offered him for every day between the first of october and the day we get water into the valley. you are to take orders from him and no questions asked. you can hold your jobs just as long as you do the work. if you can't do the work you'll get fired and another man put in your place. come along with me. and you," to the lark, "come too." he swung off toward the wagons, the five men and jimmie kent following him. at the first wagon he called to the men to "climb out." as they clambered down the men in the other wagons got to the ground and came forward. "i want forty men," conniston called. "walk by me single file so i can count." when the fortieth had passed him he raised his hand. "you," he said to the one of the new foremen nearest him, "take these forty men, add ten of the old section to them, and go to work on the dam. wait a minute. have you boys had any breakfast?" they had not. "go to the cook, then," he ordered. "tell him to give you the best he can sling out at quick notice. tell him that there will be one hundred and sixty more to feed. i'll send for more grub right away." the men passed on to the cook's tent, and one after another conniston counted off the other sections of forty and sent them to be fed. "the rest of you," he called to the three hundred men who had watched their fellows move away, "go to the valley. you can loaf until we scare up something to eat for you and until the horses rest a bit. i'll send right away to crawfordsville--" "mr. conniston," interrupted jimmie kent, "in those two wagons back there is a lot of grub. and tools," he added. "mr. crawford had me pick them up in littleton." chapter xxi never had conniston known a busier forenoon, never a happier. the fatigue, the despondency, the utter hopelessness of the early morning was swept away. he felt a new life course through his veins, there came a fresh elasticity to his stride, his voice rang with confidence. for he was as a leader of a lost hope within the walls of a beleaguered city to whom, when all hope was gone, reinforcements had come. he felt that now nothing could tire him in body or in mind, nothing drive from his heart his glorious conviction of success to come. and yet he had no faintest idea how busy the day was to be. when two hours had passed and the wagons carrying three hundred men had started for the valley, conniston had the two hundred and fifty men at deep creek working with a swiftness, an effectiveness which would have told a chance observer that they had been familiar many days with the work. he was to leave them before noon, to hurry on horseback to overtake the wagons that he might personally oversee the arrangements to be made upon their coming into the valley. and there was much to be done, many specific orders to give the lark, before he dared leave. upon the dam itself he put a hundred men to work. the remaining hundred and fifty he set to building the great flume which was to carry the stored water for five hundred yards along the ridge, then into the cut in the crest of the ridge and into dam number two. he saw that he must have more horses, more plows and scrapers. but for the present he could do without them. there was blasting to be done upon the rugged wall of the cañon, there were tall pines bunched in groves, many of which must come down before the flume could be completed or the ditch made. and men with axes and crowbars and giant powder were set to their tasks. everywhere he went the lark dogged his heels, listening intently to the orders which his superior gave him. "the main thing," conniston told him, when he had outlined the work as well as he could, "is to keep your men working! don't lose any time. i'll be back as soon as i can make it, some time to-morrow, and if you don't know how to handle anything that comes up put your men on something else. the dam has got to be made, the flume has got to be built, the cut has to be dug, a lot of trees and boulders have to come out. you will have enough to keep you busy." "do you know, mr. conniston," jimmie kent told him, as they sat down together for a bite of lunch, "i've got a hunch. a rare, golden hunch!" conniston laughed--he was in the mood to laugh at anything now--and asked what the rare "hunch" was. "just this: there's going to be some fun pulled off in this very same neck of the woods before the first of october! and, by harry, i'd like to see it! have you any objection to my sort of roosting around and keeping my bright eye on the game? oh, i don't want a salary; i'll pay for my grub, and you can have my valuable advice gratis. can i stick around?" when conniston told him that he should be glad to have him stay, and as his and the company's guest, jimmie kent beamed. "that's bully of you! if you don't mind, and we can scare up a horse for me, i'd like to ride into valley city with you? i can send a wire from there to my firm asking for an indefinite vacation. oh, they'll grant it, all right. they want a man like me in their business." it was after one o'clock, work was in progress, and conniston and jimmie kent swung into their saddles and started for valley city. before they had ridden a mile down the mountainous road conniston heard kent whistle softly, and ahead of them, coming to meet them, saw a light pole buggy swiftly approaching. a moment later and the man driving had stopped his horses and was looking with small, shrewd eyes into conniston's. he was a short man, round of face, round of eyes, round of stomach. very fair, very bland, very red under the flaming sun, the sweat trickling down his face and upon the crumpled white of his shirt-bosom. his eyes were mildly surprised as they rested upon kent. they were only smiling as they returned to conniston. "i was looking for mr. conniston, the superintendent," he said, in a soft, fat voice. "can you direct me--" "i am conniston. and i am in a very big hurry. what can i do for you?" the man in the buggy swelled pompously. "i am oliver swinnerton," he said, with dignity. and then suffering what he might have been pleased to consider austerity to melt under a soft, fat smile, "glad to know you, conniston. shake!" he put out a soft, fat hand. conniston stared at him in amazement. "swinnerton!" he cried, sharply. "oliver swinnerton! and what in the world do you want with me?" when it was obvious that conniston was not going to lean forward in the saddle to take his hand mr. swinnerton withdrew it to mop his moist forehead. "oliver swinnerton," he repeated, nodding pleasantly. "and i wanted to talk with you about"--his left eyelid, red and puffy, drooped, and his right eye squinted craftily--"about reclamation." "i can't imagine what common interests you and i have in reclamation. and i am in a hurry." oliver swinnerton chuckled as at a rare jest. "how do, kent?" was what he said, having seen jimmie kent, it would seem, for the first time. "and what might you be doing in this part of the country?" jimmie kent's voice was as pleasant as swinnerton's had been. "maybe you remember how you did me up in the matter of the bolton town lots, mr. swinnerton? well, i am just sticking around for the fun of seeing some one do you up." mr. swinnerton's chuckle was softer, oilier than before. he smiled upon kent as though the sandy-haired man were in truth the apple of his eye. "always up to your little repartee, ain't you, jimmie? well, well! and now, mr. conniston--jimmie, you'll pardon us?--may i have a word in private with you?" "no," conniston flared out, "you may not! i don't know you, mr. swinnerton, and i don't want to." only a something akin to the hurt surprise of a child in voice and look alike as swinnerton queried softly: "no? pray, why not? what have i done, mr. conniston?" "you have proven yourself a scoundrel!" burst out conniston, angrily. "a fair fight in the open is one thing. such cowardly means as you take to gain your ends is another. and if you will turn your horses and drive back off of crawford territory i'll be glad to see the back of you." for a moment swinnerton stared at him in stupefaction. and then he broke into a delighted giggle which drove the tears into his eyes. jimmie kent looked from one to the other, and then, whistling softly to himself and saying no word, rode on down the road. "i don't know what you are gurgling about," conniston said, shortly. "but if you will follow mr. kent and get off and stay off this land i shall be much obliged to you." mr. swinnerton wiped the tears from his eyes and gasped from the depths of his mirth: "you'll do, conniston! he, he! oh, you'll certainly do!" "i don't know what you're talking about," snapped conniston. "but i tell you what i will do if you don't get out of here. i'll just naturally pitch you out!" "i'd never have guessed it," chuckled swinnerton. "never in the world. i'd never even have thought of such a thing. conniston, it's the bulliest scheme i ever heard of! how you managed it so easily--" "managed what?" conniston's curiosity, in spite of him, had for the moment the upper hand of his anger. "what do you mean?" "close-lipped, eh? close-lipped to the end! that's business--mighty good business, too. oh, you'll do." "are you going to tell me what you mean? i tell you i haven't any time to waste, and i want to see your back, and see it moving, too. if you have anything to say, say it quick." "that's the stuff, conniston. close-lipped to the end. but," and with a glance over his shoulder at jimmie kent, now out of hearing, and leaning a pudgy arm upon a pudgy knee as he smiled confidentially into conniston's frowning face, "ain't it pretty close to the end now?" "i give you my word, swinnerton, that if you can't tell me straight out what you are driving at, off of this land you go." the stern assurance of conniston's tone seemed to surprise swinnerton. "come, come," he said, rather sharply. "what's the use of this shenanigan? can't i see through clear window-glass? am i a fool? oh, i didn't guess, i didn't know that such a man as you were alive; i didn't so much as know your name until yesterday. but--know a man named hapgood?" and his eyes twinkled again. "yes," bluntly. "what about him?" "oh, nothing much. only he told me about you. and now what he didn't guess i know, mr. william conniston, junior." "and, pray, what might that be?" "want me to tell you, eh? want to be sure that i know, do you? want to see if oliver swinnerton is a fool, blind in both eyes? all right." his voice dropped yet lower, and he blinked with cunning eyes as he finished. "you are up to the same game i am! you are going to slip the knife into john crawford clean up to the hilt. you are going to make a bluff at getting work done until the last minute, and then you are going to have nothing done. you are going to throw him into my hands like i would throw a sick pup into a ditch." "am i?" asked conniston, coolly, mastering the sudden desire to take this little fat man into his two hands and choke him. "you know a great deal about what i intend to do, mr. swinnerton. and now, if you are not through talking your infernal nonsense, i am through listening to it. there is room to turn right here. understand?" "but--" began swinnerton, only to be cut short with: "there are no buts about it!" he stooped, seized the bit of one of swinnerton's horses, and jerked it about into the road. "get out!" "i tell you," yelled swinnerton, "conniston or no conniston, you can't bluff me. do you hear?" conniston made no reply as he jerked the horses farther around. when their heads were turned toward the way which swinnerton had come he lifted his quirt high above his head. oliver swinnerton went suddenly white and raised his arm to protect his face. but only conniston's laugh stung him as the quirt fell heavily across the horses' backs. the buggy lurched, the horses leaped forward; oliver swinnerton's surprised torrent of curses was lost in the rattle of wheels, his red face obscured in the swirling dust. "i wonder what he was driving at?" muttered conniston as he watched the horses race down the road. jimmie kent, reining his horse aside as swinnerton swept by him, smiled and called, pleasantly: "good-by, oliver. seem to be in a hurry!" chapter xxii conniston and kent, riding swiftly, side by side, overtook the wagons conveying the three hundred men to the valley, and, passing them, arrived at brayley's camp before the men there had quit work for the day. brayley was more than half expecting them, as kent had telephoned to the office from bolton to learn where conniston was and had told tommy garton of his errand. "an' now," proclaimed brayley, with deep satisfaction, "we'll have the big ditch clean through valley city an' the cross-ditches growin' real fast before a week's up." "i've told the drivers to stop when they get here, brayley. some of the men have blankets with them. we can rush more from mr. crawford's store in crawfordsville. we can make out as to food. have you figured out what more horses, what further tools you'll need? that's good. send a man to the half moon right now with word to rawhide jones to rush us the horses. put your new men to work in the morning if you have to make them dig ditch with shovels. also send a hundred of them into valley city as soon as it's daylight to begin the cross-ditches. let ben go with them. he can get his instructions there from me or from tommy garton. how is everything going?" brayley reported that the work was running smoothly, that his foremen were as good men as he ever wanted to see, that he had no fault to find anywhere. "an' this ol' ditch is sure growin', con," he finished, with a sudden gleam of pride. conniston did not wait for the arrival of the wagons to ride on into valley city. kent he left behind him at the camp. "i've a tremendous curiosity to see how you do this sort of thing," kent confided to him, as he handed conniston the message he wished sent from valley city to clayton & paxton, of denver. "i think that if mr. brayley has no objections and can spare me a blanket and some bread and coffee i'll roost here and watch the ditch grow in the morning." tommy garton was still perched upon his high stool when conniston came to the office. "just through, though," he said, as he climbed down and with the aid of his crutches piloted his new legs toward the door, grasping conniston's hand warmly. "good news, eh, greek?" "the best, tommy. if we don't put this thing across now we ought to be kicked from one end of the desert to the other. by the way, i had a visit from swinnerton this afternoon." he told of what had passed, and ended, thoughtfully: "what do you suppose was his object, tommy? just wanted to get a peek at what we have done?" garton laughed softly. "you poor old innocent. don't you know what the little man was after? didn't he make it plain that he wanted you to double cross the old man? didn't he make it plain that he was in a position to make it worth your while? if our scheme fails, don't you see that you can go to swinnerton and demand and get a good job working for his scheme? he has bought many a man, greek. it is his theory that he can buy any man he wants to buy." "and i let him get away without slapping his little red face," muttered conniston, disgustedly. he left garton a few minutes later, promising to return and spend the night with him, to talk at length with him in the morning, and went down the street to the crawford cottage. he knew that since argyl's father had left for denver mrs. ridley, the wife of the proprietor of the lunch-stand, had been staying with her. it was mrs. ridley who answered his knock. "miss argyl ain't come back yet, mr. conniston," she told him. "she went out this mornin' an' ain't showed up since. i reckon, though, she'll be back real soon now. it's after supper-time already." "do you know where she went?" "no, sir. she didn't say. won't you come in an' wait for her?" "no," he answered, after a moment. "i'd better not. if miss crawford has been all day in the saddle she will be tired. i'll drop in in the morning." "maybe that would be better," mrs. ridley nodded at him. "we're up early--breakfast at five. you might run in an' eat with us?" conniston promised to do so, and returned to the office, more than a little disappointed at not having seen argyl, wondering whither her long ride could have taken her. until late that night he and garton talked, planned, and prepared for the work of to-morrow. it was barely five the next morning when he again knocked at the cottage door. again mrs. ridley answered his knock. "am i too early?" conniston smiled at her. "i noticed your smoke going. is miss crawford up yet?" "miss crawford--" he saw that she hesitated, saw a nervous uneasiness in her manner as she plucked with quick fingers at the hem of her apron. "she ain't come in yet!" "what!" cried conniston, sharply. "what do you mean? where is she?" "i--i don't know, sir. she ain't come back yet." "you mean that miss crawford left yesterday morning and that she has not returned since that time? that she has been gone twenty-four hours--all night?" "yes, sir." the old woman was eying him with eyes into which a positive fear was creeping, her lips trembling as she spoke. "you don't think anything has happened--" "i don't know!" he cried, sternly. "why didn't you let me know last night?" "i didn't know what to do." the tears had actually sprung into her eyes. "i thought she must be all right. i thought mebbe she'd gone to crawfordsville or to the half moon." conniston left her abruptly and hastened to the office. "tommy," he called, from the doorway, "do you know where miss crawford is? where she went yesterday?" "no. why?" garton, sensing from the other's tones that something was wrong, swept up his crutches and hurried forward. "she left yesterday morning," conniston told him, as he went to the desk and picked up the telephone. "she hasn't come back yet. mrs. ridley doesn't know anything about her." and to the operator: "give me the crawford house. quick, please! yes, in crawfordsville." upon the face of each man there were lines of uneasiness. garton propped himself up against the desk and lighted a cigarette, his eyes never leaving conniston's face. "can't you get anybody?" he asked, after a moment. "no. what's that, central? they don't answer? then get me the bunk-house at the half moon. yes, please! i'm in a hurry." it was lonesome pete who answered. "no, con," he answered. "miss argyl ain't here. anything the matter?" conniston clicked up the receiver and swung upon garton. "it is just possible," he said, slowly, "that she is in crawfordsville, after all. may have left the house already. i can call up the store as soon as it opens up and ask if she has been there." billy jordan had entered at the last words. "who are you talking about?" he asked, quickly. "not miss crawford?" "yes." conniston whirled upon him abruptly. "do you know where she went yesterday?" "no, i don't know where she went. but as i was coming to the office i met her, just getting on her horse in front of her house, and she gave me a message for you." "well, what was it?" "'if you see mr. conniston,' she said, 'tell him that i have gone to investigate the value of the secret.' i don't know what she meant--" "she said that!" cried conniston, his face going white. "but she's all right," billy jordan hastened to add. "she's back now." "you saw her?" "no." he shook his head. "but i saw the horse she was riding. just noticed him tied to the back fence as i came in." again conniston hurried to the cottage. mrs. ridley was upon the porch. "miss crawford is back?" he called to her from the street. she shook her head. "not yet. ain't you--" he did not wait to listen. running now, he came to the little back yard, and to a tall bay horse, saddled and bridled, standing quietly at the fence. at first glance he thought, as billy jordan had thought, that the animal was tied there. and then he saw that the bridle-reins were upon the ground, that they had been trampled upon and broken, that the two stirrups were hanging upside down in the stirrup leathers as stirrups are likely to do when a saddled horse has been running riderless. she had been to investigate the secret! she had been gone all day, all night! and now her horse had come home without her! he dared not try to think what had happened to her; he knew that she must have dismounted while at the spring to examine the ground; he knew that there were sections of the desert alive with rattlesnakes. the great work which had walked and slept with him for weeks, which had never in a single waking hour been absent from his thoughts, was forgotten as though it had never been. the great work was suddenly a trifle, a nothing. it did not matter; nothing in the wide world but one thing mattered. failure of the great work was nothing if only a slender, gray-eyed, frank-souled girl were safe. success, unless she were there to look into his eyes and see that he had done well, was nothing. unheeding mrs. ridley's shrill cries, he swung about and ran back to the office. "tommy," he cried, hoarsely, "her horse is back--without her! she rode away into the desert yesterday morning. she is out there yet. billy, my horse is in the shed. don't stop to saddle, but ride like the very devil out to brayley's camp. tell him what has happened. tell him to rush fifty men on horseback to me. tell him to see that each man takes two canteens full of water. and, for heaven's sake, billy, hurry!" chapter xxiii billy jordan, terror springing up into his own eyes, sped through the door. and conniston and garton turned grave faces upon each other. "have you any idea," garton was asking, and to conniston his voice seemed to come faintly from a great distance, "which way she rode?" "north. i don't know how far. tommy, have you a horse here i can ride?" "you are going to look for her?" "yes." he was already at the door, and turned impatiently as garton called to him: "it's up to you, greek. but--do you think that you could do any more to help her than the men you are sending out?" "no. but, man, i can't sit here without knowing--" "greek!" there was a note in tommy's voice, a look in his eyes which held conniston. "i know how you feel, old man. and don't you know that another man might be fool enough to--to love her as much as you do?" "tommy!" "yes," with a hard little smile. "why not? i'm only half a man, old fellow, but the head and the heart of me are left. and i've got to sit here and wait. and," his tone suddenly stern, "that's what you've got to do! you can't help by going--and you are the only man who has got to keep his head clear, who has got to stay here and direct the new forces which our good fortune has given to us." for a moment conniston stood staring incredulously. then he turned, and his frowning eyes ran out toward the north, across the far-stretching solitudes of the desert. somewhere out there, a mile away, ten miles away, twenty miles away, alone, perhaps tortured with thirst, perhaps famishing, perhaps--he shuddered and groaned aloud as he tried in vain to shut out the pictures which his leaping imagination drew for him. and here garton's quiet voice was telling him that he had responsibilities, that he had work to do, that he, to whom she meant more than success or failure, life or death, must hold back from going to her. "i won't--i can't!" he cried, wildly. "she is out there, tommy, alone. she needs me--and i am going to her! what do i care about your cursed work!" "there's a horse and saddle in the shed by the lunch-stand." garton turned and hobbled back to his stool. and conniston, without a glance over his shoulder, hastened toward the shed. before he had gone half the distance he stopped, swung about, and went slowly back to the office. "you were right, tommy," he said, as he stopped in the doorway. "i was a fool. understand," he added, quickly, "that if i thought i could be of one particle more value than the men i shall send in my place the work here could go to eternal perdition! but i can tell them all that i know of the way she has gone--and she would want me to stay here and push the work as if nothing had happened." mrs. ridley, hysterically crying that argyl was dead, that she _knew_ that she was dead, and that she herself was to blame, came sobbing and moaning and wringing her hands into the office. "don't do that!" conniston cried, angrily. "if you want to do any good, go down to the lunch-counter and help your husband put up fifty lunches. the men may be gone all day. put up plenty." she hurried away, drying her eyes now that there was something for her to do; and the two men, never looking at each other, sat and waited the coming of brayley's men. all that long, endlessly, wretchedly long forenoon, conniston went about his work like a man under sentence of death, his face white and drawn, his step heavy, his voice silent save when necessity drove him to short, sharp, savage commands. again and again he forgot what it was that he was doing, forgot the ditches which were branching off from the main canal, right and left, as his eyes ran out across the sun-blistered sands, as his fancies ran ahead of them, searching, searching, searching--and half afraid to find what they sought. he had seen the questing riders push farther and farther into the desert, had seen them drop out of sight. now they were gone; no moving dot told him where their search had taken them, what they had found. in the middle of an order he found himself breaking off and turning again to the north, looking for the return of the party, hoping to see the men waving their hats that all was well, straining his ears for their reassuring shouts. and the desert, vast, illimitable, threatening, mysterious, full of dim promise, full of vague threats, gave no sign. at eleven o'clock he saw one of the men returning. why one man alone? what would be the word which he was bringing? his heart beat thickly. his throat was very dry. he felt a quick pain through it as he tried to swallow. he lifted his head, and his eyes asked the question of the man who had jerked in his sweating horse at his side. the rider shook his head. "nothin'--we ain't found nothin' yet. mundy sent me back. he says to tell you they're about ten mile out now, an' the hosses is gettin' done up for water. he says will you send a water-wagon or will you send out a fresh party?" conniston's heart leaped at the man's first word. he knew then how he had feared to know what they had found. and then it sank as fear surged higher into it. they had not found her yet--already she had been gone a whole day, a whole night, half the second day-- "get a fresh horse and go back," he said, when the man waited for an answer. "tell mundy that i am starting a six-horse wagon, carrying water, right away. tell him to keep on looking. you men keep close enough together for the most part to be able to hear a gun fired from the man nearest you. i'll send the wagon due north. you can pick it up by the tracks." the man rode away, and conniston strode to the office. "tommy"--and his voice was steady and determined--"you'll have to get into a buggy and watch the work this afternoon. i've got the men started--and now i am going to her." "all right, greek," garton answered, gently. "i can keep things going." conniston turned and left him. he saddled his horse with eager fingers, gave the order for the wagon carrying water to move steadily northward until it came up with the men who had gone ahead, put a lunch and a flask of whisky into his pocket, filled his own canteens, and rode out across the hot sands. "i am going to find her," he told himself, with quiet confidence. he rode slowly at first, curbing his crying impatience with the knowledge that restraint now meant the reserve of endurance to his horse upon which he might be forced to call before he had found her. he held to a course due north, remembering what argyl had told him about the location of the spring. when he had gone nearly five miles he began to search to right and left, still holding to a general northerly direction, but often turning out of his course to ride to the tops of the knolls which rose here and there about him. and now he had let his horse out into a swinging gallop, urged to spare neither animal nor himself, prompted to make what haste he might by the thought that already noon had passed, that the day was half gone, that what he was to do must be done before the night came. once--he thought that valley city must be at least eight or nine miles behind him--his heart leaped with sudden hope and fear as he saw, half a mile to the east, a cluster of little sand-hills like those argyl had told him surrounded her spring. he did not know that he was cutting his horse's bleeding sides with his spurs as he galloped up the gradual slopes; long ago he had forgotten all thought of conserving the beast's strength. he knew only that the very soul of him cried out aloud that he might at last come to her, and that his eyes, ever seeking, seeking, seeking, were more than half afraid to rest upon every shadowy, stirring bunch of scrub brush, more than half afraid to run ahead of him down the far sides of the low hills. nothing before him as he jerked in his panting horse, nothing but the desert, still, hot, thirsty, a great tortured thing under the merciless sky. nothing but long level stretches so bleak, so barren, that a jackrabbit could not have hidden his gaunt, gray body. nothing as he looked with narrowing eye far to east and west, north and south, but a vast, silent monotone of plain that would seem to conceal nothing, as open under the bright rays of the sun as the palm of a man's hand, an unsmiling, grave-faced, hypocritical thing which hid and held from him all that he wanted in the world. a frenzy of terrified rage upon him, he stiffened in his stirrups, he shook his clenched fist at the quiet, jeering face whose very unmoved stillness was like a deep contempt, and cursed it, his voice springing harshly through his dry lips, rising almost into a sobbing shriek, dying away without an echo, leaving the face of the desert quietly contemptuous. for he grew suddenly as silent, a word cut in two by the click of his teeth, the sound of his own voice in his ears tricking him. breathless, a man turned to stone, he listened. he had heard something--he _knew_ that he had heard a voice, not his own, a voice hardly more than a faint whisper, calling to him, calling again, then lost in the all-engulfing silence. about him the miles were laid bare in the sunlight. there was nothing. driven from the moment of inactivity into a madness of haste, tormented afresh at the thought that he had lost one precious minute, he cut anew with his red-roweled spurs into the torn flanks of his horse, and rode on, careless of all save that he must hurry, that his was a great race against the racing day, that he must find her before the night had sought her out. the very shadow which he and his horse cast--a distorted, black centaur sort of thing, running silently across the desert--was one with the desert in its cursed menace. for a moment ago it had hidden under his horse's belly, and now it ran beside him, ever lengthening, ever pushing farther to the eastward, a grim avowal that the day was passing. the miles fled behind him like lean greyhounds. the miles before him reached out in unshortened endlessness. it was one o'clock. he had been gone two hours--he had done nothing. now, far ahead, he caught sight of moving figures, saw a man yonder on horseback, saw another, hardly more than a drifting dot against the sky-line to the east, another yet to the west. they were still searching for her, still pushing deeper and deeper into the burning solitudes; they had found nothing. they must be, he estimated roughly, twenty miles from valley city. had she ridden so far? why hadn't she told him more about the location of the spring? if there _was_ a spring, had she clung close to it when her horse had left her? then she would not die for want of water! or had she dug with breaking nails into the soil which had in it moisture enough to feed the roots of the yellow willows but which would but mock her as the desert mocked him, refusing to yield up one single drop of water? gradually, steadily he swung toward the left, riding a little to westward so as not to be seeking over the same territory across which the men before him had ridden. and as he rode he saw, a mile away from him, still farther to the west, a ring of hills, and he prayed that he might come upon the spring there and upon argyl. and his moving lips were not still before he had found her. he had swept down into a little hollow, the slightest of depressions in the sandy level, not to be seen until a man was upon its very rim, floored with scanty, dry brush. his tired horse threw up its head and shied. but conniston had seen her first, a huddled heap, almost at his feet. "argyl!" he cried, loudly, dropping to his knees beside her, leaving his horse to stand staring at them. "argyl!" she lay as she had fallen, her right arm stretched straight out in front of her, her left arm lying close to her side, her face hidden from him in the sand. she did not move. had he called to her an hour ago she would have turned her wide eyes upon him wonderingly. now, if he had shouted with the voice of thunder she would not have heard. she was dead, or death was very close to her. for a moment, a moment lengthened into an eternity of hell, he did not know whether the shadowy wings of the stern angel were now rustling over her head or if already the wings had swept over her and had borne away from him the soul of the woman he loved. "argyl, argyl dear!" he whispered. "i have come to save you, argyl. to take you home. oh! don't you hear me, argyl?" he put his arms about her, and as he knelt lifted her and put his face to hers. she was not cold; thank heaven, she was not cold! but she did not move, she was heavy in his arms, the warmth of her body might have been from the ebbing tide of life or from the sun's fire. he could not feel her breathe, could not feel the beating of her heart. he held her so that he could look into her face, and the cry upon his lips was frozen into a grief-stricken horror. her hair unbound, hanging loose, tangled about her face, dull and soiled with the gray sand-dust, her lips dry, cracked, unnaturally big, her cheeks pinched and stamped at the corners of her mouth with the misery through which she had lived--was this argyl? he laid her back upon the sand, his body bent over her to shut out the sun, and unslung his canteen. he washed her mouth, let the water trickle over her brow and cheeks, forced a little of the lukewarm stuff between her teeth. he bathed her head, bathed her throat, and again forced a few drops into her mouth. and then, when she did not move, he would not believe that she was dead. she could not be dead. it was impossible. she would open her eyes in a minute, those great, frank, fearless, glorious gray eyes, and she would come back to him--back from the shadow of the stern angel's wing, back to herself and to him. he unstoppered his flask of whisky and, holding her to him, thrust it to her lips. and the thing which had been a curse to bat truxton, which had hurled him downward from his leadership of men, which had threatened to wreck the hopes of the great work, brought argyl back from the last boundaries of the thing called life, back from the misty frontiers of the thing called death to which she was journeying. her eyes opened, she stared at him, her eyes closed again. again he forced her reluctant throat to swallow the whisky, a few drops only. and again he bathed her with water--brow and throat and quiet wrists. her eyes did not open now, but he saw that she was breathing. presently he made her take a little water. he washed her dusty nostrils that she might breathe better. and that breath might come into her tired lungs more easily he gently, reverently loosened the clothing about her breasts. not once did his eyes leave her face. he did not fire the shot which was to be a signal to the others, because he knew that they could not hear. soon he would look for the wagon. it would pass closely enough for him to see it, near enough for him to make himself seen. now he could do alone as much for her as could fifty men, as could any one. an hour passed, two hours. he had watched the color of life creep back into her face faintly, slowly, but steadily. she had again opened her eyes, had turned them for a puzzled second upon his tense face, had closed them. now she seemed to be sleeping. he had exhausted the contents of one canteen, had gone to his saddle for the other, when far to the south he saw the wagon. he had waved his hat high above his head, standing like a circus-rider in the saddle, and had emptied the cylinder of his revolver into the air. he had seen that the driver had heard him, that he had fired an answering volley, that he had turned westward. and then he had gone back to argyl. she had heard the shots. her eyes were open and turned curiously upon him as he came swiftly to where she lay. "will you give me some water?" she whispered. he lifted her head, and she drank thirstily, looking with reproachful surprise at him when he took the canteen from her lips. "that is all now, argyl," he told her, his voice choking. and then, all power of restraint swept away from him by the joyous, throbbing love which so long he had silenced, he drew her close, closer to him, crying, almost harshly: "oh, argyl, thank god! for if you hadn't come back to me--i love you, love you! don't you know how i love you, argyl?" her hand closed weakly upon his. "of course, dear," she answered him, faintly, her poor lips trying to smile. "of course we love each other. but can't i have a little water, dear?" chapter xxiv it was the twentieth day of september by the calendar--ten days before the first of october as every man, woman, and child in the valley measured time. conniston came and went superintending every part of the work, and, although he was still the gaunt, tired man he had been two weeks ago, he was no longer tight-lipped and somber-eyed. he smiled often; he laughed readily, like a boy. argyl, her clean, healthy, resilient young body and spirit having shaken off the effects of the clutch of the desert, was the same argyl who had raced for the overland limited that day when conniston had first seen her; her laugh was as spontaneous as his, sparkling and free and buoyantly youthful. mr. crawford was quiet, saying few words, but the little lines of care had gone from the corners of eyes and mouth. tommy garton was the proverbial cricket on the hearth of the valley's big family. brayley looked upon his ditches with the gleam in his eye bespeaking a deep pride like the pride of ownership and a big, strong love. jimmie kent assured whomever would listen that he was glad that he had stayed, and that he had a mind to call on his old friend oliver to see how he was feeling. rattlesnake valley had become the happy valley. with the first of october ten days off there was no shadow of doubt in a single heart that the great work would be a finished, actual, successful thing before the dawn of the great day. upon the twentieth day of september greek conniston, being in valley city, received a telegram which puzzled him. it was from edwin corliss, private secretary and confidential man of affairs of william conniston, senior, of wall street. conniston replied immediately and by wire. during the three days following he received and despatched several telegrams. since the messages have a certain bearing upon the great work, they are given below in the order in which they were received in the valley and despatched from it: "wm. conniston, jr., "rattlesnake valley. "drop everything. come home immediately. your father insists. particulars when you arrive. "corliss." "edw. corliss, "new york. "can't get away. under contract. love to dad. "wm. conniston, jr." "wm. conniston, jr. "rattlesnake valley. "smash contract. will pay damages. your father wants you in new york in five days. "corliss." "edw. corliss, "new york. "impossible. can make hurried trip east after october first. "wm. conniston, jr." "wm. conniston, jr., "rattlesnake valley. "orders imperative from your father. cables from paris drop everything immediately and come home. "corliss." "edw. corliss, "new york. "i refer you to wire of yesterday. "wm. conniston, jr." then came a message which puzzled greek conniston more deeply than the others had done--a message _via_ cable and telegraph and telephone from his father himself: "wm. conniston, jr., "rattlesnake valley. "come home. leave that work alone. start minute you get this. wiring you thousand dollars crawfordsville. corliss will advance all you want in new york. do as i command immediately or i disinherit you. "wm. conniston, sr." "wm. conniston, jr., "rattlesnake valley. "at your father's orders have wired thousand to you crawfordsville. "corliss." "edw. corliss, "new york. "money you wired remains subject your orders. i don't need it. inform dad. "wm. conniston, jr." when william conniston, junior, received the second message from william conniston, senior, a swift understanding came to him, an understanding not only of the reason for the attitude corliss had taken, but of what oliver swinnerton had had in mind when he had talked slyly of conniston's intentions, and had expressed his confidence that the young superintendent was preparing to double cross his employer. "wm. conniston, jr., "rattlesnake valley. "am starting for new york. meet me. drop work. i have a million dollars at stake in oliver swinnerton project. will lose all if you don't quit. "wm. conniston, sr." and it gave greek conniston a great, unbounded joy to answer: "wm. conniston, sr., "paris. "sorry, dad. you lose million. i have reputation at stake. "wm. conniston, jr." chapter xxv the days ran on, each twenty-four hours seeming shorter, swifter than the preceding twenty-four. although everywhere in the valley there was a glad confidence that the reclamation project was an assured thing, although feverish anxiety had been beaten back and driven out, there was no slightest slackening of unremitting toil. upward of seven hundred men worked as they had never worked before. as the end of the time drew nearer, as success became ever more assured, they worked longer hours, they accomplished swifter results. for each man of them, from brayley to the ditch-diggers, was laboring not only for the company, but for himself. each and every man had been promised a bonus for every day between the time when water was poured down into the sunken valley and the coming of high noon upon october the first. and conniston still held to his determination to have everything in readiness by the twenty-fifth of september. upon the evening of the twenty-fourth of september conniston called upon mr. crawford at his cottage in valley city. he found his employer smoking upon the little porch alone. when he was seated and had accepted a cigar, conniston began abruptly what he had to say. "if you have time, mr. crawford, i want to make a partial report to you to-night. thank you. to begin with, i have completed the big dam, dam number one. it is all ready for business. the flume is finished, the cut made across the ridge to dam number two across indian creek. dam number two is ready. from these two dams the main canal runs, completed entirely, thirty miles and into valley city. dam number three, miss crawford's dam, is finished, and the branch canal from it to the main canal will be completed in two days. i do not believe that this dam is going to be an absolute necessity to us now. i think that we are going to have all the water from deep creek and indian creek that we need. but dam number three makes us more than confident. and when later you want to extend your area of irrigated acreage you will want it. "i have examined the country about the spring which miss crawford discovered, and have men working there now boring wells. there is water there--how much i do not yet know. i have a hope, which tommy garton thinks foolish, that we may strike artesian water out there in the sand. at any rate, we'll get enough out of it eventually to aid in the irrigation of that location, to be useful when you get ready to found your second desert town. about valley city itself i have all the cross-ditches required by your contract with colton gray of the p. c. & w." he paused, and mr. crawford after a moment's thoughtful silence said, quietly: "in other words, mr. conniston, you have completed all of the work which the contract calls for?" "except one thing." conniston smiled. "i have not put the water on the land yet. a rather important matter, isn't it?" "but you are ready to do that?" "i shall be ready to do that to-morrow at noon. and i want you to help me. will it be possible for you and miss crawford to come out to dam number one in the morning?" "you are kind to ask it," mr. crawford said, inclining his head. "we shall be glad to come, mr. conniston. is that the extent of your report?" "yes. i have something else i want to say to you--but it is not about reclamation." "shall i make my report to you first? for i feel that after all you have done for me i should like to report, too. every one of my cattle-ranges is mortgaged to the hilt. i do not believe that i could raise another thousand dollars on the combined ranges. i have been driven so close to the wall that i could not go another step. i have been forced to sell during the last two weeks over a thousand of my young cattle--to sell them at a sacrifice in order to obtain ready money. i have enough money in the bank to conclude the financing of our reclamation project. after the first day of october, when the p. c. & w. begins its road out to us, i can raise whatever more funds i want, and raise them easily. "you have succeeded, mr. conniston, and thereby you have saved me from being absolutely, unqualifiedly ruined. within six months i shall have doubled my fortune. and i shall have lived to see the most cherished dream of my older manhood materialize. i owe very much to you, i am very grateful to you, and i am very proud to have been associated in business with a man of your caliber. and there is my hand on it!" "i am glad to have been of service," conniston replied, as the two men gripped hands. "and i appreciate your confidence. besides," with a quick, half-serious smile, "i think that i have profited as greatly as any one else could possibly do." "i know what you mean. and i agree with you. now, you said that there was another matter--" "yes. i have had a cable from my father in paris. because i could not agree to do a certain thing which he requested he has seen fit to disinherit me." "i know. tommy garton told me about it. and i know what the thing was which he required of you. i did not thank you for your answer to him, conniston, for we both know that you did only your duty. but i know what it meant, i know what your stand cost you, and i am prouder to have known you, to feel that outside of our business relations i can say that william conniston, junior, is my friend, than i have ever been in my life to have known any other man!" his voice was deep with sincerity, alive with an intensity of feeling which drove a warm flush into conniston's tanned face. "as you say, i did only what a man must do were he not a scoundrel. but, too, as you say, it means a great deal. it means that when you will have paid me my wages i shall have not another cent in the world. and being virtually penniless, still my chief purpose in coming to you this evening has been to tell you that i love argyl, and that i want your consent to ask her to marry me." for a moment the older man made no reply. for a little he drew thoughtfully at his cigar, and as in its glow his grave face was thrown into relief conniston saw that there was a sad droop at the corners of the firm mouth. "you have told argyl?" he finally said. "yes. i told her that day in the desert. i had meant to wait until the work was done, until she could have seen that i was honestly trying to live down my utter uselessness. but--i told her then." "and she?" "she said that i might speak to you." "i am selfish, conniston--selfish. argyl has been daughter to me and son, and the best friend i have ever had. i shall miss her. but if she loves you--well," with a gentle smile, "she is too true a woman to hold back from your side, no matter what i might say. and since she must leave me some day, i am very glad that you came into her life. i congratulate you, my boy." while the two men were talking and waiting for argyl to come in, tommy garton, his new legs discarded for the day, was lying on his cot in the back room of the general office, blowing idle puffs of cigarette-smoke at the lamp-chimney, watching the smoke as the hot draft from the flame sent it ceilingward. he was thinking of the talk he had had with conniston, how conniston had gone to argyl's father. "after all," he grunted to himself, as he pinched out his cigarette and lighted another, "they were made for each other. and i lose my one chief bet this incarnation. hello! come in!" for there had come a sudden sharp knocking at the outer door. the door was pushed open and a big man, dusty from riding, came slowly into the front room, cast a quick glance about him, and came on into garton's room. garton started as he saw who the man was. "hello, wallace!" he said, sitting up and putting out his hand. "what in the world brings you here?" wallace laughed, returned the greeting, and sat down upon the cot across the room. and as he came into the circle of light thrown out by the lamp a nickeled star shone for a moment from under his coat, which was carelessly flung back. "jest rampsin' around, tommy," he answered, quietly, making himself a cigarette. "jest seein' what i could see. you fellers keepin' pretty busy, ain't you?" "yes. too busy to get into trouble, bill." he lay back and sent a new cloud of smoke to soar aloft over the lamp-chimney. "we haven't had a visit from a sheriff for six months." "oh, i know you been bein' good, all right. if everybody was like you fellers i'd have one lovely, smooth job. goin' to make a go of this thing, ain't you, tommy?" "you bet we are!" cried garton, enthusiastically. "there's nothing can stop us now. i expect," with a sharp look at the sheriff, "swinnerton is feeling a bit shaky of late?" "couldn't say," replied wallace, slowly. "ain't seen oliver for a coon's age." they talked casually of many things, and tommy garton, to whom the sheriff's explanation of the reason for his visit to the valley was no explanation whatever, sat back against the wall, his head lost in the shadow cast by a coat hanging at the side of the window and between him and the lamp, a frown in his eyes. "any time big bill wallace drifts this far from his stamping-ground just to look at a ditch i'm dreaming the whole thing," he told himself, as his eyes never left the sheriff's face. "and as for not having seen swinnerton, that's a lie." tommy garton was already scenting something very near the actual truth when the telephone in the front room jangled noisily. "want me to answer it?" wallace was already on his feet. "thanks," garton told him. "but i've got it fixed so that i can handle it from here." he picked up the telephone which was attached to the office instrument and which he kept on the floor at his bedside. and as he caught the first word he pressed the receiver close to his ear so that no sound from it might escape and reach his alert visitor. it was the lark's voice, tense, earnest, trembling with the import of the lark's message. "that you, con? garton? conniston there? no? tell him for me to keep under cover. lonesome pete has jest rode into camp, an' he's seen that canary of his, an' she's been blowin' off to him. hapgood's thicker'n thieves with swinnerton. he's put him up to this. swinnerton has sent the sheriff after con. he's to jug him for killin' that chink! get me? jest to hold him in the can so's he can't work until after october first. get me, 'bo? you'll put con wise? wallace ought to be there any minute--" garton answered as quietly as he could: "all right. i'll attend to everything. good-by." and then, setting the telephone back upon the floor, he took a fresh cigarette from his case, lighted it over the lamp, his face showing calm and unconcerned, and, leaning back, began to think swiftly. conniston was now with the crawfords. presently he would leave them and return to the office to spend the night with garton. bill wallace evidently knew this, and was content to wait quietly until his man came. lonesome pete had done his part, had ridden with all possible speed to deep creek, where he had supposed conniston was. the lark had done his part. the rest was up to tommy garton. for he knew that with conniston left to continue his work the work would be done. he knew that conniston had every detail now at his fingers' ends. he knew that if swinnerton could succeed in this coup he might be able to put some further unexpected, some fatal obstacle in the way of the great work. and that then, with conniston out of it, it again would be "anybody's game." wallace was talking again about unimportant nothings, garton was answering him in monosyllables and striving to see the way, to find out the thing which he must do. it was plain that conniston must be prevented from coming to the office to-night. and when he saw the way before him he asked, carelessly: "you'll stay with me to-night, bill?" "if you got the room, tommy." he glanced about the little room. "this bed ain't workin'?" "conniston, our superintendent, will sleep there to-night. he'll be in in an hour or so. but i've got blankets, and if you care to make a bed on the floor, there's lots of room." "i'll do it," laughed the sheriff, stretching his great legs far out in front of him. "it'll do me good. i been sleepin' in a bed so many nights runnin' lately i'll be gettin' soft." "all right. and if you'll pardon me a minute i want to telephone my assistant. i've just got word of some work which must be ready by morning. not much rest on this job, bill." he picked up the telephone again and called billy jordan. "i wish you'd run around for a minute, billy," he said, his tone evincing none of the tremor which he felt in his heart. "bring the fifth and seventh sheets of those computations you took home with you. yes, the figures for the work we are to do at the spring. yes, you'd better hurry with them, as i want to look 'em over before morning. there's a ball-up somewhere. so long, billy." he had seen that bill wallace, whose business it was to be suspicious at all times and of all men, had regarded him with narrowed, shrewd eyes. when billy jordan came in, ten minutes later, in no way surprised at the summons, since he had been called on similar errands many times, he found bill wallace telling a story and tommy garton chuckling appreciatively. "you know each other?" garton asked. "wallace says he's just over here to look around at the beauties of nature, billy. i've an idea," with a wink at wallace, "that he's looking for somebody. you haven't been passing any bad money, have you, billy? much obliged for the papers." he glanced at them and pushed them under the pillows of his cot. "that's all now, billy. except that on your way home i want you to drop in and see mr. crawford. tell him that if he sees conniston i want him to tell him to be sure and come right around. there's a ball-up in the work out at the spring. wait a second." he scribbled a note upon the leaf of the note-book which lay upon the window-sill. "give that to mr. crawford. it's an order to mundy to cut the main ditch out there down to four feet, and to stop work on the well that is causing trouble, until further orders. mundy will be going out again to-night, and will stop at crawford's first. good night, billy. and come in early in the morning." mundy's name did not appear in the note. mundy was at the time twenty miles from valley city. but mr. crawford's name was there, and after it was "_urgent_," underlined. the note itself ran: "_wallace is here to arrest conniston for murder of chinaman shot in whisky rebellion! a put-up game with swinnerton to stop his work. tell conniston to go back to deep creek to-night. send brayley to me immediately. let no one else come. i'll entertain the sheriff to-night._ "garton." billy loitered a minute, yawned two or three times, and finally said good night and strolled leisurely away. "i think," said wallace, rising as the door closed behind billy jordan, "i'll go out an' unsaddle my cayuse. got a handful of hay in the shed, tommy?" "sure thing, bill. help yourself." wallace picked up his hat and turned to the door. garton rolled over suddenly, thrust his hand again under his pillow, and sat up. "say, bill!" he called, softly. wallace turned, and as he did so he looked square into the muzzle of a heavy-caliber colt revolver upon which the lamplight shone dully. "stop that!" cried garton, sternly, as the sheriff's hand started automatically to his hip. "i've got the drop on you, bill. and, sheriff or no sheriff, i'll drop you if you make a move. put 'em up, bill." snarling, his face going a sudden angry red, the sheriff lifted his two big hands high above his head. "what do you mean by this?" he snapped. "i mean business! now you do what i tell you. walk this way, and walk slowly." "d----n you, you little sawed-off--" roared the big man, only to be cut short with an incisive: "never mind about calling names. and remember that no matter if only half a man is behind this gun it 'll shoot just the same. keep those hands up, bill! now turn around. back up to me. and let me tell you something: you can whirl about and bring your hands down on my head, but that won't stop a bullet in your belly. the same place," he said, coolly, "that conniston shot the chinaman!" bill wallace had got his position as sheriff for two very good reasons. for one thing, he belonged to oliver swinnerton. for another, he was a brave man. but he was not a fool, and he did what garton commanded him to do. and tommy garton, with the muzzle of his revolver jammed tight against the small of wallace's back, reached out with his left hand and drew the sheriff's two revolvers from their holsters, dropping them to the floor behind his cot. "and now, bill, you can go and sit down. and you can take your hands down, too." "i'd like to know," sputtered wallace, as he sat glaring across the little room at the strange half-figure propped up against the wall and covering him unwaveringly with a revolver, "what all this means!" "would you? then i'll tell you. it means that no little man like oliver swinnerton, and no smooth tool belonging to oliver swinnerton, is going to keep us from living up to our contract with the p. c. & w. not if they resort to all of the dirty work their maggot-infested brains can concoct!" when brayley came in he found two men smoking cigarettes and sitting in watchful silence. and when brayley understood conditions fully he took a chair in the doorway, moved his revolver so that it hung from his belt across his lap, and joined them in quiet smoking. * * * * * "to-morrow," conniston was saying to argyl, just as tommy garton called to wallace to put his hands up, "we are going to open the gates at dam number one, and the water will run down into the main canal and find its way to valley city. i think we have won, argyl!" chapter xxvi conniston instantly saw the need of haste, the urgent necessity of acting speedily upon the advice tendered by tommy garton in his note. "arrest you!" argyl had cried, indignantly. "arrest you for being a man and doing your duty!" "no, argyl," he told her, a bit anxiously. "their reasons for causing my arrest now are simply that that man swinnerton, not knowing when he is beaten, wants me out of the way for a few days. he is ready to spring another bit of his villainy, i suppose. but i do not think that wallace is going to serve his warrant in a hurry." they laid their plans swiftly, mr. crawford agreeing silently as conniston outlined the thing to be done. when the horses were ready conniston walked cautiously to tommy garten's window and peered in. and he was grinning contentedly when he returned to mr. crawford and his daughter. "tommy is the serenest law-breaker you ever saw," he told them, as he swung to his horse after having helped argyl to a place at her father's side in the buckboard. "it's a cure for the blues to see him sitting there on his cot covering his tame sheriff with a young cannon. there'll be a fine, i suppose, for interfering with an officer in the pursuit of his duty." "i think," mr. crawford said, quietly, as he sent his horses racing into the night, "that oliver swinnerton won't be looking for any more trouble from now on." where the road forked, one branch running straight on to crawfordsville, the other turning off toward deep creek, mr. crawford took conniston's horse, and conniston got into the buckboard. mr. crawford was to ride alone to crawfordsville, see colton gray, of the p. c. & w., tell him that the crawford reclamation company had made good its part of the contract, invite him out to dam number one to see what was done, and to insist that the p. c. & w. keep to its part of the contract, beginning work immediately upon the railroad into the valley. conniston and argyl were to drive on to the dam, and to open the gates controlling the current to be poured into the big flume. the darkness had not yet gone, but was lifting, turning a dull gray, when argyl and conniston came to the dam. and now the engineer told her of two things which until now he had mentioned to no one save the men whom he had been obliged to call in to do the work for him. from dam number one for thirty miles, reaching to valley city, there were small groups of his men stationed a mile apart. each group had piled high the dry limbs of trees, scrub brush, and green foliage brought from the mountains. each group was instructed to watch for the water which was to be turned at last into the ditch and to set fire to its pile of brushwood when the precious stuff came abreast of them. and so, by day or night, there was to be thirty miles of signal fires to proclaim with flame and smoke that the great work was no longer a man's dream, but an accomplished, vital thing. the second thing he explained as argyl walked with him to the dam across deep creek. he showed her the accomplished work, showed her the deep, wide flume, and as they stood upon the dam itself pointed out an intricate set of levers controlling the great gates. "argyl," he told her, speaking quietly, but knowing that there was a tremor in his voice which he could not drive from it--"argyl, do you know how much to-day means to me? do you know that it is the most gloriously wonderful day i have ever known? do you know that i have fought hard for this day, and that the hardest fighting i had before me was the fight against greek conniston the snob? do you know that at least i have tried to make a man of myself, even as i have tried to build ditches and dams? you do know it, argyl? you do know that as hard as i have worked for reclamation i have worked for regeneration! and i have not failed altogether." his tone was suddenly firm, suddenly stern. he was a man weighing himself and his work, and he was speaking with a voice which rang with simple frankness and deep sincerity. "there is the work to say that i have not failed utterly. there it is, ditch and dam, to say that i have done a part of the thing i have set my hand to. i am not boasting of it, for what many men could have done i should have been able to do. but i am proud of it. and, argyl, while i am not a man yet as i would be, not a man full grown as your father is, while i can never hope to be the man your father is, yet i have done what i could to be less of a fop, less of a drone in the world. do you understand me, argyl?" "yes, greek." she answered him softly, her face turned up to his, her eyes frankly filled with love and pride for what he had done, what he was. "i understand." "then, argyl crawford, just so sure as i have done a little thing or a big thing in working the reclamation of this desert, just so certainly have you done a big thing or a little thing in making less barren the waste places in my own soul. don't you see what you have done, argyl? it is not i who have done anything; it is you who have done everything. if i am in any way responsible for success to our work, then are you responsible for every bit of it. that dam, that ditch, everything, all of it belongs to you! the success belongs to you!" "greek"--she smiled at him through a sudden gathering of tears--"you mustn't say such things--" "and so," he went on, quietly, "since the whole work has been your work, i want the completion of the work to be yours. look here, argyl." he touched a long, slender lever reaching from the flume to the bank where they stood. "when the sun comes up it is going to bring a new day for all of us," he continued, slowly. "a new day which, for me, you have made possible. and just as the sun comes up will you put your hand to this lever and press it down?" she looked up at him quickly. "oh," she cried, her hand clutching at his arm, her voice quivering, "you mean--" he laughed happily. "i mean that when you press that lever it will throw open the water-gates. i mean that it will be your hand which turns the first mad current down into the flume. i mean that it will be you, argyl, who actually sends the first water to reclaim rattlesnake valley. are you glad, argyl?" if argyl was glad, she did not say so. for a moment she stood with her face in her two hands, sobbing. and then, laughing softly, the tears upon her cheeks catching fire from the first rays of the rising sun, she lifted her face to greek conniston's, and, drawing his face down, kissed him. the new day had leaped out at them, whipping the last shreds of misty darkness from the face of the earth. down yonder, below them upon the slope of the hills, they saw the lark and his hundred men preparing for breakfast. only in the bed of deep creek alone, below the dam where a trickle of water ran thread-like, was there any shadow. and suddenly something moving within the breaking darkness there caught conniston's eye. it was a man running, running swiftly downstream, running as though pursued by no less terrible a thing than death, stumbling, rising, running again. something in the man's carriage struck conniston as familiar, while he could not make out who it was. then the light grew stronger, rosier, and he cried out in surprise. "hapgood!" he exclaimed. "roger hapgood!" and almost before the words had left his lips he cried out in a new tone, a tone of horror, and, seizing argyl's hand in his, ran with her, crying for her to hurry, urging her to run with him, away from the dam. for his eyes had seen another thing in the creek-bed, a something just at the base of the dam at its lowest side. it was a little sputtering flame, such a flame as is made by a burning bit of fuse. hapgood, still running, had climbed up the steep right bank, had run almost into the men's camp, had turned suddenly and dashed back down the bank, to run across the creek and climb the farther side. conniston and argyl as they fled from the threatened dam could see him as he clambered upward, could see the loose stones and dirt set sliding, rattling from under his hurrying feet and clawing hands. then came the thundering roar of the explosion. the great dam, the citadel of all hopes of success, tottered like a stone wall smitten with a thousand battering-rams, tottered and shook to its foundations. and then, as a dozen explosions merged into one, the whole thing leaped skyward, as though hurled aloft from some titan's sling, and, leaping, burst asunder, flying in a thousand directions, raining rock and mortar far and wide along the slopes of the mountains. and conniston, dragging argyl after him, cried out brokenly. upon the dam he had toiled for weeks, and now there was no one stone left of it! and the first day of october was but five days off. "look!" argyl was clinging to him wildly, her arm trembling as it pointed. "look! oh, god!" she did not point toward the dam. her quivering finger found out a moving figure far below it in the creek-bed. it was hapgood. the explosion which had demolished the work of weary weeks had shaken the ground under his flying feet so that the loose soil no longer held him. he had cried out aloud, had fought and clawed, had even bit with blackened teeth into the steep bank. and it mocked him and slipped away from him and hurled him, bruised and cut, to the bottom of the cañon. even as conniston looked the freed waters which had chafed in the great dam leaped forward, a monster river of churning white water and whirling debris, and like a live thing, wrathful, vengeful, was charging downward through the steep ravine. hapgood had heard. they had seen his white face turned for an instant over his shoulder. and then his shriek rose high above the thunder of waters as he ran from the merciless thing which his own hands had unchained. they saw his one hope; saw that he, too, had seen it. with the water hurling itself almost upon him, he gained the bank ten feet farther downstream, where the sides were more gently sloping. they saw him climb to a little shelf of rock a yard above the bottom of the creek. they saw his hands thrust out above his head, grasping at the root of a stunted tree. one more second-- but the fates did not grant the one single second. the churning, frothing, angry maelstrom had caught at his legs, whipping them from under him. they heard his shriek again, throbbing with terror, vibrant with a fear which was worse than despair. they saw his face, white and horrible, as he glanced again for a moment at the thing behind him. and then the swirling water leaped up at him, snarling like some mighty beast, and clutched at his throat, at his hands, and flung him like a thing of no weight far down into its own tumultuous bosom. for a moment they saw his arms, then they saw his hands clutching at the foam-flecked face of the water--and then even the hands disappeared. chapter xxvii "who was it?" it was mr. crawford's voice, calm, expressionless. conniston and argyl swung about, the horror of the thing which they had seen still widening their eyes, and saw mr. crawford, jimmie kent, and a man whom conniston took to be colton gray. "hapgood," he answered, his eyes going back to the tumult of water sweeping away the hopes of many men. mr. crawford stepped forward and put his hand on conniston's arm. "we lose, my boy." his voice was as steady as it had been before, but conniston saw that his lips quivered despite the iron will set to keep them steady. "and it could not be helped. and conniston, my boy, my son," his tones ringing out so that all there could hear, "i am proud of you, and proud that i may call you my son!" "greek! poor greek!" argyl was clinging to him, everything lost to her but a great pity for him. "is it to be only defeat, after all?" "defeat!" he whirled about, his clenched fist raised high above his head, his body rigid, his haggard face dead white. "defeat!" he laughed, and argyl shivered at the strange tone in his laughter. "defeat!" he cried a third time. "we have five days!" he was upon a boulder, standing where all men might see him, might hear him. and his voice as it rang out through the roar of the leaping water was sharp, clear, decisive, confident. "here you, lark! rush fifty men with crowbars to the jaws! make the rest of your men hitch up to their plows and scrapers and rush them to the jaws as fast as their horses can run! send me five good men. pete," as lonesome pete's red head surged forward through the crowd of working-men, "come here!" pete came, and came running. "get on your horse. kill him getting to miss argyl's dam. open the gates there and turn the water into the canal. and for god's sake hurry!" and lonesome pete, with one wild yell of understanding, fled. the lark had swung about, calling upon his men by name, and as he called fifty big, quick-eyed men leaped forward to fall quickly into the sections bossed by the men whose names the lark was shouting. the dirt and stones had not ceased rolling and rattling down the rocky walls of the cañon when fifty men with picks and crowbars were rushing along its banks to the jaws. and as greek conniston hurled his orders at the lark and the lark snatched them up, shouting to the men about him, horses were hitched to plows and scrapers and driven, galloping, to the jaws. the five men for whom conniston had called and whom the lark had selected came to him quickly. "get into mr. crawford's buckboard," he called, sharply, to two of them. "drive to dam number two and open the gates there, turning every bit of water you can into the canal! you three men get saddle-horses. you," to one of them, "rush to crawfordsville and telephone to tommy garton. tell him what has happened. tell him to send me two hundred men on the run. _on the run_, do you hear? tell him to tie bill wallace up and put two men to watch out for him. now go! and you two fellows get your horses saddled and bring them here and wait for orders." he got down from the boulder, and as he did so mr. crawford came to his side. "do you mean, greek," he said, anxiously, "that there is a chance yet?" "a chance? yes! there is more than a chance! we are going to make a go of it. listen: truxton put in his foundations here, and i went ahead with the superstructure for the simple reason that here is a perfect dam-site, here are solid rock walls and creek-bed that would hold any concrete structure in the world. and up there at the jaws you have to contend with shale, full of seams, in places lined with clay. and right there i am going to make a rock-filled dam, and make it fast! it's going to be a temporary job and a makeshift, but it's going to sling the water into a flume that will carry it back into the old cut and down into the valley. and it will do until mr. colton gray and his people are satisfied." the man who had accompanied mr. crawford and jimmie kent from crawfordsville came forward and put out his hand. "mr. conniston," he said, quickly, "i am colton gray. and i am already satisfied. if my influence is worth anything the p. c. & w. is going to stand by its old contract. and i believe that when i tell the p. c. & w. what i know they will complete what you have done and inform mr. oliver swinnerton that they can have no further dealings whatever with a criminal of his type." conniston shook hands with him warmly. "thank you. but you are going to have no points to strain. we are going to have water, plenty of water, in rattlesnake valley before the first day of october." conniston left them and ran to join his men at the jaws. never had he heard of a dam to match the one he saw growing under his eyes. there was no time for scientific perfection of work; here and now was only a crying need for an obstruction, any kind of an obstruction which would withstand the great and growing pressure of water, which would drive it up to the banks, which would turn it into the flume which was being made for it even as the dam grew. trees were lopped down, great, tall pines, their branches shorn off with flashing ax-blades, the trunks cut into logs upon which many men laid hold. in the bed of the creek between the jaws the logs were laid as one lays logs to build him a log house. sand and gravel and rock went rattling and hissing into the log-surrounded spaces, piled high and higher, with the water backing angrily up against it. boulders were rolled down from the mountain-side, hurled into the bottom of the cañon by blasts of giant powder and dynamite, gripped with rapidly adjusted log-chains, and dragged to their places by straining horses. steadily the dam rose, and steadily the muddy water crept up with it. men toiled in the bed of the stream with the foaming, coffee-colored water washing about their hips, seething as it climbed up to their great, hairy, panting chests. with no thought of finishing the breakfast which they had barely begun, they worked upon the banks with sweaty, hot bodies and calm, cool minds. stripped to their waists, almost naked many of them, black with dirt and running sweat, they strained and strove against the rising stream. the morning died, noon came, and conniston had a dozen men distribute sandwiches and hot coffee. the afternoon wore on and brought with it the men whom tommy garton had sent. then conniston called to every man of the hundred who had toiled for him since sunrise to drop his tools. in their places he put a hundred new men. and again the work went on in great strides, and the strange dam rose swiftly. the other men whom garton had sent, brayley with them, he put to work to begin the restoration of the broken dam, that the thing which the hapless hapgood had torn down might be ready against the time of need after the first of october. for he could find no place for more than a hundred men working between the jaws and upon the banks above them. * * * * * night had come down upon the mountain-slopes. argyl and conniston were standing by a sinking camp-fire talking quietly. lonesome pete, returned from his errand, had gone into the grove at the edge of which their fire burned for fresh fuel. there came to them through the silence the clatter of hoofs; the vague, shadowy form of horse and rider rose against the sky-line, and jocelyn truxton threw herself to the ground. moaning hysterically, she ran to argyl! "argyl, argyl," she cried, stopping abruptly, her two hands pressed to her breast, "i am so wretched! i don't deserve to live! i have been so mean, so little--" she broke off into passionate weeping. argyl went swiftly to her, putting her arms about the girl's shaking shoulders. "jocelyn, dear," she said, softly. "don't!" "i have been wicked, wicked!" jocelyn was sobbing. "they told me what has happened--about the dam--about roger hapgood!" she broke off, shuddering. "but," argyl was saying, trying to soothe her, "that is not your fault, jocelyn." "oh!" cried jocelyn, wildly. "you don't know. it was i, i who suggested the horrible thing to roger hapgood. it is i who am to blame for everything." "hush, child! you have been a naughty little girl, that is all. you didn't know what it was that you were doing--and you are not a bit to blame!" "and--and--and i have been such a little fool! i have just been a vain, conceited little fool. and i hated you--because i knew all the time that you were prettier than i am. and--and i was ashamed of pete, and i made fun of him--and now he has gone away and--and i love him. i don't care if he has got red hair and can't read! i love him--so there!" lonesome pete, coming back with his armful of firewood, dropped it, and for a moment stood staring from one to another, his mouth wide open. and then, forgetful of conniston, pushing argyl away as he came forward, he took jocelyn's quivering form into his arms and drew her close to him. "miss jocelyn," he cried, suddenly, "i ain't goin' away! don't you think it. an' you ain't to blame for nothin' whatever! you're jest a little girl as has made a slip or two--who in hell ain't, huh?"--with belligerent, flashing eyes--"an' i'll dye my hair any color you say as you like better 'n red!" * * * * * "i am going east to-morrow, mr. conniston." jimmie kent was speaking, his eyes very keen. "before i go i'd like to make you a proposition. first, do you know what firm it is i represent? maybe you have heard of the w. i. r.? that means the western improvement and reclamation company. the board of directors met the other day in denver, and against his protest made mr. crawford its first vice-president. the company plans on the reclamation of many thousands of square miles of sand and sage-brush in colorado and nevada. the company wants a competent engineer to act as general superintendent of all of its operations. do you want the job? who am i to offer it to you?" he laughed softly. "oh, i'm just its president." * * * * * filled to bursting with hopeful toil, the days ran by. again it was night, the night before the first day of october. with the desert about them, with the stars low flung in the wide arch of heaven, argyl and greek conniston stood at the edge of a deep canal which ran with water to its level banks. and as they spoke to each other, looking down into the future which belongs to them, contented, confident, eager for the coming of the great day, a boy rode up to them upon a shaggy pony and called: "mr. conniston?" "yes," greek answered. "what is it?" it was a telegram. he read it by the light of the match he had swept across his thigh. argyl, bending forward, read it with him. it was from new york. "mr. william conniston, jr., "superintendent crawford reclamation, "rattlesnake valley. "good boy! congratulations. they tell me you win. "wm. conniston, sr." conniston, the bit of yellow paper crumpled between his fingers, turned to argyl. "in the only thing which counts--to the uttermost--do i win, argyl dear?" and argyl, lifting her eyes to him frankly, proudly, held out her hands. the end butterfly by donald keith illustrated by gaughan [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from galaxy science fiction january . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] jeff needed a job and this man had a job to offer--one where giant economy-size trouble had labels like fakemake, bumsy and peekage! i at first, jeff scarcely noticed the bold-looking man at the next table. nor did ann. their minds were busy with jeff's troubles. "you're still the smartest color engineer in television," ann told jeff as they dallied with their food. "you'll bounce back. now eat your supper." "this beanery is too noisy and hot," he grumbled. "i can't eat. can't talk. can't think." he took a silver pillbox from his pocket and fumbled for a black one. those were vitamin pills; the big red and yellow ones were sleeping capsules. he gulped the pill. ann looked disapproving in a wifely way. "lately you chew pills like popcorn," she said. "do you really need so many?" "i need something. i'm sure losing my grip." ann stared at him. "baby! how silly! nothing happened, except you lost your lease. you'll build up a better company in a new spot. we're young yet." * * * * * jeff sighed and glanced around the crowded little restaurant. he wished he could fly away somewhere. at that moment, he met the gaze of the mustachioed man at the next table. the fellow seemed to be watching him and ann. something in his confident gaze made jeff uneasy. had they met before? ann whispered, "so you noticed him, too. maybe he's following us. i think i saw him on the parking lot where we left the car." jeff shrugged his big shoulders. "if he's following us, he's nuts. we've got no secrets and no money." "it must be my maddening beauty," said ann. "i'll kick him cross-eyed if he starts anything," jeff said. "i'm just in the mood." ann giggled. "honey, what big veins you have! forget him. let's talk about the engineering lab you're going to start. and let's eat." he groaned. "i lose my appetite every time i think about the building being sold. it isn't worth the twelve grand. i wouldn't buy it for that if i could. what burns me is that, five years ago, i could have bought it for two thousand." "if only we could go back five years." she shrugged fatalistically. "but since we can't--" the character at the next table leaned over and spoke to them, grinning. "you like to get away? you wish to go back?" jeff glanced across in annoyance. the man was evidently a salesman, with extra gall. "not now, thanks," jeff said. "haven't time." the man waved his thick hand at the clock, as if to abolish time. "time? that is nothing. your little lady. she spoke of go back five years. maybe i help you." he spoke in an odd clipped way, obviously a foreigner. his shirt was yellow. his suit had a silky sheen. its peculiar tailoring emphasized the bulges in his stubby, muscular torso. ann smiled back at him. "you talk as if you could take us back to . is that what you really mean?" "why not? you think this silly. but i can show you." jeff rose to go. "mister, you better get to a doctor. ann, it's time we started home." * * * * * ann laid a hand on his sleeve. "i haven't finished eating. let's chat with the gent." she added in an undertone to jeff, "must be a psycho--but sort of an inspired one." the man said to ann, "you are kind lady, i think. good to crazy people. i join you." he did not wait for consent, but slid into a seat at their table with an easy grace that was almost arrogant. "you are unhappy in ," he went on. "discouraged. restless. why not take trip to another time?" "why not?" ann said gaily. "how much does it cost?" "free trial trip. cost nothing. see whether you like. then maybe we talk money." he handed jeff a card made of a stiff plastic substance. jeff glanced at it, then handed it to ann with a half-smile. it read: -d travel beuro greet snader, traffic ajent "mr. snader's bureau is different," jeff said to his wife. "he even spells it different." snader chuckled. "i come from other time. we spell otherwise." "you mean you come from the future?" "just different time. i show you. you come with me?" "come where?" jeff asked, studying snader's mocking eyes. the man didn't seem a mere eccentric. he had a peculiar suggestion of humor and force. "come on little trip to different time," invited snader. he added persuasively, "could be back here in hour." "it would be painless, i suppose?" jeff gave it a touch of derision. "maybe not. that is risk you take. but look at me. i make trips every day. i look damaged?" as a matter of fact, he did. his thick-fleshed face bore a scar and his nose was broad and flat, as if it had been broken. but jeff politely agreed that he did not look damaged. ann was enjoying this. "tell me more, mr. snader. how does your time travel work?" "cannot explain. same if you are asked how subway train works. too complicated." he flashed his white teeth. "you think time travel not possible. just like television not possible to your grandfather." ann said, "why invite us? we're not rich enough for expensive trips." "invite many people," snader said quickly. "not expensive. you know missing persons lists, from police? dozens people disappear. they go with me to other time. many stay." "oh, sure," jeff said. "but how do you select the ones to invite?" "find ones like you, mr. elliott. ones who want change, escape." * * * * * jeff was slightly startled. how did this fellow know his name was elliott? before he could ask, ann popped another question. "mr. snader, you heard us talking. you know we're in trouble because jeff missed a good chance five years ago. do you claim people can really go back into the past and correct mistakes they've made?" "they can go back. what they do when arrive? depends on them." "don't you wish it were true?" she sighed to jeff. "you afraid to believe," said snader, a glimmer of amusement in his restless eyes. "why not try? what you lose? come on, look at station. very near here." ann jumped up. "it might be fun, jeff. let's see what he means, if anything." jeff's pulse quickened. he too felt a sort of midsummer night's madness--a yearning to forget his troubles. "okay, just for kicks. but we go in my car." snader moved ahead to the cashier's stand. jeff watched the weasel-like grace of his short, broad body. "this is no ordinary oddball," jeff told ann. "he's tricky. he's got some gimmick." "first i just played him along, to see how loony he was," ann said. "now i wonder who's kidding whom." she concluded thoughtfully, "he's kind of handsome, in a tough way." ii snader's "station" proved to be a middle-sized, middle-cost home in a good neighborhood. lights glowed in the windows. jeff could hear the whisper of traffic on a boulevard a few blocks away. through the warm dusk, he could dimly see the mountains on the horizon. all was peaceful. snader unlocked the front door with a key which he drew from a fine metal chain around his neck. he swept open the front door with a flourish and beamed at them, but ann drew back. "'walk into my parlor, said the spider to the fly,'" she murmured to jeff. "this could be a gambling hell. or a dope den." "no matter what kind of clip joint, it can't clip us much," he said. "there's only four bucks in my wallet. my guess is it's a 'temple' for some daffy religious sect." they went in. a fat man smiled at them from a desk in the hall. snader said, "meet peter powers. local agent of our bureau." the man didn't get up, but nodded comfortably and waved them toward the next room, after a glance at snader's key. the key opened this room's door, too. its spring lock snapped shut after them. the room was like a doctor's waiting room, with easy chairs along the walls. its only peculiar aspects were a sign hanging from the middle of the ceiling and two movie screens--or were they giant television screens?--occupying a whole wall at either end of the room. the sign bore the number in bright yellow on black. beneath it, an arrow pointed to the screen on the left with the word _ante_, and to the right with the word _post_. jeff studied the big screens. on each, a picture was in motion. one appeared to be moving through a long corridor, lined with seats like a railroad club car. the picture seemed to rush at them from the left wall. when he turned to the right, a similar endless chair-lined corridor moved toward him from that direction. "somebody worked hard on this layout," he said to snader. "what's it for?" "time travel," said snader. "you like?" "almost as good as disneyland. these movies represent the stream of time, i suppose?" * * * * * instead of answering, snader pointed to the screen. the picture showed a group of people chatting in a fast-moving corridor. as it hurtled toward them, snader flipped his hand in a genial salute. two people in the picture waved back. ann gasped. "it was just as if they saw us." "they did," snader said. "no movie. time travelers. in fourth dimension. to you, they look like flat picture. to them, we look flat." "what's he supposed to be?" jeff asked as the onrushing picture showed them briefly a figure bound hand and foot, huddled in one of the chairs. he stared at them piteously for an instant before the picture surged past. snader showed his teeth. "that was convict from my time. we have criminals, like in your time. but we do not kill. we make them work. where he going? to end of line. to earliest year this time groove reach. about a.d., your calendar. authorities pick up when he get there. put him to work." "what kind of work?" jeff asked. "building the groove further back." "sounds like interesting work." snader chortled and slapped him on the back. "maybe you see it some day, but forget that now. you come with me. little trip." jeff was perspiring. this was odder than he expected. whatever the fakery, it was clever. his curiosity as a technician made him want to know about it. he asked snader, "where do you propose to go? and how?" snader said, "watch me. then look at other wall." he moved gracefully to the screen on the left wall, stepped into it and disappeared. it was as if he had slid into opaque water. jeff and ann blinked in mystification. then they remembered his instruction to watch the other screen. they turned. after a moment, in the far distance down the long moving corridor, they could see a stocky figure. the motion of the picture brought him nearer. in a few seconds, he was recognizable as snader--and as the picture brought him forward, he stepped down out of it and was with them again. "simple," snader said. "i rode to next station. then crossed over. took other carrier back here." "brother, that's the best trick i've seen in years," jeff said. "how did you do it? can i do it, too?" "i show you." grinning like a wildcat, snader linked his arms with ann and jeff, and walked them toward the screen. "now," he said. "step in." * * * * * jeff submitted to snader's pressure and stepped cautiously into the screen. amazingly, he felt no resistance at all, no sense of change or motion. it was like stepping through a fog-bank into another room. in fact, that was what they seemed to have done. they were in the chair-lined corridor. as snader turned them around and seated them, they faced another moving picture screen. it seemed to rush through a dark tunnel toward a lighted square in the far distance. the square grew on the screen. soon they saw it was another room like the waiting room they had left, except that the number hanging from the ceiling was . they seemed to glide through it. then they were in the dark tunnel again. ann was clutching jeff's arm. he patted her hand. "fun, hey? like alice through the looking-glass." "you really think we're going back in time?" she whispered. "hardly! but we're seeing a million-dollar trick. i can't even begin to figure it out yet." another lighted room grew out of the tunnel on the screen, and when they had flickered through it, another and then another. "mr. snader," ann said unsteadily, "how long--how many years back are you taking us?" snader was humming to himself. "six years. station fine place to stop." for a little while, jeff let himself think it might be true. "six years ago, your dad was alive," he mused to ann. "if this should somehow be real, we could see him again." "we could if we went to our house. he lived with us then, remember? would we see ourselves, six years younger? or would--" snader took jeff's arm and pulled him to his feet. the screen was moving through a room numbered . "soon now," snader grunted happily. "then no more questions." he took an arm of each as he had before. when the screen was filled by a room with the number , he propelled them forward into it. again there was no sense of motion. they had simply stepped through a bright wall they could not feel. they found themselves in a replica of the room they had left at . on the wall, a picture of the continuous club-car corridor rolled toward them in a silent, endless stream. "the same room," ann said in disappointment. "they just changed the number. we haven't been anywhere." * * * * * snader was fishing under his shirt for the key. he gave ann a glance that was almost a leer. then he carefully unlocked the door. in the hall, a motherly old lady bustled up, but snader brushed past her. "official," he said, showing her the key. "no lodging." he unlocked the front door without another word and carefully shut it behind them as jeff and ann followed him out of the house. "hey, where's my car?" jeff demanded, looking up and down the street. the whole street looked different. where he had parked his roadster, there was now a long black limousine. "your car is in future," snader said briskly. "where it belong. get in." he opened the door of the limousine. jeff felt a little flame of excitement licking inside him. something was happening, he felt. something exciting and dangerous. "snader," he said, "if you're kidnaping us, you made a mistake. nobody on earth will pay ransom for us." snader seemed amused. "you are foolish fellow. silly talk about ransom. you in different time now." "when does this gag stop?" jeff demanded irritably. "you haven't fooled us. we're still in ." "you are? look around." jeff looked at the street again. he secretly admitted to himself that these were different trees and houses than he remembered. even the telephone poles and street lights seemed peculiar, vaguely foreign-looking. it must be an elaborate practical joke. snader had probably ushered them into one house, then through a tunnel and out another house. "get in," snader said curtly. jeff decided to go along with the hoax or whatever it was. he could see no serious risk. he helped ann into the back seat and sat beside her. snader slammed the door and slid into the driver's seat. he started the engine with a roar and they rocketed away from the curb, narrowly missing another car. jeff yelled, "easy, man! look where you're going!" snader guffawed. "tonight, you look where you are going." ann clung to jeff. "did you notice the house we came out of?" "what about it?" "it looked as though they were afraid people might try to break in. there were bars at the windows." "lots of houses are built that way, honey. let's see, where are we?" he glanced at house numbers. "this is the block. remember that. and the street--" he peered up at a sign as they whirled around a corner. "the street is green thru-way. i never heard of a street like that." iii they were headed back toward what should have been the boulevard. the car zoomed through a cloverleaf turn and up onto a broad freeway. jeff knew for certain there was no freeway there in --nor in any earlier year. but on the horizon, he could see the familiar dark bulk of the mountains. the whole line of moonlit ridges was the same as always. "ann," he said slowly, "i think this is for real. somehow i guess we escaped from . we've been transported in time." she squeezed his arm. "if i'm dreaming, don't wake me! i was scared a minute ago. but now, oh, boy!" "likewise. but i still wonder what snader's angle is." he leaned forward and tapped the driver on his meaty shoulder. "you brought us into the future instead of the past, didn't you?" it was hard to know whether snader was sleepy or just bored, but he shrugged briefly to show there was no reply coming. then he yawned. jeff smiled tightly. "i guess we'll find out in good time. let's sit back and enjoy the strangest ride of our lives." as the limousine swept along through the traffic, there were plenty of big signs for turn-offs, but none gave any hint where they were. the names were unfamiliar. even the language seemed grotesque. "rite channel for creepers," he read. "yaw for torrey rushway" flared at him from a fork in the freeway. "this can't be the future," ann said. "this limousine is almost new, but it doesn't even have an automatic gear shift--" she broke off as the car shot down a ramp off the freeway and pulled up in front of an apartment house. just beyond was a big shopping center, ablaze with lights and swarming with shoppers. jeff did not recognize it, in spite of his familiarity with the city. snader bounded out, pulled open the rear door and jerked his head in a commanding gesture. but jeff did not get out. he told snader, "let's have some answers before we go any further." snader gave him a hard grin. "you hear everything upstairs." the building appeared harmless enough. jeff looked thoughtfully at ann. she said, "it's just an apartment house. we've come this far. might as well go in and see what's there." snader led them in, up to the sixth floor in an elevator and along a corridor with heavy carpets and soft gold lights. he knocked on a door. * * * * * a tall, silver-haired, important-looking man opened it and greeted them heartily. "solid man, greet!" he exclaimed. "you're a real scratcher! and is this our sharp?" he gave jeff a friendly but appraising look. "just what you order," snader said proudly. "his name--jeff elliott. fine sharp. best in his circuit. he brings his lifemate, too. ann elliott." the old man rubbed his smooth hands together. "prime! i wish joy," he said to ann and jeff. "i'm septo kersey. come in. bullen's waiting." he led them into a spacious drawing room with great windows looking out on the lights of the city. there was a leather chair in a corner, and in it sat a heavy man with a grim mouth. he made no move, but grunted a perfunctory "wish joy" when kersey introduced them. his cold eyes studied jeff while kersey seated them in big chairs. snader did not sit down, however. "no need for me now," he said, and moved toward the door with a mocking wave at ann. bullen nodded. "you get the rest of your pay when elliott proves out." "here, wait a minute!" jeff called. but snader was gone. "sit still," bullen growled to jeff. "you understand radioptics?" the blood went to jeff's head. "my business is television, if that's what you mean. what's this about?" "tell him, kersey," the big man said, and stared out the window. kersey began, "you understand, i think, that you have come back in time. about six years back." "that's a matter of opinion, but go on." "i am general manager of continental radioptic combine, owned by mr. dumont bullen." he nodded toward the big man. "chromatics have not yet been developed here in connection with radioptics. they are well understood in your time, are they not?" "what's chromatics? color television?" "exactly. you are an expert in--ah--colored television, i think." jeff nodded. "so what?" the old man beamed at him. "you are here to work for our company. you will enable us to be first with chromatics in this time wave." jeff stood up. "don't tell me who i'll work for." * * * * * bullen slapped a big fist on the arm of his chair. "no fog about this! you're bought and paid for, elliott! you'll get a fair labor contract, but you do what i say!" "why, the man thinks he owns you." ann laughed shakily. "you'll find my barmen know their law," bullen said. "this isn't the way i like to recruit. but it was only way to get a man with your knowledge." kersey said politely, "you are here illegally, with no immigrate permit or citizen file. therefore you cannot get work. but mr. bullen has taken an interest in your trouble. through his influence, you can make a living. we even set aside an apartment in this building for you to live in. you are really very luxe, do you see?" jeff's legs felt weak. these highbinders seemed brutally confident. he wondered how he and ann would find their way home through the strange streets. but he put on a bold front. "i don't believe your line about time travel and i don't plan to work for you," he said. "my wife and i are walking out right now. try and stop us, legally or any other way." kersey's smooth old face turned hard. but, unexpectedly, bullen chuckled deep in his throat. "good pop and bang. like to see it. go on, walk out. you hang in trouble, call up here--butterfly , ask for bullen. whole exchange us. i'll meet you here about eleven tomorrow pre-noon." "don't hold your breath. let's go, ann." when they were on the sidewalk, ann took a deep breath. "we made it. for a minute, i thought there'd be a brawl. why did they let us go?" "no telling. maybe they're harmless lunatics--or practical jokers." he looked over his shoulder as they walked down the street, but there was no sign of pursuit. "it's a long time since supper." * * * * * her hand was cold in his and her face was white. to take her mind off their problem, he ambled toward the lighted shop windows. "look at that sign," he said, pointing to a poster over a display of neckties. "'sleek neck-sashes, only a dick and a dollop!' how do they expect to sell stuff with that crazy lingo?" "it's jive talk. they must cater to the high-school crowd." ann glanced nervously at the strolling people around them. "jeff, where are we? this isn't any part of the city i've ever seen. it doesn't even look much like america." her voice rose. "the way the women are dressed--it's not old-fashioned, just different." "baby, don't be scared. this is an adventure. let's have fun." he pressed her hand soothingly and pulled her toward a lunch counter. if the haberdasher's sign was jive, the restaurant spoke the same jargon. the signs on the wall and the bill of fare were baffling. jeff pondered the list of beef shingles, scorchers, smack sticks and fruit chills, until he noticed that a couple at the counter were eating what clearly were hamburgers--though the "buns" looked more like tortillas. jeff jerked his thumb at them and told the waitress, "two, please." when the sandwiches arrived, they were ordinary enough. he and ann ate in silence. a feeling of foreboding hung over them. when they finished, the clerk gave him a check marked / . jeff looked at it thoughtfully, shrugged and handed it to the cashier with two dollar bills. the man at the desk glanced at them and laughed. "stage money, eh?" "no, that's good money," jeff assured him with a rather hollow smile. "they're just new bills, that's all." the cashier picked one up and looked at it curiously. "i'm afraid it's no good here," he said, and pushed it back. the bottom dropped out of jeff's stomach. "what kind of money do you want? this is all i have." the cashier's smile faded. he caught the eye of a man in uniform on one of the stools. the uniform was dark green, but the man acted like a policeman. he loomed up beside jeff. "what's the rasper?" he demanded. other customers, waiting to pay their checks, eyed jeff curiously. "i guess i'm in trouble," jeff told him. "i'm a stranger here and i got something to eat under the impression that my money was legal tender. do you know where i can exchange it?" * * * * * the officer picked up the dollar bill and fingered it with evident interest. he turned it over and studied the printing. "united states of america," he read aloud. "what are those?" "it's the name of the country i come from," jeff said carefully. "i--uh--got on the wrong train, apparently, and must have come further than i thought. what's the name of this place?" "this is costa, west goodland, in the continental federation. say, you must come from an umpty remote part of the world if you don't know about this country." his eyes narrowed. "where'd you learn to speak federal, if you come from so far?" jeff said helplessly, "i can't explain, if you don't know about the united states. listen, can you take me to a bank, or some place where they know about foreign exchange?" the policeman scowled. "how'd you get into this country, anyway? you got immigrate clearance?" an angry muttering started among the bystanders. the policeman made up his mind. "you come with me." at the police station, jeff put his elbows dejectedly on the high counter while the policeman talked to an officer in charge. some men whom jeff took for reporters got up from a table and eased over to listen. "i don't know whether to charge them with fakemake, bumsy, peekage or lunate," the policeman said as he finished. his superior gave jeff a long puzzled stare. jeff sighed. "i know it sounds impossible, but a man brought me in something he claimed was a time traveler. you speak the same language i do--more or less--but everything else is kind of unfamiliar. i belong in the united states, a country in north america. i can't believe i'm so far in the future that the united states has been forgotten." there ensued a long, confused, inconclusive interrogation. the man behind the desk asked questions which seemed stupid to jeff and got answers which probably seemed stupid to him. the reporters quizzed jeff gleefully. "come out, what are you advertising?" they kept asking. "who got you up to this?" the police puzzled over his driver's license and the other cards in his wallet. they asked repeatedly about the lack of a "work license," which jeff took to be some sort of union card. evidently there was grave doubt that he had any legal right to be in the country. in the end, jeff and ann were locked in separate cells for the night. jeff groaned and pounded the bars as he thought of his wife, imprisoned and alone in a smelly jail. after hours of pacing the cell, he lay down in the cot and reached automatically for his silver pillbox. then he hesitated. in past weeks, his insomnia had grown worse and worse, so that lately he had begun taking stronger pills. after a longing glance at the big red and yellow capsules, he put the box away. whatever tomorrow brought, it wouldn't find him slow and drowsy. iv he passed a wakeful night. in the early morning, he looked up to see a little man with a briefcase at his cell door. "wish joy, mr. elliott," the man said coolly. "i am one of mr. bullen's barmen. you know, represent at law? he sent me to arrange your release, if you are ready to be reasonable." jeff lay there and put his hands behind his head. "i doubt if i'm ready. i'm comfortable here. by the way, how did you know where i was?" "no problem. when we read in this morning's newspapers about a man claiming to be a time traveler, we knew." "all right. now start explaining. until i understand where i am, bullen isn't getting me out of here." the lawyer smiled and sat down. "mr. kersey told you yesterday--you've gone back six years. but you'll need some mental gymnastics to understand. time is a dimension, not a stream of events like a movie film. a film never changes. space does--and time does. for example, if a movie showed a burning house at sixth and main, would you expect to find a house burning whenever you returned to that corner?" "you mean to say that if i went back to , i wouldn't find the civil war was over and lincoln had been assassinated?" "if you go back to the time you call --which is most easily done--you will find that the people there know nothing of a lincoln or that war." jeff looked blank. "what are they doing then?" the little man spread his hands. "what are the people doing now at sixth and main? certainly not the same things they were doing the day of the fire. we're talking about a dimension, not an event. don't you grasp the difference between the two?" "nope. to me, means the end of the civil war. how else can you speak of a point in time except by the events that happened then?" "well, if you go to a place in three-dimensional space--say, a lake in the mountains--how do you identify that place? by looking for landmarks. it doesn't matter that an eagle is soaring over a mountain peak. that's only an event. the peak is the landmark. you follow me?" "so far. keep talking." * * * * * the little man looked pleased. "very well. in the fourth dimension--which is time--you do the same thing. you look around to see what is visible where you are. my contemporaries can see that freedom is unnecessary, that time travel is practical. your people have not reached that place in time yet. but yours can see the technical facts about color television. those facts are not visible yet to anyone here." "you mean that these inventions--" "oh, no, no, no, mr. elliott," the little man said indignantly. "don't call them inventions. there are no inventions. none. there are only truths--scientific principles waiting through eternity for someone to discover them." "i must be dense, but--" "did your columbus invent america? did someone invent fire? the possibility of time travel, of color television, of any phase of social progress--these are facts. they stand up in the time dimension like mountains. waves of humanity meander through the time dimension like caravans of immigrants crossing a continent. the first man in any wave to see the mountain peak claims that he 'invented' it. soon it is clearly visible to everyone. while the people of my wave know of time travel, there are human caravans, following us many years back in time, just now discovering steam." "then the reason your people won't accept my money--" "yah." the little lawyer nodded. "your money is an outgrowth of your history. it bears the name your people gave to the society they built--the united states. this has no meaning to a different wave of humanity, with a different history. these people here have reached this point in time six years behind the humanity you traveled with." "can i get back to my own time, my own wave of humanity?" "not unless you know how." the lawyer grinned. "to be perfectly frank, mr. elliott, there is no hope of your going back. either work for bullen or live out your life in a mental institution. no one else will give you work and no one will believe your story." jeff clamped his teeth. if a crook like snader could move freely back and forth in time, there must be a way for jeff to do it. meanwhile, he would pretend to be a humble and obedient servant. "okay," he said to the lawyer. "i'm convinced. get me out." "snader is waiting with a car," the man said. "he'll meet you and your wife outside. i'll free her at once, then go about my business." * * * * * snader was standing beside the limousine. he looked ann up and down. "i like you, little lady. soon i know you better." jeff felt his temper rise. "you sure fooled us, didn't you, snader?" "i warned you. there was risk." ann's voice was steady. "jeff, where are we going now?" "back to bullen. i understand the setup now. maybe we'd better play ball with him." "did you find out what place this is?" "yes--well, sort of. here's a rough rundown. incredible as it seems, we really are in a past time period--different from our own past. this period doesn't have color tv yet. bullen wants to be first on the market with it. so he sent our pal greet snader here to pick a man in future time who had already mastered tv and sell him to bullen as a captive scientist. i imagine snader raids the future for many experts." snader stepped up to him with a dangerous smile. "all right, big wit. tell me my business. tell me all about it." "you heard me. you're in the slave business." the blood throbbed in jeff's head. "you don't like?" snader's scarred face looked fierce and gloating. "maybe you shovel coal from now. or wipe floors." jeff saw policemen watching from the jail entrance. he clamped his mouth shut. "don't be excitable or you get hurt," snader advised. "we own you. we gave you a break. remember that, wise boy. you ready now?" jeff nodded silently. snader playfully twisted jeff's ear and shoved him into the limousine. "don't tell me anything. then i don't hurt you." v between snader and ann in the front seat, jeff held ann's hand and winked encouragingly at her. "snader, i guess you're right," he said. "this is a good deal for me. i was sort of washed up in my own time." "now you smart," snader said. "your little lady? she smart, too?" "yep. by the way, how come you got us out so early? it's only nine o'clock. bullen said he'd expect me at eleven." "we go to time station first," snader explained shortly. "i pick up documents there. breakfast there." "good," jeff said cheerfully. a plan was taking shape in his mind. "all i'm worried about is my speed-up pills. can i get some at the station? i'm almost out." he pressed ann's knee warningly. "speed-up pills?" snader looked suspicious--but then, he always did. "what you mean?" "don't you have speed-up tablets?" jeff put surprise in his voice. "stuff to activate the half of the brain that normally doesn't work. you _must_ have them." "what they look like?" jeff fumbled for his silver pillbox. "they're the big red and yellow capsules." he handed the box to snader. "don't spill them. i only have three left. where can i get more like those? i won't be nearly as good without them." keeping one hand on the wheel, snader glanced down. the box had a jumble of black vitamin pills and red and yellow sleeping tablets. "you say these big ones help brain?" he asked warily. "they speed up the reflexes--they make everything seem clear and easy. please give them back before you spill them." snader thumbed the red and yellow capsules out and handed the box back without them. "i keep these." he moved his head craftily to watch jeff's face in the mirror. jeff was ready. he registered rage and fear. "gimme those!" he shouted. "i need them." snader laughed. "don't tell me orders. easy now. you want to wreck car?" "i'll wreck us all if you don't give those back!" he grabbed snader's hand. ann screamed as the car swerved, and horns blared from behind. snader clapped the capsules into his mouth and gripped the wheel with both hands. "i take what i want," he said, gulping down the pills. "you give trouble, i turn you over to police." * * * * * jeff slumped down with a groan and buried his face in his hands to hide a grin. it had worked. how long would the nembutal take to hit snader? it might act too fast. jeff wondered what he could do then. luckily, there was only a short distance to go. even so, the car was weaving as they whirled off the express road into green thru-way. when they pulled up in front of the barred house, snader tumbled out and lurched up the walk without a glance at his prisoners. jeff and ann followed, and jeff stood close behind while snader fumbled inside his shirt for the key. when he found it and reached toward the door, his knees buckled and jeff caught him. "the key, ann," jeff whispered. "pull the cord over his head and unlock the door." ann clawed at it while jeff supported the weight of snader's body. in a moment, she had the door open and they were inside. the old housekeeper bustled in as jeff half-dragged and half-lifted snader across the living room. "it's nothing serious," jeff told her calmly. "he often has these attacks. he'll be all right in a few minutes, and then i'll start him off home." "oh, the poor man," she clucked. "such a ghast. can i get you anything?" "get us some hot water, mixed with mustard and soda," jeff said, hoping this would keep her busy for several minutes. she hurried away. ann unlocked the door into the inner room and jeff lugged the slave trader inside. on the two screens, the endless chair-lined corridors still fled toward them. when the door clicked shut, jeff let snader slide to the floor. swiftly he went through the man's pockets and felt in the lining of his clothes for hidden documents. papers, wallet, car-keys, a big stiff card that seemed to be some kind of passport--jeff stuffed everything into his own pockets. "hurry, jeff," ann begged. "why waste time emptying his pockets?" "so he can't come back and bother us," jeff said. "i'm sending this joker on a one-way ride. he'll never be able to prove to the authorities who he is." * * * * * several pictures hung on the wall. jeff jerked them down and used the wire to tie snader's feet and wrists. he tore some draperies to bind him tighter. when the body was trussed like a turkey, jeff heaved it to his shoulder. with one lunge, he threw the unconscious man straight into the screen. snader vanished. "what happens when he wakes up?" ann shakily wanted to know. jeff dusted himself off. "he's headed to the end of the line," he said harshly. "remember? he told us about it. without credentials, he'll land in the convict gang, down around the year a.d. that's a bad time on this continent. men who work there don't return--they help build back the time groove." ann smiled triumphantly. "good for you! he deserved it. imagine running a commercial kidnaping enterprise! and now we can ride home, can't we?" jeff, beginning to enjoy himself, shook his head. "not just yet. first i've got a date with mr. bullen." when they rapped on bullen's door, kersey welcomed them with an amused smile. "we thought you would be back," he purred. "where is snader?" jeff brushed past him to the drawing room, where bullen sat by the window. "i've decided to help you, bullen," jeff said. bullen nodded his big head. "naturally." "but i name my own price. what do you pay kersey?" bullen looked up with a grim smile. "fifty thousand a year. i wonder now if he worths it." "what's that? dollars?" "we call them fiscals. probably somehow much the same. why?" "listen, bullen. if i help introduce color tv, there'll be big money in it. i won't be a hog. you pay me forty thousand a year until we go into production. then we'll make a new deal, giving me a royalty on sales." kersey's face was scarlet. "you young greenshoot! who do you think you are? you'll work for nothing, if we say so." "guess again," jeff said. "your slave trader won't be bringing any more engineers for you. so you take me at my price--or nobody." the big man laughed. "you got rid of snader, eh? well, well. he was a rogue. i thought he would run into trouble soon or late." * * * * * kersey swore, but bullen seemed to grasp the situation and waved him to silence. "i like your fire, young man. with chromatics, we'll make millions, so you're worth forty thousand plus royalties. am i true in thinking you won't want the apartment i reserved for you?" "right. we'll retain our home in my own time. i'll commute to work here every morning--it's quicker than commuting to the city in my own time." "in your thorough way," kersey said sarcastically, "you have doubtless figured out how you can spend our money back in your time." "i've thought about it," jeff agreed. "there will be something i can convert it into and carry back. diamonds, maybe." bullen laughed again. "you're solid, my boy. get his work papers ready, kersey. these young people want to get home. i'll take jeff to the factory when he comes workward in the morning." jeff stood up. "see you tomorrow, bullen. come on, ann. we're going home--home to our own time." none internet archive (https://archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/lifeofrichardtre trevrich life of richard trevithick, with an account of his inventions. by francis trevithick, c.e. illustrated with engravings on wood by w. j. welch. volume ii. london: e. & f. n. spon, , charing cross. new york: , broome street. . london: printed by william clowes and sons, duke street, stamford street and charing cross. contents of volume ii. chapter xvii. various inventions. stone-crushing mill, --portable puffer, --staffordshire potteries--engine for south america--diversity of steam appliance--numerous high-pressure engines--west india dock locomotive--engines at newcastle--blacklead lubricator--engines in wales--mine engines on wheels, --engines in london--engines to be sold in market towns--blast-furnaces--aërated steam-boiler--st. ives breakwater--dolcoath blast copper furnace--davies gilbert's opinion of the aërated steam-boiler--trevithick's advice to a brewer--agricultural engines--west india engines--thrashing engine--horizontal engines--expansive steam--cold surface condenser--air-pump--expansive cam--fire-bars--comparison with watt's engine--stone-boring engine, --plymouth breakwater, reduction in cost--locomotive engine, --stone splitting--new method of stone boring, --screw bit, --falmouth harbour--exeter bridge--engine at lima--proposed train from buenos ayres to lima--west india portable engine page - chapter xviii. agricultural engines; loss of papers. sir christopher hawkins's thrashing machine, --report of three wise men--cost of horse and steam power--wheal liberty engine--sir john sinclair and the board of agriculture--cost of engine--power of engine--welsh locomotive--trevithick on steam agriculture--west indies engine--horse-power--trevithick on patents--engines in charge of labourers--teapot--detail of agricultural engine--lord dedunstanville's thrashing machine--plymouth breakwater locomotive--wheal prosper engine--wheal alfred engine--steam-plough--cultivation of commons--combined steam-tormentor, narrower, and shoveller--mr. rendal's thrashing machine--cost and work performed by thrashing engines--their durability--bridgenorth engine--trevithick's drawings light the tires - chapter xix. pole steam-engine. return to cornwall, --wheal prosper pole vacuum engine, --cylindrical boilers, --steam pressure, lbs.--duty of engine, millions--expansive working, --herland high-pressure pole puffer, --steam pressure, lbs.--boiler making--comparison with watt's engine--blue-fire--steam--patent specification--steam-ring stuffing box--engines in lima--a -inch pole-puffer more powerful than a -inch watt engine--description of pole engine and boilers--trevithick's calculation--trial of herland engines--steam-cushion--power of the pole-engine--defective workmanship--sims examines the pole-engine--opposition from shareholders--defective boilers--challenge to woolf--davies giddy's opinion--first cost, and cost of working one-third of the watt engine--meeting of opposing shareholders--duty of the high-pressure steam pole puffer-engine, --comparison with the watt engine--combined high-pressure pole and cylinder for expansion--wheal alfred watt engine converted to high pressure--wheal chance combined engine--mr. michael williams's opinion--woolf and trevithick page - chapter xx. the watt and the trevithick engines at dolcoath. early steam-engines--semicircular boiler, , net power lbs. on the inch--watt's statement in --engines in dolcoath--watt's engine, --watt's engine at herland, --trevithick's tubular boiler, --reconstruction of the carloose -inch, --gross and net power of engines--comparison of newcomen, watt, and trevithick engines--boiler explosion, --strong rivalry with watt--locomotive at coalbrookdale, --watt's proposed locomotive--competition in wales--numerous high-pressure engines, --patent difficulty--watt's opposition, --government inquiry--competitive trials in wales--tramway locomotive, --the bet--opposition because of saving of labour--worcester engine--west india docks engine--high-pressure steam condensing engines--one or two cylinders for expansion--sirhowey boilers--mr. homfray's opinion of the watt opposition--mr. whitehead makes engines in manchester--cylindrical tubular boiler in wales for large engines, --watt contests at dolcoath, --steam-blast--superiority of high-pressure whim-engines--proposed boiler for the large pumping engine, --steam pressure--the watt boiler--comparison of size of fire-place and coal used--dredger contract--theory of steam--trevithick's dolcoath boiler when applied to the watt engine, with expansive gear, to save l. monthly, --momentum of pumping engine--continued tests of high and low pressure whim-engines at dolcoath--watt engine put aside, --high-pressure engines ordered, --high-pressure pumping engine for wheal abraham, --disputed patent right--expansion reduces heat--boiler for the watt -inch engine, --cost of trevithick's boiler--advantage of small tubes in boilers--trinity board--watt's steam-cylinder unsuitable for high steam, --sims' trial of engines--little fight--tubular boilers, --high-pressure steam pumping engines, --reporter of engines--application to government, --dolcoath engines and boilers--high steam to the watt engine--duty of engines, --watt's boiler thrown out--expansive valve--dolcoath manager--saving by boilers and expansive working, --lean's reports--increased duty of the three old dolcoath engines, -- -inch engine, -- , l. a year saved--durability of engine--its removal--cylindrical boilers--hornblower and watt engines--davies gilbert's report, --lean's report, --watt's views of expansive working--watt's steam of or lbs. to the inch--pole's statement--engine at marazion, --woolf in cornwall--rees' cyclopædia--'encyclopædia britannica'--application to parliament--wheal towan--newcomen and watt engines--pompe-à-feu 'la belle machine,' dolcoath page - chapter xxi. engines for south america. engines for lima, --uville's application to watt--high-pressure model--cerro de pasco mines--uville's return in search of trevithick--engines ordered--pump-work--modern pumping engines--money difficulty--weight of pieces--'sanspareil' of --expansive working--quartz crusher--locomotive for south america, --sketch of winding engine--their simplicity of form--power and cost of engines--trevarthen and bull to accompany the engines--a third man recommended--boilers put together at cerro de pasco--uville's arrest--trevithick a shareholder--vivian's application--departure of machinery, --uville's agreement--invoice of engines sent page - chapter xxii. peru. agreement for working the peruvian mines, --uville and watt, --uville and trevithick, --uville's opinion of trevithick--estimated value of the mines--machinery reached peru, --trevithick's departure from penzance, --mr. edmond's statement--cerro de pasco mines in --report from the viceroy of peru, --report from the magisterial deputation of yauricocha, --despatch from the governor of the province of tarma, --pumping engines at work--the viceroy's reply--report in the 'lima gazette,' --trevithick's reception at lima--trevithick's report, --differences between trevithick and uville--trevithick's thoughtless acts--his visit to the nunnery--the lord warden proposed to erect a statue in silver to trevithick--bust of trevithick in cornwall--quicksilver--sunk ship--chili--copper and silver mine--departure from lima--cerro de pasco mines page - chapter xxiii. costa rica. gerard at punta de arenas, in the pacific, in --nicolas castro worked a gold mine, --alverado's ore-grinding machine, --climate of costa rica--mines in the cordillera--canal from the river machuca to quebrada-honda--castro's mine--padre arias, or the priest's mine--trevithick and gerard's proposal for iron railroads, &c., for the mines of costa rica, --new line of road from san juan, on the atlantic, to the costa rica mines--serapique river navigable--trevithick's diary--a mule track easily constructed--comparative distance to the mines from the head of the serapique on the atlantic, and punta de arenas on the pacific--trevithick nearly drowned in the serapique--nearly starved before reaching san juan--performs a surgical operation--designed the locomotive between breakfast and dinner--robert stephenson and trevithick at carthagena--nearly drowned in the magdalena--saved by mr. bruce napier hall--trevithick nursed robert stephenson page - chapter xxiv. return to england. bodmin school, --cube root--trevithick's reception--saving in cornish mines--model gun--gerard's return, --his meeting robert stephenson--his remarks on costa rica--montelegre's search for a better line of road--mr. m. williams's proposal--change of ministry, and the gun-carriage--model of iron packet-ship and engine--robert stephenson's remarks on mining--trevithick's rejection of purchase-money page - chapter xxv. gun-carriage--iron ships--hydraulic crane--ice making--drainage of holland--chain-pump--open-top cylinder--hayle harbour--patent rights--petition to parliament. trevithick's description of gun-carriage and iron ship--select committee--glasgow iron-ship builders--trevithick's comparison of gunpowder and steam--cranes worked by air or water--artificial cold--liberality--holland--drainage--dredging--zuyder zee--hydraulic crane--dutch pumping engine--chain-pump--haarlem lake--rhine--windmills--hayle harbour--disputed pole-engine patent right--petition to parliament, --marine boilers--steam pressure--engine duty--lords of the treasury refuse the petition--davies gilbert's views--marine compound engine of page - chapter xxvi. tubular boiler--superheating steam--surface condenser. binner downs engine, --fires around cylinder and steam-pipes--saving of coal--surface condensation at sea--superheating tubes--used steam returned to the boiler, --holland pumping engine--woolf at the consolidated mines--laws of steam--power of heat from lb. of coal--loss of heat--experiments at binner downs--surface condensation--partial surface condensation for ships or railways--effect of superheating--watt's theory doubted--wheal towan and other engines--loss of heat--injection-water--surface condensation and superheating--partial condensation engine--duty of chain pumping engine--surface condensation by cold water or air--results of the experiment--hayle harbour--condenser of copper tubes, --suitability for steam-ships--proposal to erect at his own expense a marine engine with surface condenser and screw-propeller for the instruction of the admiralty, .--sketch of tubular boiler and surface-air condenser--screw draught--preservation of heat in condensing by air--comptroller of the navy--patent of --boiler within the condenser--surface condensation by air or water--safety boiler of concentric tubes--blowing vessel for air condensation and draught--tubes for distilling water--steam pressure--expansive working--robert stephenson's statement--'echo' steamboat, --bottle-neck boiler--admiralty--steam users' association--mr. alexander crichton's boiler and surface condenser--captain dick and captain andrew--captain king and the 'echo' page - chapter xxvii. heating apparatus--marine steam-engines--reform column. ill health, --hot-house boiler--heating rooms--discharging coal-ships by steam--hot-water stoves for france--patent for heating apparatus, --marine portable engines--boat propeller--wheal towan--discharging coal by steam at hayle--proposal to the common council of london--every vessel to carry a steam-engine--mr. george rennie--proposal to the admiralty--surface condensation--locomotives supplying their own feed-water--petition in trevithick's favour--davies gilbert's suggestion--his comparison of the watt and trevithick engines--maudslay on trevithick's proposals--patent of --superheating steam--cylinder placed in flue from boiler--expansive steam--tubular boiler--water propulsion--superheating and surface condensation for locomotives--detail of engine--proposal to send steamboats to buenos ayres--waterwitch company--messrs. hall and sons--hall's condenser--rennie and the admiralty--'syria' steamboat--compound engines--watt on high-pressure steam--trevithick on compound engines--tubular boiler and variable blast-pipe--refusal of trevithick's petition to government--ill health--davies gilbert's statement to spring rice--meeting on proposed reform column--trevithick's description--means of ascent and descent--placed before the king--death--funeral--his last letter page - illustrations to volume ii. page aËrated steam-boiler rock splitting steam thrashing engine agricultural machine wheal prosper high-pressure steam pole-engine cylindrical high-pressure steam-boilers expansive steam pole-engine carn brea castle trevithick's dolcoath engine of trevithick's dolcoath boilers of steam diagram 'la belle machine' carriage-wheels winding engines penzance in olden time market, jew street, penzance mule track from lima to cerro de pasco map of costa rica mines gun-carriage dutch pumping engine mount's bay partial condensation engine tubular boiler and condenser bottle-neck boiler captain dick and captain andrew hot-water room-warmer patent heating apparatus duck's-foot paddle marine engine and boiler compound marine engine reform column in detail general view of reform column life of trevithick. chapter xvii. various inventions. "about captain trevithick put up in dolcoath mine a stone-crushing mill, having large cast-iron rollers, for breaking into small pieces the large stones of ore; it was spoken of as the first ever used for such a purpose; the same form of crusher is still used in the mines. it caused a great saving compared with breaking by a hand hammer."[ ] "i saw at the weith mine in a portable high-pressure engine, made by captain trevithick. "it was called a puffer; the cylinder was in the boiler; the steam about lbs. on the inch above the atmosphere. a wooden shed sheltered the engine and man. "the facility of manufacture and cheapness of those engines caused them to be much used in the mines, and also elsewhere."[ ] [footnote : recollections of the late captain charles thomas, manager of dolcoath.] [footnote : captain samuel grose's recollections.] mrs. trevithick, about the time we are speaking of, accompanied her husband through one of the staffordshire china manufactories. trevithick said to the manufacturer, "you would grind your clay much better by using my cast-iron rolls and high-pressure steam-engine." the manufacturer begged him to accept a set of china. mrs. trevithick was disappointed at hearing her husband say "no! i have only told you what was passing in my mind." driving rolling-mills was among the early applications of the high-pressure steam-engines; but pulverizing hard rock by the use of iron rollers was a novelty: though his patent of shows the proposed rolls driven by steam for crushing sugar-canes, yet no one had dreamt, prior to , of economy in crushing stone and clay by such a means. the plan, however, remains in use to this day in many mines, and is frequently spoken of under the name of quartz-crusher. "mr. giddy, coalbrookdale, _september rd, _. "sir,--yours of the th this day came to hand. i left wales about eight weeks since, and put an engine to work in worcester, of -horse power, for driving a pair of grist-stones, and a leather-dressing machine, and another in staffordshire for winding coals; each of them works exceedingly well. "from coalbrookdale i went to liverpool, where a founder had made two of them, which also worked exceedingly well; one other was nearly finished, and three others begun. some spanish merchants there saw one of them at work, and said that as soon as they returned to spain they would send an order for twelve engines, of -horse power, for south america. in south america and the spanish west indies water is very scarce; in several places there is scarcely water for the inhabitants to drink, therefore there is no water for any engine. by making inquiry, i found that ten mules would roll as much cane in an hour as would produce gallons of cane-juice, which they boil until the water is evaporated, and the sugar produced. "i told them that the engine-boiler might be fed with this juice, and by a cock in the bottom of the boiler constantly turning, and by taking a greater or smaller stream from it, they might make the juice as rich as they liked. in this process the juice would be so far on towards sugar, and the fire that worked the engine would cost nothing, because it would have taken the same quantity of fuel under the sugar-pans to evaporate the water, as it would in the engine-boiler. "the steam from the engine might be turned around the outside of the furnace for distilling rum, as the distilleries require but a slow heat. "i think the steam would answer a good purpose around the outside of the pan. "if this method answers, the cost of working the engine would be nothing, and the engine would be then working, as it were, without fire or water. "the spaniards told me that if this plan answers, they would take a thousand engines for south america and the spanish west indies. i shall be very much obliged to you for your opinion on this business. these merchants make a trade of buying up sugar mills and pans, with every other thing they want from england, and exchange them with the spaniards for sugar. "at manchester i found two engines had been made and put to work; they worked very well: three more are in building. from there i went to derbyshire. the great pressure-engine i expect will be at work before the middle of october. a foundry at chesterfield is building a steam-engine as a sample; two foundries in manchester are at full work on them, and one in liverpool. there are six engines nearly finished at coalbrookdale, and seven in a foundry at bridgenorth. "i am making drawings for several other foundries. any number of them would sell. a vast number are now being erected, and no other engine is erected where these are known. the engine for the west india docks was neglected during my absence from the dale, but i expect it will be ready to send off in ten days. "in about three weeks i shall be in london to set it up. it will please you very much, for it is a very neat and complete job, and i have no doubt will answer every purpose exceedingly well. at newcastle i found four engines at work, and four more nearly ready; six of these were for winding coal, one for lifting water, and one for grinding corn. "that grinding corn was an -inch cylinder, driving two pair of -feet stones rounds per minute; ground winchesters of wheat in twelve hours with cwt. of small coal. it worked exceedingly well, and was a very complete engine, only the stroke was much too short, not more than feet inches, which made very much against the duty. "the other engine that was lifting water had a - / -inch diameter cylinder, with a -feet stroke, drawing -gallon barrels, twenty-four every hour, yards, burning cwt. of coal in twenty-four hours. "this work it did with very great ease. i believe you will find this an exceeding good duty for a - / -inch cylinder engine. "below i send a copy of mr. homfray's and mr. wood's letters to me:-- "mr. homfray's, of the th september.--'our great engine goes on extremely well here, nothing can go better; the piston gives no trouble; it goes about three weeks, and we work it with blacklead and water; the cylinder is as bright as a looking-glass; it uses about lbs. of blacklead in a week; about once in twelve or fifteen hours we put a small quantity of blacklead, mixed with a little water, through the hole in the cylinder screw, and we never use any grease. we rolled last week tons of iron with it, and it will roll as fast with the both pair of rolls, as they can bring to it.' "mr. wood's letter, september th.--'we are going on, as it is likely we always shall, in the old dog-trot way, puddling and rolling from the beginning of the week till the end of it. your engine is the favourite engine with every man about the place, and mr. homfray says it is the best in the kingdom.' "i have not the smallest doubt but that i can make a piston without any friction or any packing whatever, that needs not to have the cylinder screw taken up once in seven years. it is a very simple plan, and will be perfectly tight; it is by restoring an equilibrium on both sides of the piston. i expect to see you in london soon, and then will give you the plan for inspection before i put it in practice. "i am very much obliged to you for recommending these engines in cornwall, but you have not stated in what manner they are to be applied; whether to work pumps, or barrels, or both. they may be made both winding and pumping engines at the same time, if so required. "a rotative engine will cost more than an up-and-down-stroke, on account of the expense of the fly-wheel and axle. an engine capable of lifting gallons of water per minute fathoms would cost, when complete and at work, patent right included, about _l._ if it is a rotative engine, with a winding barrel, it will cost _l._ i expect that a -inch cylinder would be sufficient for winding at penberthy crofts, which might have a crank on the fly for lifting water in pumps, and a winding barrel on its back. this would cost about _l._; the erection of them, when on the spot, will cost nothing. you do not say when you intend to be in town. i hope you will be present when the dock-engine is set to work. "the engines first sent to cornwall, must be from coalbrookdale; then they will be well executed, but from wales it would not be so. "you may depend on having a real good engine sent down, with sufficient openings given to the passages. "the engineer from the dale has been lately in london, and has just returned; he gives a wonderful account of the engines working in london. there are twelve now at work there. they have well established their utility in different parts of the kingdom, and any number would sell. the founders intend to make a great number, of different sizes, and send them to different markets for sale, completely finished, as they stand. "you do not say anything about wheels to the engine for penberthy crofts. there are several engines here nearly finished; if they suit in size for penberthy, one may be sent down in four or five weeks, otherwise it may be two months. "i am, sir, "your very humble servant, "richard trevithick. "direct for me at the talbot inn, coalbrookdale." trevithick worked hard and successfully in making his steam-engines useful, and firmly believed that he could and would make them universal labourers. even the spanish merchants, unacquainted with steam, talked of giving an order for several engines for south america; and their glowing account of the wide field open to him may have been instrumental to his going to that country by making his engines known there. his proposal to make the sugar-cane convert itself into sugar by the use of his patent high-pressure steam-engine may be more theoretical than practical; but many more unlikely things have come to pass. at that time several of his engines were at work in wales, worcester, staffordshire, coalbrookdale, manchester, derbyshire, liverpool, cornwall, and newcastle-upon-tyne. twelve were at work in london, and so familiar were people with them, that founders intended to construct them of different sizes, and send them for sale at the large market or county towns; their cost complete, ready for work, to be _l._, more or less, according to size, with a range of application unlimited. his one letter, casually written sixty-seven years ago, mentions them as grinding corn, dressing leather, winding coal, crushing sugar-cane, prepared to boil sugar, and distil rum; pumping water, rolling iron, railway locomotion, portable steam fire-engine, portable steam-crane, mine engines on wheels; so that it may almost be said he was not too sanguine in hoping to send in a thousand of his engines to south america, for in those cursory remarks he draws attention to no less than thirty-six high-pressure steam-puffers at work. the penberthy croft mine portable engine could be placed on wheels or otherwise, according to the wish of the purchaser, as though steam locomotion was an every day occurrence in . "camborne, _january th, _. "mr. giddy, "sir,--from calculating the quantity of blast given to a blast-furnace, i find a considerable quantity more of coal consumed by the same quantity of air in this way, than by the usual way in common engine chimneys. of course the more cold air admitted to pass through the fire, the more heat carried to the top of the stack. crenver -inch cylinder, double-power, -feet stroke, with but one boiler, works five strokes per minute. this gives about square feet of steam per minute, and burns about tons of coals in twenty-four hours. the stack for this boiler is - / feet square, and the draught rises feet per second, and will set white paper in a flame at the top of it in about a minute. therefore, this chimney delivers square feet of air per minute, which is four and a half times the quantity of heated air, at nearly four times the temperature of heat that there is of steam produced from the same fire, and delivered to the cylinder. "a blast-furnace that burns tons of coal per week is blown by a -feet diameter air-cylinder, -feet stroke, ten strokes per minute, double-power, giving about square feet of air per minute, to consume tons of coal, besides giving a melting heat to tons of ore and limestone. "crenver engine has square feet of air to burn tons of coal per week, which is above eight times the quantity of air used by air fire-places to what is used in a blast-furnace, and of course must carry off a great proportion of the heat to the top of the stack, that might be saved if the engine-fire was a blast instead of an air fire. "but suppose the idea to be carried still further, by making an apparatus to condense and take the whole of the heat into the cylinder instead of its passing up the chimney. by having a very small boiler, and a blast-cylinder to blow the whole of the blast into the bottom of the boiler, under a cylinder full of small holes under the water, to make the heated air give all its heat to the water. [illustration] "the furnace must be made in a tight cast-iron cylinder. both the fire-door and the hole through which the blast enters must be quite tight, as the pressure will be as strong in the fire-place as in the boiler. the whole of the air driven into the fire-place, with all the steam raised by its passage up through the water in the boiler, must go into the cylinder. there will also be the advantage of the expansion of the air by the heat over and above what it was when taken cold into the blast-cylinder. "from the great quantity of coal burnt in blast-furnaces you will find that a very small blast-cylinder would work a -inch cylinder double. if there is as much heat in a square foot of air as in steam of the same temperature, the saving will be beyond all conception; but for my own part i cannot calculate from theory what the advantages will be, if any, and for that reason, before i drop or condemn the idea, i must request you will have the goodness, when you have an hour to spare, to turn your thoughts to this subject, and inform me of your sentiments on it. "perhaps it is like many other wild fancies that fly through the brain, but i did not like to let it go unnoticed without first getting your opinion. i hope you will excuse me for so often troubling you. "st. ives plans will be delivered to them on tuesday, when i expect they will be forwarded to you. "i hear there is a good course of ore in the adit end at wheat providence mine. "a mr. sheffield, of cumberland, writes to mr. gould that he has turned idle his air-furnaces, and smelted his ores by a blast near a year since. "his furnace is but feet high and feet diameter, and it melts tons of ore, of from to in the per week, and makes a regel of from to in the , and answers beyond what we calculated for them. "suppose a furnace feet high and feet diameter, it would smelt eight times the quantity of his, which would be near tons per month, or nearly double the quantity raised by any one mine in the country. the expense of the ... would be very trifling. "to-morrow dolcoath account will be held, when i expect to have orders to begin to erect a furnace on the spot. "this trial of mr. sheffield's has put it out of my power to get a patent, and now i do not know how to get paid. "i should be content with per cent. on the profits gained by this plan, and would conduct the business for the mines without salary. should you chance to fall on the subject with his lordship, be pleased to mention something about the mode of my payment, as his lordship is by far the properest person to begin with about my pay, for after his lordship has agreed to the sum, and dolcoath mine the first to try the experiment, i think all the county will give way to what he might propose. but i wish something to be fixed on before all the agents in the mines know how to be smelters themselves, after which i expect no favour, unless first arranged. "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, "richard trevithick." how great was the practical insight his genius gave him, and how imperfectly his followers have acted on this advice given sixty years ago! the chimney that at its top would ignite paper, threw to waste four and a half times more heated air than was requisite to supply the quantity of heat which passed through the working cylinder in steam, and at a temperature nearly four times greater than the temperature of the steam. it needs only to observe the burnt appearance of a steamboat funnel of the present day to know how wasteful we still are, or how very ignorant of improved methods of economizing fuel. to prevent this waste of heat up the chimney be proposed to do away with the chimney altogether; the fire-place was to be a close one, having a blast under the fire-bars of a strength sufficient to force the air, heated by its passage through the fire, direct through a small valve into the water in the boiler, by which means all the heat given by ignition would pass into the steam, and his steam-puffer become an aërated steam-engine. from the following it appears that this plan of trevithick's is now coming into use as something quite new:-- "in your last impression, under the head of 'air and steam combined, as a motive power,' you state 'the invention was described to be that of mr. warsop, but we have recently heard that a few years back ( ) the same invention had been protected in an earlier patent than mr. warsop's, by mr. bell galloway.'"[ ] trevithick thought of patenting a plan for reducing copper ore by the use of a blast, in preference to the usual air-furnace and chimney, but something similar had been tried by mr. gould, and he therefore proposed to erect a blast-furnace in dolcoath mine, receiving a portion of the saving of fuel as his remuneration. such a furnace worked there for many years, until copper smelting was removed from cornwall to wales. the plans for a breakwater at st. ives were for an undertaking that has since been in many hands, but without success, except perhaps for the convenient making of members of parliament. some slight progress has been made by engineers and contractors, but vessels are not willingly taken to the port, and ratepayers grumble at unprofitable harbour taxes. "london, _january th, _. "dear trevithick, "i have not lost any time in mentioning your wishes respecting a compensation for the plan of smelting copper to lord dedunstanville, who intends mentioning the affair in his next letter to mr. reynolds. lord dedunstanville wishes you extremely well, but it is impossible for him to settle anything apart from the adventurers. [footnote : see the 'mechanics' magazine,' june rd, .] "i am very sorry that anyone should have executed the plan of reducing copper ore by a blast-furnace before you had put into practice the idea suggested to me ten years ago. it ascertains, however, that the contrivance will succeed, although you are certainly reduced to ask moderate terms, and i know not what can be more moderate than those you have asked, except that i would recommend some limit as to time. "the plan you suggest for an engine on a new construction is, i fear, very doubtful. "according to the data furnished to me, the air in the blast would be to that in a common fire-place as - / to very nearly, provided their densities were the same; but you have measured one entering the furnace at the common temperature, and the other going to the stack so hot as to set on fire a piece of paper held at the top. thus the increase of temperature that augments the elasticity of a fluid confined, would expand it in the same degree. it is therefore uncertain from these statements which furnace consumes the greater quantity of air. i apprehend the general principles of an engine worked by hot air, through the medium of a blast, would be as follows:-- "let any quantity of air be driven into a furnace with the pressure of an atmosphere, and let it be there expanded ten times. it should then be taken off ten times as quick, but in that case no power whatever would be produced, so the external atmosphere would balance the internal. now, let the blast be two atmospheres strong, and let them be expanded ten times, and be taken off ten times as fast, each stroke will be opposed by one, equal in all to ten; subtract two for the blast, there remain eight. "but air so hot would burn every vegetable or animal substance, and such a furnace i suppose could scarcely be kept air-*tight. if the heated air is made to act on water, then it becomes a mere question of how much absolute heat is given out by the fuel, and whether that excess is more than sufficient to compensate the burden of the blast; for the water will absorb an immense quantity of heat in changing itself into steam, and thus reduce the force of the air as to make it almost impossible for that addition to add so much power as the blast takes away. "i have, therefore, no hesitation in saying that this plan will certainly not do. write to me by all means whenever anything strikes you, and you may always depend on having my best advice. "i am, dear sir, "ever most truly yours, "davies giddy." trevithick saw without apparent reasoning, while his friend's reasonings failed to make plain the full bearing of the questions, and so cramped the position as to make a change of front difficult--an operation in which trevithick excelled. we learn, however, that in he suggested a blast in copper-ore furnaces, and in was on the verge of a discovery that has since revolutionized the iron-smelter's art by the use of hot blast. wasted heat from a blast-furnace feet high led him to the conclusion that by doubling the height of the furnace, enabling the cold mineral thrown in at the top to take up the heat wasted through the top of the low furnace, seven-eighths of the coal would be saved. his idea of sending blast through the furnace of his steam-boiler to economize heat could have been readily applied to the iron furnace, and we should have had the modern hot-blast iron furnaces. [rough draft.] "camborne, _march th, _. "gentlemen, "your favour of the th february, with a sketch of your brewery, i have received; and from which i find the head of water is feet above the brewery, which makes it difficult to erect the chain and buckets so as to take advantage of the whole height of water; and as the stream is so very small, it will not admit of losing any part of the power. "to erect a machine so high, to engage the whole fall, would be, i fear, more expense than the power you would get would warrant; therefore i would recommend it to be made use of in a cylinder, in the same way as we use falls of water of feet in our cornish copper mines. we allow one-third loss for friction and leakage in those machines; but your machine being so very small, the loss will exceed that proportion; therefore i cannot promise you above one-half of the real weight and fall to be performed on your machinery, and that must be by a well-executed machine, for a small defect would destroy the value of so trifling a power. "as there is no expansion in water, it will be somewhat difficult to make the machine turn the centres with a fly-wheel, for if the valve shuts a little too early or too late for the turn of the crank over the centre, the fly-wheel's velocity must break something by confining the water between the piston and the bottom of the cylinder, which, after the valve is shut, cannot make its escape, and not having an elastic principle, the piston will strike as dead on the water as on a piece of iron, because, unless the valve is shut by the engine before the stroke is finished, it cannot shut at all. "i know persons who have attempted to put fly-wheels on pressure-engines of this kind, but never yet has one been made to work rotative. i do not see much difficulty in making an engine of this kind to work a crank and fly-wheel, by connecting an air-vessel with the cylinder to receive the pressure and contract and expand and shut the valves, the same as in steam-engines. "a machine on this plan ought to be placed as near the low level as possible. if i furnish you with drawings and directions for the executing of the work yourselves, i shall charge you fifteen guineas for them. if i send the machine finished, the charge will be _l._ "your objections respecting steam-engines i do not doubt are correct, when executed by persons who do not understand the construction of them. in england some persons privately erected my engine to evade the patent premium, but have severely paid for their saving knowledge by accidents and defects in their engineering ability. i have erected above steam-engines on this principle, but never met with one accident or complaint against them. to prevent mischief from bad castings, or from the fire injuring the surface of cast iron, i make the boilers of wrought iron, and always prove them with a pressure of water, forced in equal to four times the strength of steam intended to be worked with. "some persons have worked those engines under a pressure above lbs. on the square inch, but in general practice i do not exceed lbs., finding under this pressure the piston will stand six or eight weeks, and the joints remain perfect, and no risk of bursting the boiler, it being made of wrought iron, and proved by pressure before sent off; but cast-iron boilers may, by defects not discernible, and are very apt to break by the water being left low in the boiler, and if heated red hot, exploding without the smallest notice; but wrought-iron boilers, when defective, give way only partially, without injury to anyone. with respect to the erecting and management of the engine, you need not have an engineer, for any common tradesman can do this from the drawings and directions sent with the engine; for, as i before informed you, farmers and their labourers set up and keep in order the thrashing-machine engines without my going on the spot or sending any person to assist them. i never saw a steam-engine rolling malt, therefore cannot judge the quantity the engine would roll, only by a comparison with horse labour, against the consumption of coal, which will be in some cases as about lbs. to one horse; but where great speed is required in the machine, the coal will be less, as steam-engines make more revolutions in a minute than horse mills, therefore the work is done with less friction. "i have several times applied the steam, after it has worked the engine, to boil water and other purposes, with as good effect as if the engine had not been there, therefore the work of the engine will be a clear profit. "you say about a -horse engine. the boiler would be so small that it would not be worth applying that steam to any other purpose, as any large quantity of water would be but slowly heated. "i find that it does not answer either the purpose of the vendor or the user of an engine, to make less than a -horse power, as the expense on a very small engine is nearly as much as one of the power i use for thrashing, those being only _l._, and a -horse is _l._ respecting the mashing with steam, i never before heard of it, but from the theory of the plan i think it cannot fail to answer a far better purpose than any other that can possibly be applied for extracting the essence of the malt. however, should it not answer your purpose, it is only the loss of the expense of a few yards of -inch lead pipe. "in an engine of the size used for thrashing, if the fire is kept brisk, it will boil, by the steam sent into a separate vessel, near gallons of water per hour. "the room required to work in is about feet diameter, and feet high. it would be useless to put you to the expense of drawings, until you have made up your minds on what you intend to have done. "i remain, gentlemen, "your most obedient humble servant, "richard trevithick. "to robinson and buchanan, brewers, "_londonderry, ireland_." engineers of the present day do not volunteer such general information without charge, or give such a variety of practical mechanism slightly but clearly described, and principles reduced to practice. an endless chain with buckets is a form of water-wheel not then in use. a water-pressure engine for so small a quantity of water, with a fall of about feet, would cause a loss of per cent. from friction and small defects. the non-elastic character of water made it unsuitable for a machine requiring a fly-wheel. air-vessels should be used to lessen the rigidity of water. cast-iron boilers dangerous. wrought-iron boilers to be tested with a water pressure four times as great as the proposed working steam pressure. a steam pressure of lbs. to the inch most suitable for engines in charge of inexperienced persons. the brewers' mash tub to be heated by the waste or surplus steam. [rough draft.] "camborne, _december th_, . "gentlemen, "i have yours of the th november. the letter you directed for truro never came to hand. i find by your letter that you have been trying to put into practice the hints i gave you about the chain and buckets, and that you expect it will answer if properly executed. you are not the first that has picked up my hints, and stuck fast in their execution. i make it a rule never to send a drawing until i have received my fee, and when you remit to me fifteen guineas i will furnish you with proper drawings and directions to enable you to make and erect the machine. "i remain, gentlemen, "your very humble servant, "richard trevithick. "robinson and buchanan, brewers, "_londonderry_." what a pocket encyclopædia of inventions! from which, as by stealth, robinson and buchanan selected the least applicable, declining a suitable steam-engine at a very small cost, rather than pay an engineer for his opinion. [rough draft.] "camborne, _april th_, . "sir charles hawkins, bart., "sir,--i have received yours of the th, respecting the small breakwater at st. ives. as far as i can judge from a rough calculation, i think it an undertaking likely to pay well; but as you wished me not to mention anything about your intentions, and not receiving your orders to make a minute inquiry and estimate, i cannot answer your letter so fully as i should wish, fearing that giving a random and imperfect statement might be apt to lead you into errors, and also make me look simple. if an engineer were employed to survey and estimate after me, every information in my power is at your service; therefore be pleased to state particularly what information you wish, and i will attend to the business and answer your questions as early as possible. "i have received a letter from sir john sinclair requesting correct drawings and statements of the thrashing engine to be forwarded to the president of the board of agriculture, which i shall attend to. he also says that he has sent my letter to the navy board, in hopes that the experiment of propelling vessels by steam may be tried under its sanction and expense. "perhaps it might be proper to wait the answer of the navy board before writing to mr. praed about propelling the canal boats. i am very much obliged to you for writing to captain gundry, about the wheal friendship engine. i expect to have a portable steam-whim and stamps at work at my own expense in a few days, which will prove for itself its utility; that being the only way to introduce new things. i would be very much obliged to you to say if mr. halse is to pay me for my past attendance at st. ives about the breakwater. enclosed you have a letter to sir john sinclair, unsealed for your inspection, which, if you approve of, please to forward. "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, "richard trevithick." trevithick's skill did not prevent his being reasonably modest, or cause him to be envious of others; neither did his dear-bought experience, that one's own pocket must pay for making public one's own inventions, prevent his again soliciting the assistance of persons of influence, though it does not seem that mr. praed helped forward the screw-propeller, or that sir john sinclair gave direct help, though he probably made known the high-pressure steam-engine to the marine experimenters on the clyde. [rough draft.] "mr. rastrick, "camborne, _december th, _. "sir,--i have been waiting your answer to my last, and especially that part respecting the west india engine, as i have not nor could not answer their letter to me without first hearing from you; therefore must beg you will be so good as to answer me by return of post on that subject. if they get impatient about the time, and refuse to take the engine, i have no doubt the plymouth people will take it and several others; but i very much wish to send one to the west indies, as there is a large field open there for engines of this kind. i have received an order for a thrashing engine for lord de dunstanville, of tehidy; and as i wish those thrashing engines to be known through the country, i intend to take one of the engines ordered for padstow and send it to tehidy. one of the padstow farmers can wait until you make another for him. therefore i would thank you to send the first finished by ship from bristol for portreath or hayle. send a drum with everything complete, of which you are a better judge than i. probably about feet in diameter and - / feet long will be sufficient. "there must be a fly-wheel with a notch to carry the rope, and also a small notch-wheel on the drum-axle. i think - / feet diameter for the fly, and - / inches diameter for the small wheel, will give speed enough to the drum. mind to cast a lump, or screw on a balance, of about cwt., on one side of the fly-wheel. there must be two stands on the boiler, and a crank-axle, or otherwise a crank-pin, in the fly-wheel, whichever you please; with a shaft feet long with a carriage. "the engine is to stand in a room under the barn, about - / feet high, feet wide, and feet long. the fly-wheel will stand across the narrow way of the room. the rope will go up through the floor, and the drum be shifted by a screw, horizontally, on the barn floor, so as to tighten the rope. i shall put down the top of the boiler level with the surface, with an arched way to the fire and ash-pit under ground, to prevent the chance of fire, which the farmers are very much afraid of. i send you a sketch showing how it is to stand. "i do not bind you to the size of the drum or wheels, only the room that the fly-wheel works in is but feet wide. "now to mr. richards' mill. "query st.--the length of the piston, and the small variation that the beam will give it, is so trifling that it will not be felt. "the cylinders that have been working on their sides for seven years past, are now working as well as any engine with upright cylinders, which is a proof that the little rubbing is of no consequence. "query nd.--the passage in the cock is equal to the passage we make in our large engines, which is only one-fortieth part of the piston; and as we shall work with high steam, we do not mind the pressing through the steam-passage; and as the steam will be very much expanded, it will not be felt in the passage to the condenser. i know where we have removed cylinders and put larger ones on the same nozzles and condensing work, and the engines did good duty. "query rd.--i find by experience that if you give double the quantity of injection to an engine one stroke, and none the other, that the quicksilver in the gauge will stand nearly the same; the cold sides of the condenser are sufficient to work an engine a great many strokes without any injection. "query th.--you may put a hanging to the air-pump bucket, and foot-valve; either that or a rising one will do very well, but i think the rising cover and wood face on the top, best. "query th.--the air-pump bucket is large enough. at wheal alfred they have a -inch cylinder; the air-pump is inches, and the stroke is half that of the engine. they were afraid that it was too small; they then put another of inches by the side of the first, the same stroke. the quicksilver tube stands as high with the one -inch bucket as with the two buckets; the engine works best with the one bucket. i have found by experience that size to be sufficient, and (especially in an engine that works quickly) make the cistern high enough to cover the condensing work well with water. "query th.--my reason for making the forcing pump with duck-valves is, because they do not bum like the others, and we find them seldom out of repair; but make it whichever way you think best, and work it in any way you like. "query th.--i mean by / expansive, that the steam is to be shut off from the cylinder when the piston has moved up from the bottom one quarter of its stroke. make the cam to your own mind. "query th.--i do not think the engine will require a heavier fly-wheel, as the stones will act as a fly, and the power, though so very irregular, will be so sudden in its changes, that the speed of the machinery will not let it be felt. if you make a crank, you may make the fly-wheel or feet more in diameter. but if with a pin in the fly-wheel, the beam would come down on the top of it; therefore, i think it will be better to put a crank, and put the fly-wheel in the middle of the shaft. "query th.--the steam will be raised to lbs. to the inch above the atmosphere, or lbs. to the inch on a vacuum; but i think you need not calculate for much more strength on that account. it is not the power that breaks the machinery, but bangs, and not the uniform weight that this will give. "query th.--twenty strokes per minute i propose, which i think a fair speed. "query th.--the fire-bars must be of wrought iron; we find them answer much better than cast iron. let them be / ths of an inch from bar to bar, inch thick at the top, / ths of an inch at the bottom, inches deep, feet long, with bits on them at the ends, to prevent their getting too close together. i find the nearer the fire is to the door, the better and handier it is to work. all the large engines are in this way, and we do not find the door or front plate get hot, as they are lined with brick. cast the door with a rib to hold a brick on its edge. tube, feet inches by foot inches; manhole, by inches. "query th.--a governor will be required; perhaps as good a place as any for it, out of the way, will be on the cast iron that carries the beam; you may turn the fly-wheel whichever way you please. if this engine is worked with steam of lbs. to the inch above the atmosphere, and the steam shut off at one-twentieth part of the ascending stroke of the piston, the power will be as three is to two of boulton and watt's single engines. "only two pairs of stones for the present, but calculate those stones to stand in such a way that another pair may be placed, on a future day, if wanted. i have not seen mr. richards lately. i wish you to write a form of an order, in your next, such as you wish, and i will get him to write to you accordingly. put the engine and drum for lord de dunstanville out of hand neat and well, as it will be well paid for; and make the stands, &c., in your own way. "rd. trevithick." mr. richards' flour-mill engine may claim to be the first practical smoke-burner: keeping the fire much thinner at the inner end of the grate-bars than at the fire-door end of the grate, allowed of the freer passage of air through the thinner layer of coal, near the fire-*bridge, causing the combustion of the passing gas. this idea has, since the date of trevithick's letter, led to several smoke-burning patents. the boiler fire-tube was oval, feet inches by foot inches. the open-topped cylinder was supplied with a heavy and deep piston serving as a counterweight, and also as a guide in the cylinder for correcting the angle of the connecting rod. experience had taught him that the cold sides of the condenser were sufficient to work an engine a great many strokes without a supply of injection; and he had already used high-pressure steam of lbs. to the inch above the atmosphere, cut off from the cylinder when the piston had performed one quarter of its course: thus both these things were as first steps leading to the modern expansive steam-engine and surface condensation. the simplicity of the engine is remarkable--a high-pressure, expansive, condensing engine, worked by a single four-way cock, without cylinder-cover, or parallel motion. the low first cost, and non-liability to derangement, were always kept in view; and his confirmed experience in the satisfactory working of horizontal cylinders prior to illustrates their extended application; for at that time scarcely any other engineer had constructed other than upright cylinder engines. no detail escaped his observant gaze. the fire-bars were to be inches deep, inch thick at the top edge, tapered to / ths of an inch at the bottom, giving the required strength, with free room for air, which in its passage cooled the bar, carrying the heat into the fire. years before and after that period the fire-bar in common use by thoughtless people was a square iron bar that was always burning and bending. the letter is descriptive of the high-pressure steam-engine in the sixteenth year of its age; and its expansive steam, made practical by trevithick's high-pressure boilers. this engine only took steam during the first quarter of its stroke, the remaining three-quarters were by the expansion. had it taken steam only during one-twentieth of its stroke, it would have been more powerful than boulton and watt's low-pressure steam vacuum engine of the same size. [rough draft.] "sir, "camborne, _november th, _. "i have your favour of the rd inst., informing me that messrs. fox and williams have engaged to quarry the stone for e breakwater at plymouth, but does not say whether you hold any share with them in the contract or not. therefore i cannot understand from your letter whether you wish to see an engine fitted to the purpose of the breakwater, or for pumping the water from the foundations of the exeter bridge. please to inform me which of the two purposes you wish to see the engine calculated for, and about what time you think you shall want it, and i will get one finished suitable to the purpose you intend it for. "yours, &c., "r. t. "jas. green, esq., _st. david's hill, exeter_. "n.b.--to what extent have messrs. fox engaged, and what parts of the work do they perform? i think more good might be done by loading, carrying, and discharging, than by quarrying only." trevithick was equally ready with the application of steam-power either for pumping of water or for boring and removing rock. the use of chisels and rock-breakers in the thames in [ ] had prepared the way for the more perfect engine for boring, lifting, and carrying rock from the quarries to its destination at the plymouth breakwater in .[ ] [footnote : see stonebreaker of , vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see steam-crane, vol. i., pp. , .] "sir, " , holborn hill, _november th, _. "i am in receipt of yours of the nd inst. mr. giddy informs me that mr. fox and mr. williams are to have _s._ _d._ per ton for making the breakwater at plymouth, and he considers that they can do it for _s._, which he thought would give them , _l._ profit. if you meet those gentlemen, i have to caution you not to learn them anything until you make a bargain, as i know mr. williams will endeavour to learn all he can and then you may go whistle. "if _d._ per ton will give , _l._ profit, a halfpenny per ton would give upwards of _l._ would they agree to give you that for your labour only? however, this will depend in a great measure on the time it will take in doing. if it takes eight years it would be _l._ a year for you (according to mr. giddy's calculation). "your well-wisher, "henry harvey. "mr. rd. trevithick, _camborne_." mr. harvey knew trevithick's weakness in money matters. rennie had been employed to report on the proposed plymouth breakwater, and in was desired by lord melville, the head of the admiralty, to proceed with the work. "the price paid in for taking and depositing rubble in the breakwater was _s._ _d._ per ton; it was afterwards reduced to _s._ per ton. a piece of ground was purchased from the duke of bedford at oreston, up the catwater, containing acres of limestone, well adapted for the purposes of the work; and steps were taken to open out the quarry, to lay down railways to the wharves, to erect cranes."[ ] the idea of the plan to be followed in conveying stone with greater economy and dispatch than was contemplated by rennie, originated with trevithick, while the former received the credit and the pay, as he before had done with the steam-dredger. [footnote : 'lives of the engineers,' by smiles, vol. ii., p. .] [rough draft.] "mr. fox jun., "camborne, _january th, _. "sir,--since i was at roskrow i have been making trial on boring lumps of plymouth limestone at hayle foundry, and find that i can bore holes five times as fast with a borer turned round than by a blow or jumping-down in the usual way, and the edge of the boring bit was scarcely worn or injured by grinding against the stone, as might have been expected. i think the engine that is preparing for this purpose will bore ten holes of - / inches in diameter feet deep per hour. now suppose the engine to stand on the top of the cliff, or on any level surface, and a row of holes bored, feet in from the edge of the cliff, feet deep, and about inches from hole to hole for the width of the piece to be brought down at one time, and wedges driven into the holes to split the rock in the same way as they cleave moorstone, only instead of holes inches deep, which will cleave a moorstone rock feet deep when the holes are or inches apart, the holes in limestone must go as deep as you intend to cleave out each stope, otherwise the rock will cleave in an oblique direction, because detached moorstone rocks have nothing to hold them at the bottom, and split down the whole depth of the rock. in carrying down a large piece of solid ground the bottom will always be fast, therefore unless it is wedged hard at the bottom of the hole the stope cannot be carried down square. in a hole - / inches diameter and feet deep put in two pieces of iron, one on each side of the hole, having a rounded back, then put a wedge between the two pieces, which might be made thus, if required to wedge tighter at the bottom of the hole than at the top. [illustration] "if this plan answers, the whole of the stones would be fit for service, even for building, and would all be nearly of the same size and figure. each piece would be easily removed from the spot by an engine on a carriage working a crane, which would place them into the ship's hold at once. it would all stand on a plain surface, and might be had in one, two, three, or four tons in a stone, as might best suit the purpose, which would make the work from beginning to end one uniform piece. steam machinery would accomplish more than nine-tenths of all the work, besides saving the expense of all the powder. i find that limestone will split much easier than moorstone, and i think that a very great saving in expense and time may be made if the plan is adopted. "please to think of these hints and write me when and where i may see you to consult on the best method of making the tools for this purpose before i set the workmen to make them. any day will suit me, except monday, the th of february. the sooner the better, as i cannot set to work to make the tools until we have arranged the plan. "i am, sir, "your humble servant, "rd. t." the successful completion of the mont cenis tunnel in was mainly due to an ingenious application of combined mechanical force to boring tools, before limited to man's strength; but the applied principle existed sixty years ago, and though not so perfect in detail, yet more comprehensive. trevithick's high-pressure steam boring engine enabled him to penetrate the rock five times as fast as the quarryman's power. ten holes, - / inches in diameter, feet deep, could be bored in an hour, and he sagaciously suggested that in quarrying the limestone for the breakwater, a row of holes should be bored by his engine feet in from the face of the rock, - / inches in diameter, feet deep, and inches apart; and by dropping into each hole two half-round pieces of iron, to be driven asunder by a steel wedge, large blocks would be forced off without the use of gunpowder. the high-pressure steam-puffer having bored the stone, moved itself toward the broken mass, lifted it into waggons, and again changing its powers from steam-crane to steam-locomotive, conveyed it to the port, and lifted it into the ship's hold. the whole operation was thus aptly described by the inventor, who then counted on contracting for the breakwater work:--"steam machinery will accomplish more than nine-tenths of all the work, besides saving the expense of all the gunpowder." [rough draft.] "mr. robert fox, jun., "camborne, _february th, _. "sir,--since i was with you at falmouth i have made a trial of boring limestone, and find that the men will bore a hole - / inch in diameter inch deep in every minute, with a weight of lbs. on the bit. i had no lump more than inches deep; but to that depth i found that having a flat stem to the bit of the same width as the diameter of the hole, twisted like a screw, completely discharged the powdered limestone from the bottom of the hole without the least inconvenience. "from the time the two men were employed boring a hole inches deep, i am convinced to a certainty that the engine at hayle will bore as many holes in one day as will be sufficient to split above tons of limestone, and would draw that tons of stone from the spot and put them into the ship's hold in one other day. the engine would burn in two days bushels of coal, four men would be sufficient to attend on the engine, cleave the stone, and put it into the ship's hold. i think it would not amount to above _d._ per ton, every expense included, but say s., which i am certain it will not amount to. perhaps it may not be amiss to withhold the method of executing this work until the partners have more fully arranged with me the agreement as to what i was to receive for carrying the plan into execution. i do not wish that anyone but your father should be made acquainted with the plan, and have no doubt he will have sufficient confidence in the scheme to adopt it. i shall be glad to hear from you soon, as i intend to go to padstow in a few days and shall not return under a fortnight. "your humble servant, "rd. trevithick. "n.b.--i this day received a letter from mr. gould, requesting to know what the expense of an engine and apparatus would be for clearing falmouth harbour, which i have sent by the post."[ ] [footnote : see letter, th february, , vol. i., p. .] it had been and still is the custom to bore rock either with a long and heavy jumper-chisel, lifted a foot or two, and falling by its own weight, pounding to powder a portion of the rock, or by the use of a much smaller chisel called a borer, struck by a hammer. trevithick having made his steam-engine perform those jumper and borer movements, turned his attention to the improvement of the borer, and found that a revolving bit was more suitable for drilling limestone than the borer-chisel. the powdered stone was removed from the hole by giving a screw form to the stem of the bit. many years afterwards precisely similar bits for boring wood were patented as new things, and are still used. within five months of his first communication with the contractors for the plymouth breakwater he had designed and made an engine to bore, lift, and convey to the ship's hold tons of stone daily at less than half the cost rennie was then paying for it. [rough draft.] "sir, "camborne, _february th, _. "i have your letter of the st january requesting to know the time in which the engine will be ready for the bridge at exeter, and also about giving an additional power to it. "the engine shall be ready in six weeks from the end of january, and shall be capable of lifting the -inch bucket you have ordered instead of the -inch before proposed, which was to have delivered gallons of water feet high per minute; but now the engine shall be made to lift in the same proportion as a -inch is to a -inch bucket, which will be gallons of water per minute instead of gallons, as was before agreed on, and i shall charge you accordingly. i observe that you have ordered the pump, and from the description you give of it, i think it will answer very well. if you wish a perpendicular cylinder instead of a horizontal, i can construct it in that way, but it will not be so convenient for a portable engine. i have now engines with horizontal cylinders at work above ten years, and find them answer equally as well as a perpendicular cylinder. "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, "richd. trevithick. "jas. green, esq., _exeter_." engineers nowaday are not in the habit of designing and constructing a steam-engine in six weeks, or willing to alter the agreed form from the horizontal to the vertical without charge. [rough draft.] "mr. robert fox, jun., informed me the other day that you had the sole direction of the work at plymouth. had i known it at the time you were at scorier i should have communicated to you my ideas relating to the application of machinery there; but until a few days since i had an idea that the young mr. fox was about to take an active part in the management, which i now find was never his intention, only he very much wishes to have an experiment tried to see to what extent an engine was capable of performing as against men. an engine is now preparing for that purpose." "sir, "camborne, _february th, _. "on my return from padstow this evening, where i have been for the last fortnight, i found your letter of the th inst. respecting the getting an apparatus ready for the plymouth undertaking. before i set about it i wish to see you and mr. fox, and will call any day you may appoint. waiting your reply, "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, "r. trevithick. "mr. robert fox, jun., _falmouth_" after three months of experimental scheming, without a thought of keeping his inventions secret, trevithick for a moment became worldly wise, and asked for a written agreement before sending his locomotive boring engine to the breakwater. [rough draft.] "mr. fox, "camborne, _ th march, _. "sir,--i expect to be called to london immediately after the end of this month. the engine with the boring apparatus for plymouth remains at redruth. i very much wish to see you on that business before i leave home, and would be much obliged by your dropping me a note by post, saying what day it would be convenient for me to wait on you. "r. t." the rock-boring machine was completed, and reached the breakwater two months after his interview with the foxes, who were prominent in the quarrying work. "the engine for plymouth will be put to break the ground as soon as i can find time to go up there."[ ] it was impossible for any one man, single-handed, to make perfect such numerous practical inventions as were undertaken by trevithick at that time. his letter of a few months before[ ] reveals the facility with which he moulded the steam-engine to his requirements. "the ploughing engine that i sent you a drawing for, after being used for that purpose, was to have been sent to exeter for pumping water. i have been obliged to take the small portable engine from wheal alfred mine, and have a new apparatus fitted to it for plymouth breakwater. a small engine which i had at work at a mine i have been obliged to send to the farmers for thrashing." messrs. fox would probably require many engines for the plymouth breakwater, having engaged with government to deliver three million tons of stone; and to prevent delay, the boring apparatus was applied to an engine made for another purpose, while drawings for a new and more suitable engine for boring stone were sent to mr. rastrick. [footnote : trevithick's letter, may , , chap. xxi.] [footnote : see letter to mr. rastrick, january , , chap. xviii.] he engaged that an engine should bore holes to split tons of limestone a day; and that on the following day it should, as a locomotive and steam-crane, load that quantity in waggons, convey it from the quarry to the port of shipment, and then by steam-crane place it in the hold of a vessel. the whole of the work to be done by cwt. of coal and four men. the gross cost would be _s._ per ton for breaking and removing, though at that time mr. rennie was paying _s._ _d._ a ton, which in after years was reduced to _s._, just what trevithick said was a fair price. while this ready application of the high-pressure steam-engine was going on in england, it had also extended to, and was coining money in the mint at lima, where trevithick contemplated going to look after it, intending to land at buenos ayres, and make his way across the continent of south america and the mountains of the cordilleras as best he could, leaving the home field he had made so fertile to be reaped by others, and the stone-boring locomotive to be forgotten for many years. [rough draft.] "sirs, "penzance, _december th, _. "your very great neglect in not writing.... herland engine will work, i expect, in about fifteen days. it is a plunger of inches diameter, -feet stroke, with a double packing around the top of the plunger-pole, in the same way as the steam is turned into the stuffing box of a double engine to exclude the air, only there is a small tube from the bottom of the boiler to the middle of the stuffing box to prevent the escape of steam. "i am sorry to find by mr. uville's letter that the mint engine does not go well. i wish you had put the fire under the boiler and through the tube, as i desired you to do, in the usual way of the long boilers; then you might have made your fire-place as large as you pleased, which would have answered the purpose and worked with wood just as well as with coal. i always told you that the fire-place in the boiler was large enough for coal, but not for wood; also if you found that the cock did not open and shut in proper time, to make the gear to it work the same as the dolcoath puffer whim-engine instead of the circular gear. the boiler is strong enough and large enough to work this engine with lbs. to the inch, thirty strokes per minute. i hope to leave cornwall for lima about the end of this month, and go by way of buenos ayres, and cross over the continent of south america, because i cannot get any other passage. none of the south sea whalers will engage to take me to lima, as they say they may touch at lima or they may not. unless i give them an immense sum they will not engage to drop me there. to be brought back to england after a two years' voyage without seeing lima would be a very foolish trip. to make a certainty i shall take the first ship for buenos ayres, preparations for which i have already made." this unfinished rough draft was intended for one of the men who had gone to lima, less fruitful in emergency than trevithick, who, without a moment's hesitation, would have constructed a fire-place outside the boiler, when the internal tube fire-place was found to be too small for a wood fire. trevithick's proposing sixty years ago to make his way over the almost unknown track from buenos ayres, on the atlantic, to lima, on the pacific, was perhaps characteristic of his daring spirit, that turned all things to good account; but he dreamed not that his grandson and namesake would at this time be conducting the steam-horse on the same line of march on the central argentine railway from rosario to cordoba, in the argentine republic. [rough draft.] "gentlemen, "camborne, _august th, _. "i received yours at bridgenorth of the th july, ordering a steam-engine for rolling sugar-cane. i immediately set the founders to work on one for you, which is to be ready by my return to bridgenorth about the end of september. i intend to ship it for bristol, and will call on you on my journey down to cornwall, as i intend to set it to work at bristol for your inspection before it is put on board ship. the price i cannot accurately say at present, as the engine now making is on a new principle; and as it will be more simple in construction, i hope to be able to render it within the price before stated to you. as it is on a new plan i cannot fix the price until i know the cost of making. all i can say at present is that it shall not exceed what i stated to you in my former letter. "i remain, sirs, "your humble servant, "rd. trevithick. "messrs. pinneys and ames, _bristol_." the engine for the sugar plantations in jamaica, on an improved plan, was to be constructed in the short space of six weeks, and if a saving in cost was effected, the inventor would hand the whole of it to the purchaser. [rough draft.] "sir, "penzance, cornwall, _march th, _. "i received your favour of the th january, but did not answer it in due course, because i was then erecting a very large engine, which is the first on a new plan. this engine, which has been at work about a month, performs exceedingly well. the cost of erection and the consumption of coal are not above one-third of a boulton and watt's, to perform the same work. an engine of -horse power will not require a space of more than feet high, feet long, and feet inches wide. in some instances i employ a balanced wheel feet in diameter. the water required will be a pint and a half per minute. the coal, one quarter of a bushel or lbs. per hour. the price of a machine, finished and set to work, guineas. it does not require either wood or mason work, but stands independent of every fixture, and may be set to work in half an hour after being brought on your premises. "your obedient servant, "richd. trevithick. "dr. moore, m.d., _exeter_." a -horse-power portable high-pressure steam-puffer engine cost _l._, with internal fire-tube and machinery attached to the boiler, ready for work in half an hour after lighting the fire, consumed lbs. of coal and gallons of water for each hour's work, at a cost of threepence. the reader's attention has been very imperfectly drawn to the numerous subjects touched on in these remnants of trevithick's correspondence between the years and ; among them may be traced the portable high-pressure steam-engine, the tubular cylindrical boiler of wrought iron, the economy of expansive working with steam of lbs. on the inch, but limiting it to lbs. when not in the charge of experienced workmen, and testing boilers by water pressure to four times the intended working pressure. the economy of heat in smelting furnaces and in the aërated steam-engine were bold means to large results. the cheap l. steam-engine of , with open-top cylinder and rigid simplicity of gear, resembling newcomen's first atmospheric engine, was really a high-pressure steam expansive engine, with the germ of surface condensation, as ready to convey itself from mine to mine or from farm to farm, and to join in performing labourer's work, even to boring and conveying rock by land or sea, as the most perfect of modern engines; and yet this unadorned engine, as seen in the agricultural engine of the following chapter, followed the excellent mechanism of the double-acting kensington model of , and the still more beautiful engine of the patent and london locomotive. chapter xviii. agricultural engines. the late mrs. trevithick said "that during the difficulties in london in and , when trevithick was overwhelming himself with new experiments and the cost of patents, and law expenses, lawyers and bailiffs took everything worth having from her house, including account-books, drawings, papers, and models, which she never saw again." his earlier account-books left in safety in his cornish home, though very disconnected, give trustworthy traces of his work up to . from that time only detached accounts or papers are found until , when the unused pages in two old mine account-books of his father served as his letter (rough-draft) books; and judging from their number and style, his correspondence was most extensive and varied. [rough draft.] "hayle foundry, _february th, _. "to sir christopher hawkins, baronet. "sir,--i now send you, agreeable to your request, a plan and description of my patent steam-engine, which i lately erected on your farm for working a thrashing mill. the steam-engine is equal in power to four horses, having a cylinder of inches in diameter. the cylinder, with a moderate heat in the boiler, makes thirty strokes in a minute, and as many revolutions of the fly-wheel, to every one of which the drum of the thrashing mill (which is feet in diameter) is turned twelve times. the boiler evaporates gallons of water in an hour, and works six hours without being replenished. the engine requires very little attention--a common labouring man easily regulates it. [illustration: trevithick's high-pressure steam-puffer thrashing engine, .] "the expense of your engine of -horse power, compared with the expense of four horses, is as follows:-- £ _s._ original cost of the steam-engine building material and rope ------ £ ------ interest on the above _l._ at per cent. wear and tear at per cent. ------ ------ original cost of horse machinery for four horses £ interest on the above at per cent. ------ wear and tear at per cent. ------ "two bushels or lbs. of coal will do the work of four horses, costing _s._ _d._ "four horses at _s._ each, gives _s._ cost of coal, _s._ _d._ as compared with _s._ for horses. "i remain, sir, "your obedient servant, "richard trevithick." "cornwall, _february th, _. "having been requested to witness and report on the effect of steam applied to work a mill for thrashing corn at trewithen, we hereby certify that a fire was lighted under the boiler of the engine five minutes after eight o'clock, and at twenty-five minutes after nine the thrashing mill began to work, in which time bushel of coal was consumed. that from the time the mill began to work to two minutes after two o'clock, being four hours and three-quarters, sheaves of barley were thrashed clean, and bushel of coal more was consumed. we think there was sufficient steam remaining in the boiler to have thrashed from to sheaves more barley, and the water in the boiler was by no means exhausted. we had the satisfaction to observe that a common labourer regulated the thrashing mill, and in a moment of time made it go faster, slower, or entirely to cease working. we approve of the steadiness and the velocity with which the machine worked; and in every respect we prefer the power of steam, as here applied, to that of horses. (signed) "matthew roberts, lamellyn. "thomas nankivill, golden. "matthew doble, barthlever." this first high-pressure steam thrashing machine was working on the th february, , at trewithen, the property of sir christopher hawkins, as proved by trevithick's drawing of the machine, his account of the work performed, and the report of the three wise men that the power of steam was preferable to the power of horses. its first cost was less than that of a horse machine; but to make the calculated amounts come right trevithick charged per cent. for wear and tear on the horse machinery, and but per cent. on the steam-engine; overlooking the cost of the horses, which would have made the outlay for the horses and machinery greater than for the steam-engine. the whole design evidences simplicity and consequent cheapness; no complication of valves or valve-gear, no cylinder cover, parallel motion, guide-rods, or air-pump, with its condenser and injection-water. the -horse engine, with boiler complete, cost _l._ a common labourer worked it, and as it needed no supply of feed-water during six hours of work, the cost and attention of supplying feed were avoided. if a supply was required during the day it could be given by a pipe with two taps. this first use of steam in agriculture was immediately followed by lord dedunstanville of tehidy, mr. kendal of padstow, and mr. jasper of bridgenorth. sir charles' request for a more official report signed by disinterested persons brought a reply that the thrashing engine continued to work well. "it far exceeds my expectation. i am now building a portable steam-whim, on the same plan, to go itself from shaft to shaft." "if you should fall in with any west india planter that stands in want of an engine, he may see this at work in a month, which will prove to him the advantage of a portable engine to travel from one plantation to another. the price complete is _l._"[ ] [footnote : see trevithick's letter, th march, , chap, xx.] "dear sir, "argyle street, _ th march, _. "i am sorry it is not convenient for me to advance you the money for wheal liberty; adventurers having the dues very low, ought to furnish the needful. i am very glad you have succeeded with your portable steam-engine, and am persuaded they will be more and more adopted. i have shown your account of your thrashing by steam, and sir john sinclair and mr. ---- very highly approve it. sir john sinclair wished the communication had been made to the board of agriculture. sir john wished me to transmit you the enclosed on coals moved by steam ... whether you had a plan of this sort, as they would be very serviceable in passing the friths in scotland. he seems to think you ought to advertise your steam-engines for thrashing; indeed, i think so too. "by the enclosed letter, sir john sinclair wishes you to send him an account of your improved steam-engines. you will be careful in drawing up your letter to sir john, because it will probably be read to the board of agriculture, and perhaps inserted in their publication. you will begin by acknowledging his letter, of date ... respecting the american passage boat ... and your improved small steam-engine. you will give him an account of the saving you have effected at dolcoath, and a certificate of the same by the mining captains; the engine for thrashing you built for me, and the work it did, and the coals it consumed; the expense of the steam-engines, and the uses they may be applied to. "i remain, dear sir, "yours most obediently, "c. hawkins." in trevithick advertised the use and sale of steam-engines, weighing cwt., costing _l._, for thrashing, grinding, sawing, or other home work; and also a more powerful engine for the steam-plough, or the harrow and spade machine for _l._, to travel from farm to farm. he wrote to sir john sinclair:[ ]-- "i received from sir charles hawkins a copy of dr. logan's letter to you, also a note from you to sir charles hawkins, both respecting the driving boats by steam; respecting the engine for thrashing, chaff-cutting, sawing, &c. i am now making one of about two-thirds the size of sir charles hawkins', which will be portable on wheels. by placing the engine in the farm-yard, and passing the rope from the fly-wheel through the barn-door, or window, and around the drum on the machine axle, it may be driven. [footnote : see trevithick's letter, th march, , chap. xv.] "the steam may be raised, and the engine moved a distance of two miles, and the thrashing machine at work, within one hour. "the weight, including engine, carriage, and wheels, will not exceed cwt.; about the weight of an empty one-horse cart. "the size is feet diameter, and feet high. if you wish to have one of this size sent to the board of agriculture as a specimen, the price delivered in london will be sixty guineas." this engine differed from that referred to in the drawing of sir charles hawkins, mainly in the boiler having the fire-place in the fire-tube, requiring no brickwork, and having the advantage of portability. it was very like the earlier locomotive boiler, except that it was placed upright, as steam-cranes now use boilers, instead of being horizontal. [rough draft.] "camborne, cornwall, _april th, _. "to sir john sinclair. "i have your favour of the th instant, informing me that you had sent my letter respecting propelling ships by steam to the navy board; and also requesting a drawing and statement of the thrashing engine to be sent to the president of the board of agriculture, which shall be forwarded immediately. "i beg to trouble you with a few wild ideas of mine, which perhaps may some future day benefit the public, but at this time remain buried, for want of encouragement to carry it into execution. "the average consumption of coals in large steam-engines is about lbs. (or one bushel), to lift , tons of water or earth foot high. "the average cost of this coal in the kingdom is sixpence. the average of a horse's labour for one day is about tons lifted foot high, costing about _s._ "a man's labour for one day is about tons lifted foot high, costing _s._ _d._ "i have had repeated trials of the water lifted by coals, horses, and men, proving that where a bushel of coal can be purchased for sixpence, that sixpence is equal to _s._ of horse labour, and to _l._ _s._ of men's labour. "if you calculate a man to lift tons foot high, it is equal to tons lifted feet high; a very hard task for a man to perform in a day's work. "this calculation proves the great advantage of elemental power over animal power, which latter i believe can in a great part be dispensed with if properly attended to, especially as we have an inexhaustible quantity of coals. "to prove to you that my ideas are not _mere_ ideas, in general my wild ideas lead to theory, and theory leads to practice, and then follows the result, which sometimes proves of essential service to the public. "about six years ago i turned my thoughts to this subject, and made a travelling steam-engine at my own expense to try the experiment. "i chained four waggons to the engine, each loaded with - / tons of iron, besides seventy men riding on the waggons, making altogether about tons, and drew it on the road from merthyr to the quaker's-yard (in south wales), a distance of - / miles, at the rate of four miles per hour, without the assistance of either man or beast, and then, without the load, drove the engine on the road sixteen miles per hour. "i thought this experiment would show to the public quite enough to recommend its general use; but though promising to be of so much consequence, has so far remained buried, which discourages me from again trying, at my own expense, for the public, especially when my family call for the whole of my receipts from my mining concerns for their maintenance. "it is my opinion that every part of agriculture might be performed by steam; carrying manure for the land, ploughing, harrowing, sowing, reaping, thrashing, and grinding; and all by the same machine, however large the estate. "even extensive commons might be tilled and effectually managed by a very few labourers, without the use of cattle. "two men would be sufficient to manage an engine, capable of performing the work of horses every twenty-four hours; requiring no extensive buildings or preparations for labourers or cattle, and having such immense power in one machine as could perform every part in its proper season, without trusting to labourers. "i think a machine that would be equal to the power of horses would cost about _l._ "my labour in invention i would readily give to the public, if by a subscription such a machine could be accomplished and be made useful. "it would double the population of this kingdom, for a great part of man's food now goes to horses, which would then be dispensed with, and so prevent importation of corn, and at a trifling expense make our markets the cheapest in the whole world; because there are scarcely any coals to be found except in england, where the extreme price, duty included, does not exceed _s._ per bushel. "i beg your pardon for having troubled you with such a wild idea, and so distant from being carried into execution; but having already made the experiment before stated, which was carried out in the presence of above , spectators, who will vouch for the facts, i venture to write to you on the subject, for the first and only self-moving machine that ever was made to travel on a road, with tons, at four miles per hour, and completely manageable by only one man, i think ought not to be dropped without further experiments, as the main point is already obtained, which is the power and its management. "your most obedient servant, "richard trevithick." the board of agriculture in had their attention drawn to the feasibility of using the steam-engine to save agricultural labour and lessen the cost of working land. trevithick's intuitive knowledge told him his application would be in vain, though an engine was at work proving the saving of horse-power in the item of thrashing corn. "i beg to trouble you with a few wild ideas of mine, which _perhaps may some future day benefit the public_." a steam-engine could exert as much power by the consumption of _d._ worth of coal as could be given by _s._ of horse-power, or by _s._ worth of men's power. "ideas lead to theory, theory leads to practice, then follows the result, which sometimes proves of essential service to the public." "it is my opinion that every part of agriculture might be performed by steam. carrying manure for the land, ploughing, harrowing, sowing, reaping, thrashing, and grinding; and all by the same machine, however large the estate." "two men would manage an engine capable of performing the work of horses." such a use of the steam-engine, judiciously managed, "would double the population of this kingdom, and make our markets the cheapest in the world; because england is the country best supplied with coal and iron for steam-engines, and the land now growing food for horses would be available for man." its cost would be _l._, and its power sufficient to propel the largest subsoil ploughs and tormentors; and had the board of agriculture supplied such a sum of money as is now ordinarily given by a farmer for a steam-plough, we should have had in ploughing, harrowing, sowing, reaping, &c., by steam. years before, the same kind of engine had been made to work pumps, wind coal from shafts, drive rolling mills, tilt hammers, and steamboats, and convey material from place to place; and why should not his promise to the farmer be also made good with his increased knowledge derived from eight years of active experience? receiving small encouragement in england, he applied to sugar-cane planters to give his engines a trial in the west indies. [rough draft.] "sir charles hawkins, bart., "camborne, _ st may, _. "sir,--i have your favour of the th april, respecting a steam-engine for your friend for the west indies, of the power of ten mules employed at one time. this power we calculate equal to forty mules every twenty-four hours, as six hours' hard labour is sufficient for one mule for one day. "the expense of an engine of this power complete delivered in london would be _l._ the consumption of coals about lbs., or one bushel, to equal the labour of three mules, or from to bushels of coal every twenty-four hours to perform the full work of forty mules (or in proportion for a lesser number), with a waste of about gallons of water per hour, unless a reservoir was made to receive the steam, and then to work the same water over again. "where water is scarce, nearly the whole may be saved. "you remarked that the rope might slip round the notch in the wheel; but to prevent any risk of that kind, i apply a small chain instead of the rope, which works the same as a chain on the barrel of a common thirty-hour clock. "the speed of the periphery of the fly-wheel is about eight miles per hour, which i think is nearly double the speed of the mules when at work in the mill. this would reduce the size of the part which carries the chain on the cattle mill to half the diameter of the present walk of the cattle, which might be done without altering or interfering with the present cattle mills, and might, if required, either work separately or in conjunction with the mules in the same mill at the same time. "to inform your friend of the power and effect of such an engine, i prefer his sending some person down to cornwall, to see it tried on some of the cattle mills or whims in the mines. "engines that have been sent to the west indies hitherto have cost nearer _l._; very large, heavy, and complicated machines, requiring gallons of water per hour for condensing, and could only be managed by a professed engineer, while any common labourer can keep in order and work these engines. if you prefer to send a person with it, the cost will be about _s._ per week. "i remain, sir, "your most obedient servant, "richard trevithick." this letter indirectly points out two long-standing radical errors in engineering phraseology. an early method of describing the value of an engine was by stating the number of pounds it would lift one foot high by the burning a bushel of coal, called the duty of an engine. trevithick's bushel was lbs., while other engineers, under the same term of bushel, meant various weights, up to lbs. another form of speaking was the horse-power of an engine; meaning that a horse could lift a certain number of pounds one foot high in a minute, and that a steam-engine lifting ten times as much was a -horse engine; but, as trevithick points out, a horse only works at that rate for six hours out of twenty-four, while the steam-engine works continuously, performing the work of forty horses, yet is called a -horse engine. the high-pressure engine suitable for the west indies was to be adapted to the existing horse or mule machinery, that either power might be used. its first cost and expense in working to be much less than that of the watt low-pressure steam vacuum engine. [rough draft.] "sir charles hawkins, bart., "camborne, _june th, _. "sir,--yours of the th of last month i received, enclosing a drawing of a sugar-mill from mr. trecothick, which i should have answered per return, but was at that time in treaty for an engine for a sugar-mill with a mr. pickwood, who is in st. kitts in the west indies. "the engine is now being erected at hayle foundry, of the power of twelve mules at a time, or equal to forty-eight mules during twenty-four hours. "the cost is _l._ complete, with numerous duplicate parts. "i hope she will be finished and sent off in a short time. "i have now so fully proved the use of those engines, that i have engaged to take this one back if it does not answer their purpose, and to refund the whole sum if they return the engine to me in working order within four years. "this gentleman says, if this engine answers he shall have two more for his own use, and four of his friends are waiting to see the result before ordering their engines. "the mules that will be turned out of use by mr. pickwood's engine will sell for five times the sum the engine will cost him, exclusive of the wear of mules, with their keep and drivers, besides the greater dispatch and pleasantness of working a machine instead of forcing animals in so hot a climate. "if your friend wishes an engine of this power and on the same terms, i can get two made and sent to london nearly in the same time as one. enclosed i send to you a rough sketch of the engine and mill. i am of your opinion, that sir john sinclair has taken a useless journey by calling on the navy board, for nothing experimental will ever be tried or carried into effect except by individuals. "if i could get an act of parliament for twenty-one years for only one-tenth part of the saving which i could gain over animal power and expense, i have no doubt but that i could get money to carry the plan fully into effect for propelling ships, for travelling with weights on roads, and doing almost every kind of agricultural labour. "but a patent is but for fourteen years, and open to constant infringement; for the inventor of general and useful machinery is a target for every mechanic to shoot at, and unless protected or encouraged by some better plan than a common patent, will have the whole kingdom to contend with in law, and most likely receive ruin for his reward, which has too often been the case. "a plan of such magnitude as this promises to be of, i think ought to be carried into effect by subscription, and as soon as accomplished, the subscribers to be repaid, and the invention thrown open for the use of the kingdom at large. i think about _l._ or _l._ would test the designs. "it is expected that mr. praed will spend some time in this neighbourhood; i hope i shall be able to prove to you and to him the great use of propelling barges by steam. i have a small engine now at foundry, and would put it on board one of their barges for your inspection. i am very much obliged for your continued favours, and beg pardon for so often troubling you. i have so fully proved the great advantages resulting from those portable engines, that i very much wish the public to have the full use of them. "i remain, sir, "your most humble servant, "richard trevithick." a -mule-power engine for st. kitts was being erected at harvey's foundry at hayle; trevithick making himself liable for the whole cost, in case it should not answer the purpose. the mules thrown out of work by the engine would sell for five times as much as the engine cost, to say nothing of the saving in wear and tear of drivers and mules, and the unpleasantness of driving a mule in hot weather as compared with a machine. if an act of parliament would give him one-tenth of the saving he could effect during twenty-one years, a company might be formed for carrying into full effect his plans for propelling ships, travelling with weights on roads, and performing almost every kind of agricultural labour, while a patent for fourteen years was open to constant infringement, and the inventor of useful machinery was a target for every mechanic to shoot at, had law suits with the kingdom at large, and ultimate ruin, as a reward for his labours. inventions of such general application, when fairly established, should be thrown open to the public, government paying the inventors their expenses, and reasonable reward for their time. [rough draft.] "mr. pickwood, "cornwall, camborne, _ th june, _. "sir,--yours of the th april i received about twenty days since, and from that time to the present have been in treaty with messrs. plummer, barham, and co., for your engine. we have now closed for an engine complete, of the power of twelve mules at a time, with suitable duplicates, chains, &c., for _l._ i very much wish for your engine to be set to work by your own workmen, to show the planters the simplicity and easy management of the machine, and also save the expense of an engineer, which will tend to promote their use. the engine will be set to work before it is sent off, and every possible care taken to execute it in the most perfect order. from the experience i have had with common labourers keeping these engines in order, since i wrote to you, i have no doubt you will get on satisfactorily. "i hope to get the engine ready in five or six weeks, but i fear there will be loss of time in shipping it. you may rest assured that i will spare no time or attention to promote the performance of this engine. i am so far satisfied with the probability of its fully answering your purpose that i voluntarily offered messrs. plummer, barham, and co., that if you return it to me for working repairs within four years, i will refund the whole of the sum i am to receive for it. i will take particular care to mark every part and send you a full description. "enclosed i send you a sketch of the engine attached to a sugar-mill. please write to me by return of the packet; it may be in time, before the engine is shipped, to alter, or send you such things as i may not be acquainted with. i shall be glad to know the number of yards your mules travel in an hour when going at what you call a fair speed, in the mill, and also what number of rounds you wish the centre roll to make in an hour when worked by the engine. "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, "rd. trevithick. "r. w. pickwood, esq., "_st. kitts, west indies_." these are not the remarks of an uncertain schemer; every sentence having the impress of the ability and fixed intention of perfecting the work, and the belief that the simplicity of the engine would enable a common labourer to use it. [rough draft.] "sir ch. hawkins, bart., "camborne, _ th july, _. "sir,--if your friend mr. trecothick intends to have a sugar-mill engine immediately finished and sent out with the one i am now making for mr. pickwood, he ought not to lose any time in giving his orders. i have made inquiry at falmouth about sending out mr. pickwood's engine for st. kitts on board a packet, which would save much time, but i fear it cannot be granted unless application is made by some person of note to the post office in london. mr. banfield of falmouth told me that if application was made to send out a model as a trial, he had no doubt but it would be granted. "this experiment with the portable engine that will travel from one plantation to another and work without condensing water, is certainly of the greatest consequence to the planters, and as the whole weight will not exceed - / ton, i should hope that the commissioners at the post office will grant this request. i am sorry to trouble you so often about my business, but i beg the favour of your goodness to inform me through what channel i ought to make this application. "i remain, sir, "your most obedient humble servant, "rd. trevithick." this experiment with the - / ton portable engine to travel from one plantation to another, needing no condensing water, was certainly of the greatest consequence to the planters in the west indies, and should have been of equal importance to the people in england. judging from the weight and cost, as compared with agricultural engines of the present day, trevithick was nearer the mark then than we are now; its working without condensing water the engineers of that day believed to be impracticable, a fundamental error which greatly retarded the use of the high-pressure steam-engine. the providing sufficient condensing water was often a most serious item of cost, and as water mains were not in use, a deep well was a necessary part of a steam vacuum engine. [rough draft.] "gentlemen, "cornwall, camborne, _october th, _. "yours of the th of september i found at my house on my return yesterday from a journey. i am sorry to inform you that mr. pickwood's engine is not ready. near three months ago i set my smiths and boiler-makers to work to complete an engine for mr. pickwood, which parts were finished five or six weeks ago. the other parts of the engine, which were to have been made of cast iron, were ordered and commenced at a foundry in this county, belonging to blewett, harvey, and vivian, and would have been finished and the engine shipped long since had not these partners in the iron foundry quarrelled with each other, and the lord chancellor has laid an injunction and set idle their foundry. i have since ordered the castings to be made at a foundry at bridgenorth, in shropshire, belonging to hazeldine, rastrick, and co., who will complete the engine and send it to you in about two months, at which time i intend to be in town to set it to work before it is shipped for the west indies. "i remain, gentlemen, "your very humble servant, "richd. trevithick. "messrs. plummer, barham, and co., "_london_. "p.s.--immediately on my receiving your order to prepare an engine for mr. pickwood i wrote to inform him that i had begun it, and enclosed a drawing of the engine with the method of connecting the engine to the cattle-mills, and requested he would remit to me his remarks on it, which i received by the last packet, from which it appears for the best that the engine is not in a forward state, because the parts would not have been so suitable to the purpose as they will now be." fortune was against trevithick. a difficulty between his brother-in-law harvey, and his old partner vivian, with blewett, retarded the completion of the engine; and the castings so anxiously waited for were ordered from hazeldine and rastrick. the wrought-iron work was made by the old smiths in his neighbourhood, who had long been in the habit of hammering his schemes into shape. this patchwork way of constructing engines made success much more difficult. trevithick often laughed heartily at the following incident which occurred during this quarrel at harvey's works:--blewett sent a handsome silver teapot to miss betsy harvey, who kept her brother's house, called foundry house. trevithick was sitting with them when the box was brought in and opened. mr. henry harvey was indignant at mr. blewett sending a bribe or make-peace to his sister, and threw the silver teapot under the fire-place. trevithick, however, quietly picked it up, pointed out the dinge it had received, wrapped his pocket handkerchief around it, and saying, if it causes bad feeling here it will do for jane, marched away home with the pot. the writer drank tea from it recently, and also laughed at the dinge. the following was written to mr. rastrick in december, :[ ]-- "i have been waiting your answer to my last, and especially that part respecting the west india engine, as there is a large field there for engines of this kind. i have received an order for a thrashing engine for lord de dunstanville of tehidy, and as i wish those thrashing engines to be known through the country, i intend to take one of the engines ordered for padstow and send it to tehidy; one of the padstow farmers can wait until you make another for him; therefore i would thank you to send the first finished by ship from bristol for portreath or hayle. send a drum with everything complete, of which you are a better judge than i; probably about feet in diameter and - / feet long will be sufficient. there must be a fly-wheel, with a notch to carry the rope, and also a small notch wheel on the drum-axle. i think - / feet diameter for the fly and - / inches diameter for the small wheel, will give speed enough to the drum. mind to cast a lump or screw on a balance of about cwt. on one side of the wheel. there must be two stands on the boiler, and a crank-axle or otherwise a crank-pin in the fly-wheel, whichever you please; with a shaft feet long with a carriage. the engine to stand in a room under the turn-about, - / feet high, feet wide, and feet long. the fly-wheel will stand across the narrow way of the room. the rope will go up through the floor and the drum be shifted by a screw, horizontally on the barn floor, so as to tighten the rope. i shall put down the top of the boiler level with the surface, with an arched way to the fire and ash-pit underground to prevent the chance of fire, which the farmers are very much afraid of. [footnote : see rough draft, trevithick's letter, th december, , chap. xvii.] "i send you a sketch showing how it is to stand. i do not bind you to the size of the drum or wheels, only the room that the fly-wheel works in is but feet wide. put the engine and drum for lord de dunstanville out of hand neat and well, as it will be well paid for, and make the stands, &c., in your own way." this description of lord dedunstanville's thrashing machine illustrates the drawing of that supplied to sir charles hawkins. [rough draft.] "mr. rastrick, "camborne, _january th, _. "sir,--i have your favour of the th inst., in which you do not state the time when you expect i shall have either of the engines that you are executing. as so much time has elapsed since the orders were given, the persons that ordered them are quite impotent. the ploughing engine that i sent you a drawing for, after being tried for that purpose, was to have been sent to exeter for pumping water out of the foundations of a new bridge; but as they intend to begin their work at the bridge before the end of march, the engine must be there before that time, or they will erect horse machines and not use the engine. i have therefore been obliged to send the small boiler that i had for that purpose to hayle foundry, and get the castings made there for this engine to get it in time to prevent losing the order. i have also been obliged to take the small portable engine from wheal alfred mine and have new apparatus fitted to it, to apply this engine for plymouth breakwater. a small engine, from the same patterns as sir charles hawkins' thrashing engine, which i had at work in a mine, i have been obliged to send to one of the farmers at padstow for thrashing, instead of one of those engines that i ordered from you. i expect that the people who ordered the engine for the west indies are also tired of waiting. i have two other applications for engines for the west indies, and the messrs. fox will want a great many engines of that size for the plymouth breakwater. they are to provide machinery, with every other expense, and i am to have a certain proportion of what i can save over what it now costs them to do it by manual labour. i think i have made a very good bargain, for if the plan succeeds i shall get a great deal of money, and if it fails i shall lose nothing. they have engaged with the government to deliver , , tons, for which they have a very good price, even if it was to be done by men's labour. i hope i shall get the engine soon on the spot, and will then let you know the result. as the boiler that was intended for the ploughing engine is to be sent to exeter, i wish you to finish that engine with boiler, wheels, and everything complete for ploughing and thrashing, as shown in the drawing, unless you can improve on it. there is no doubt about the wheels turning around as you suppose, for when that engine in wales travelled on the tramroad, which was very smooth, yet all the power of the engine could not slip around the wheels when the engine was chained to a post for that particular experiment. "that new engine you saw near the seaside with me is now lifting forty millions foot high with bushel of coal, which is very nearly double the duty that is done by any other engine in the county. a few days since i altered a -inch cylinder engine at wheal alfred to the same plan, and i think she will do equally as much duty. i have a notice to attend a mine meeting to erect a new engine equal in power to a -inch cylinder single, which i hope to be able to send to you for. i have also an appointment to meet some gentlemen at swansea, to erect two engines for them, one to lift water, the other coal, which you will hear more about, i expect, soon. if i can spare a few days when at swansea, i will call to see you at bridgenorth. i have not seen mr. richard since you left, but will call on him in a few days and do as you request. if you think the fly-wheel is not sufficiently heavy for his engine, add half a ton more to the ring. "if you cannot finish all these engines at the same time, i would rather the smaller ones should be finished first and mr. richards' stand a little, because if his engine was now ready he would not pull down his thrashing machine until he had nearly thrashed all his corn, and the machine now stands on the spot where the mill is to be erected. "if i call on you from swansea i think i shall be able to show you a new idea, which i think will, if carried into practice, be of immense value. please to write to me and say particularly how you are getting on, and when you are likely to finish the engines ordered. "r. t." trevithick had sent a drawing of a _ploughing_ engine to rastrick at bridgenorth, that the castings might be made, while he himself was having the boiler and wrought-iron work constructed in cornwall. the engine had been ordered as a portable pumping engine, for removing water from the foundation of a bridge at exeter; but before sending it to its destination, he had arranged to plough with it, as a means of perfecting the plans and drawings for a more suitable ploughing engine then in construction, to be fitted "with boiler, wheels, and everything complete for ploughing and thrashing, as shown in the drawing." the _friction of the wheels on the ground would be greater than the power of the engine_; therefore they would not slip when the full power was applied to draw a plough any more than the welsh engine, the wheels of which did not slip though resting on smooth iron. one of his small engines, which had been at work in a mine, was sent as a thrashing engine to padstow. it is evident that, having given a portion of his attention for a year or two to the question of steam agriculture, he had so far progressed in as to construct thrashing machines, portable agricultural engines, and steam-ploughs to be moved by wheels as in locomotives; reaping, sowing, and other work, was also in future to be the work of the steam-engine. a drawing by trevithick--having as usual neither name, date, nor scale, nor writing of any kind, but the watermark in the paper is --illustrates his ideas expressed to sir charles sinclair in :--"it is my opinion that every part of agriculture might be performed by steam." the thrashing and grinding engines were at work, and the tormenting harrowing engine was probably designed for bringing under steam cultivation the extensive commons referred to. in those days, before the practice of underground drainage, the surface of cultivated land was thrown into furrows, or a series of small hills and vales, the latter acting as the surface drain for carrying off the water. suppose the first step in cultivating a common to be the breaking of the soil, and throwing it into uniform lines of rise and fall that facilitated drainage without inconveniencing the tillage, what better machine could have been devised than trevithick's? a combination of the modern tormentor and harrow loosened the ground to the required depth, which was then, by a revolving wheel with spades, thrown on one side, resulting in uniform lines of ridges and hollows. the steam-shoveller was removed, or the tormentor irons raised, when only the harrow was required. the absence of the ordinary shafts at the front end of the framing indicates that the spade-tormentor was not to be drawn by horses, but whether by a locomotive or by a fixed engine is not self-evident. [illustration: trevithick's steam spade-tormentor, .] [rough draft.] "mr. kendal, "camborne, _january th, ._ "sir,--i have yours of the th inst. the thrashing machine engine is ready for you, and shall be sent up immediately. i wish you to get about fire bricks, common bricks, loads of stone, and bushels of lime. the house will get finished while i am fixing the engine. about or weight of iron for your engine has been sent to the blue hills mine, st. agness. i wish you could send down your cart to fetch it from there to padstow. there is no part of these castings but may be easily conveyed in a common butt or cart. when you have the stone, brick, and lime ready, and a cart to send to st. agness for the castings, please to write me, and i will come to padstow at the same time with them, and finish the engine. the sooner you get ready the better, as i expect to have an engagement in about four weeks' time, that would prevent my coming to padstow for some time; therefore i wish to get your engine finished before that time. please to write me as early as possible, and let me know when you will be ready for me, and what day i shall meet your cart at st. agness for the castings. "your obedient servant, "richard trevithick." real inventors hesitate not to erect their own engines, lend a hand in building the house, walk to the scene of action, or take a lift in a cart; and by such steps was the gift of genius moulded to the wants of daily life; while the modern engineer of eminence, living in large cities, knows little of the minutiæ of his work, or even of the working mechanics on whose skill the success of his ideas is dependent. "in , mr. kendal, the proctor of padstow, sent for me to repair his steam-engine. to prevent the old disputes in collecting his corn tithes, he had at work one of captain trevithick's steam thrashing machines. the small farmers sent their corn produce to him to be thrashed; the grain was measured, the tenth taken out, the remainder returned to the farmer. the three-way cock, which worked the engine, was joined in its shell; on freeing it the engine continued to work very well."[ ] [footnote : captain samuel grote's recollections, .] "in i put a new four-way cock to a thrashing engine that captain trevithick had made for mr. kendal, of padstow, who was the receiver of tithe corn. the boiler was a tube of wrought iron, about feet in diameter and feet long, standing on its end. the cylinder was fixed in the top of the boiler; an upright from the top of the cylinder supported the fly-wheel shaft; a connecting rod from the crank-pin in the fly-wheel was fastened to a joint-pin in the piston. the cylinder had no cover. the four-way cock was worked by an excentric on the shaft, moving a lever, which was kept in contact with the excentric by a spring."[ ] [footnote : recollections of captain h. a. artha, penzance, .] "about i worked in binner downs mine one of captain trevithick's puffer whim-engines. the boiler was cylindrical, made of wrought iron. it stood on its end, with the fire under it, and brick flues around it. the cylinder was let down into the top of the boiler. a four-way cock near the top of the cylinder turned the steam on and off. the fly-wheel and its shaft were fixed just over the cylinder. a lever and rod worked the four-way cock and feed-pole. the waste steam puffed through a launder into the feed-cistern. the cylinder was about inches in diameter, with a -feet stroke."[ ] [footnote : recollections of henry vivian, harvey and co.'s works, .] mr. kendal's steam thrashing machine remained at work at least six years, during which time the only apparent repair was the four-way cock, worked by an excentric, which, if neglected, was apt to stick fast in its shell. one of the puffer-whims erected about this time was similar to the thrashing engine for padstow, differing from the earlier one made for sir c. hawkins, in having a portable boiler so arranged that if necessary it could be easily placed on wheels. [rough draft.] "sir, "camborne, _march th, _. "i have your favour of the th inst. respecting a steam-engine for thrashing. i have made several, all of which answer the purpose exceedingly well. they are made on a very simple construction so as to be free from repairs, and are kept in order and worked by the farm labourers, who never before saw a steam-engine. the first i made on this plan was for sir christopher hawkins, who resides at this time in argyll street, oxford street, london. if you call on him, he, i doubt not, would give you every information you require respecting its performance. this was a fixed engine, because it was only required to work on one farm. it has been at work nearly eighteen months, and has not cost anything in repairs, nor any assistance but from the labourer who puts in the corn; he only gives three or four minutes every hour to put on a little coal. a few pails of water, put into the furnace in the morning, is sufficient for a day's work. they have at different times tried what duty the engine would perform with a given quantity of coal, and found that two cornish bushels, weighing lbs., would get up steam and thrash sheaves of wheat in about six hours. "before this engine was erected, they usually thrashed sheaves, with three heavy cart-horses for a day's work. i cannot say exactly the measurement of the corn that it thrashed, but it was considerably above winchesters of wheat with lbs. of coal; not a halfpenny in coal for each winchester of wheat. "the engines that i have since erected have performed the same duty. "the horse machinery is thrown out of use, but the same drum is turned by the engine. "a fixed engine of this power i would deliver to you in london for guineas; it would cost you about _l._ more to fix the furnace in brickwork. "a portable engine costs guineas, but it would cost nothing in erecting, as it will be sent with chimney and every thing complete on its own wheels (the drum, &c., excepted), which you may convey with one horse from farm to farm as easy as a common cart. "if you have not sufficient work for it you can lend it to your neighbours. the last engine i erected was about three weeks since, for a farmer that kept four horses and two drivers. the parts of the horse machine thrown out of use, together with the four horses, sold for more money than he gave me for the engine, exclusive of _l._ per week that it cost him in horse keep and drivers to thrash sheaves per week. "now the engine performs more than double that work, and does not cost above _s._ per week; and the labourer in the barn does double the work he did before for the same money. if you wish the same engine to have sufficient power to turn one pair of mill-stones, the cost will be guineas. "r. trevithick. "mr. j. rawlings, _strood, kent_." "camborne, _ th august, ._ "messrs. hazeldine, rastrick, and co., "gentlemen,--lord dedunstanville's engine thrashed yesterday sheaves in minutes with lbs. of coal. "rd. trevithick." the first steam thrashing engine was worked by a labouring man for eighteen months, without needing repair, or even attention beyond three or four minutes each hour to put on a little coal. necessary stoppages for various purposes caused a day's work to be no more than the engine could perform in half a day. no additional feed-water was required during an ordinary day's work to thrash sheaves of wheat with lbs. of coal, while on a special occasion that quantity was thrashed in an hour and a half, consuming only lbs. of coal. three horses during three days were required to do the same amount of work. a farmer sold his horses used in thrashing for more money than his engine cost, which did twice as much work at a reduced expenditure, and also saved the feed of the horses. such an engine could be delivered in london for guineas, while a portable engine on wheels with a differently constructed boiler, requiring no mason work, would cost guineas. [rough draft.] "gentlemen, "cornwall, camborne, _ th august, _. "i have your favour of the th august, respecting steam-engines for st. kitts. i fear it will not be possible to get an engine ready by the st of november. "as you say the gentleman that is about to take them out is a clever man, and likely to promote the use of them, i will make immediate inquiry, and, if possible, will get one ready, of which i will inform you in a short time. "i very much wish that every person who intends to employ a steam-engine of mine would first examine the engine, and be satisfied with the construction before giving an order, for which reason i must request you to send your friend down to messrs. hazeldine and rastrick's foundry, bridgenorth, shropshire, where he may see the portable steam-engine that was made for mr. pickwood, which the founders will set to work for his inspection in half an hour after his arrival. as this gentleman has a taste for machines, and wishes to make himself fully acquainted with the principle and use of the steam-engine, he will be much gratified with the sight of this curious machine and with the information he will receive from the founders, which will be essentially necessary to him before leaving england. "i am extremely disappointed that this engine was not forwarded to mr. pickwood, as i find from his letter that he has an exceedingly clever and active mind, and is a very fit person to take the management of introducing a machine into a new country. "this engine is engaged by a spanish gentleman, who is going to take out nine of my engines with him to lima, in south america, in about six weeks. "i remain, your obedient servant, "richd. trevithick. "messrs. plummer, barham, and co., "_london_. "n.b.--if your friend goes to bridgenorth, let him show this letter to the founders." the engine, intended for the west indies, so pleased mr. uville, that he begged to have it made over to him for south america, where it worked the machinery for rolling gold and silver in the mint at lima. "about , while erecting a high-pressure pole-engine at legassack for mr. trevithick, and doing some repairs to mr. kendal's thrashing engine, a creole, i think called nash, brought a note from captain trevithick, stating that the bearer was anxious to be taught to erect and work the portable engines for jamaica. "sir rose price, who had property in the west indies, had sent him to mr. trevithick for that purpose."[ ] [footnote : recollections of captain h. a. artha, penzance, .] it is therefore probable that some of trevithick's engines reached jamaica. sir rose price was well known to lord dedunstanville and sir charles hawkins, and living near them, saw the engines at work and their fitness for his property in jamaica. lord dedunstanville's engine of was sold as old iron to messrs. harvey and co. not long before . having remained for some time on the old-scrap heap, it was in that year again worked to drive machinery. instead of the original rope-driver on the fly-wheel, a chain was used, the links of which caught on projecting pins on the driving wheel. in that form it continued to work until , before which it was frequently seen by the writer prior to its removal to make room for a more powerful engine. what greater proof could be given of the fitness of design of this early engine, than its long life of forty years under such rough treatment, and the facility with which it was applied to different uses. mr. bickle, who, from recollection, had made a sketch of this engine before the writer had found trevithick's sketch, says that after the engine had ceased to work, the boiler was turned to account in heating tar in the ship-builder's yard. "in i saw working in a shed at carnsew, in the ship-*building yard of harvey and co., of hayle, an engine working a stamps for pounding up the slag and furnace bottoms from the brass-casting foundry. "i was then the foreman hammerman in harvey and co.'s smiths' shop and hammer-mill, and frequently noticed this old engine and inquired about it. it had been brought from lord dedunstanville's, at tehidy park, where it at one time worked a thrashing machine. the boiler was of wrought iron, built in brickwork, and looked like a big kitchen-boiler. a flattish cover was bolted on to the top of the boiler, and the cylinder was let down into this top. "the cylinder had no cover; it was about or inches in diameter and or feet stroke. the piston was a very deep one, with a joint for the connecting rod which went direct to the crank, which was supported on two upright stands from the cover on the boiler. the fly-wheel had a balance-weight for the down-stroke. a pitch-chain for driving passed over the wheel, which had pins in it, or projections, to catch into the square links of the driving chain; it was worked by a four-way cock."[ ] [footnote : recollections of banfield, foreman with harvey and co., penzance, .] "about , when we were building iron boats for the rhine, the old engine was put to work to drive the tools or machinery in the yard. she was very useful to us and worked very well. she worked about ten years, and was then thrown out to make room for a new and larger engine for our saw-mills. the chain-wheel for driving was made here, it did not belong to it originally."[ ] [footnote : recollections of mr. warren, master ship-builder, harvey and co., .] "my father (then the foreman boiler-maker) about twenty-four years ago took the old engine from the scrap heap, where it had been for many years, and set it to work in the tool shop. my father said it had come from tehidy as old iron."[ ] [footnote : recollections of mr. burral, jun., master boiler-maker, harvey and co., .] the use of the high-pressure steam agricultural engine was not confined to cornwall. mr. h. pape, still carrying on business in hazeldine and rastrick's old engine manufactory at bridgenorth, says:-- "my father worked as a smith under mr. rastrick. mr. hazeldine had the foundry when trevithick's engines were made, and have heard my father speak of them. i have seen three of them at work in bridgenorth; one of them at mr. jasper's flour-mill, it drove four stones, and continued in work up to ; one at sing's tan-yard worked up to ; and one was on mr. jasper's farm at stapleford for doing farm work. mr. smith, now on the farm, worked it up to about . "the engines that worked in bridgenorth had cast-iron cylinders for the outer casing of the boiler, one cylinder for small engines, three or four cylinders bolted together for the larger ones. the fire-tube was wrought iron, the chimney stood up by the fire-door. the cylinder was let down into the boiler; it worked with a four-way cock. there was a piston-rod, cross-*head, two guide-rods on the top of the cylinder, and two side rods to the crank and pin in 'the fly-wheel.'"[ ] [footnote : recollections of mr. william h. pape, bridgenorth, th june, .] "my first husband had to do with the foundry; his father, mr. hazeldine, was a partner with mr. davies and co. in . in the partnership was broken up, and the foundry carried on by hazeldine. i used to have two or three drawers full of drawings and account-books that were brought from the works. i kept them for many years, but now the greater part of them have gone to light the fire; all the drawings are gone."[ ] [footnote : recollections of mrs. marm, bridgenorth, th june, .] the engines described by mr. pape are of the type made by trevithick, in wales, about , having a fire-place in the boiler, and similar in form to the welsh locomotive. the drawings which served to light the fires certainly included trevithick's plans for the steam-locomotive, ploughing engine, the screw-propeller, and many others of equal interest. "dear sir, "stableford, _march th, _. "my grandfather's name was john jasper, esq., of stableford; he must have been one, if not the first, user of a steam-engine for thrashing, winnowing, and shaking the straw all at one operation; it may have been erected eighty years ago, for an old servant of the family just now dead, aged ninety, worked when a boy in the steam-mill at bridgenorth erected by my grandfather about the same time. "the thrashing engine was a side-lever engine, worked with a three side-way cock and tappet, a cylinder about - / inches in diameter, and a feet inch stroke, cast-iron crank-shaft, cross-head, and guides. the boiler was placed underneath the engine, the fire under it, with brick flues. the boiler was about feet long and feet diameter. "the old side rods made of wood are still here, and so was the engine until about twelve years ago. i sent the cylinder, &c., to coalbrookdale. "i am, sir, "yours truly, "thomas smith." the stableford agricultural engine was probably made in . the cylinder, of - / inches in diameter, is precisely the size of that in the welsh locomotive, but the stroke was reduced from feet inches to feet inches, being very nearly the same as the newcastle locomotive. the cross-head, side rods, and boiler were very similar to the welsh stationary engines of that date. this engine remained in use more than fifty years. the engines specially referred to in this chapter fully prove, from their length of service, the practical character of trevithick's inventions, and of his having persevered with his high-pressure portables until their usefulness as locomotives and as agricultural helps had been established; but the ploughing, though fully designed, and probably put into practice, was not followed up to the same approach to perfection, or the record of its progress has been lost. since the foregoing was written, the following has been received:-- "dear sir, "trewithen, probus, _may th, _. "the engine you refer to is still occasionally used here; when first erected there was a large quantity of corn thrashed by it, but of late years it has not been much used except for chaffing, bruising, &c. "i remain, dear sir, "yours truly, "wm. trethnoy. "f. trevithick, esq." trevithick's trewithen engine, which sixty years ago was more manageable than horses going momentarily faster or slower at the will of a common labourer,[ ] remains in use unchanged. [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] his preparations for south america, and application of high steam in the large cornish pumping engines, interfered with the perfecting the smaller agricultural work. chapter xix. pole steam-engine. when in the autumn of trevithick returned to cornwall, the experience of ten busy years had established the practicability and usefulness of the high-pressure engine. the principles of the invention were now to be applied on engines of the largest size. in , the late captain s. grose, a young pupil of trevithick's, was employed to erect at wheal prosper mine, in gwythian, the first high-pressure steam pole condensing engine. it was placed immediately over the shaft and pump-rods, requiring no engine-beam. the air-pump, feed-pump, and plug-rod were worked from the balance-bob. the pole was inches in diameter, with a stroke of feet. the boilers were two wrought-iron tubes, feet in diameter and feet long. the fire was external. shortly after captain h. a. artha erected several of those pole-engines for trevithick. the drawing shows the simplicity of parts of this highly expansive steam-engine, beginning the up-stroke with steam of lbs. to the inch above the atmospheric pressure, expanding it during the stroke down to a pressure of lbs., and then condensing to form a vacuum for the down-stroke. it cost guineas. the drawings of this expansive pole condensing engine are from the dimensions given by captain grose who erected it, and by captain artha who knew it well. [illustration: wheal prosper high-pressure expansive steam-condensing pole-engine, . _a_, cast-iron pole, inches diameter, -feet stroke; _b_, pole-case, a small bit larger in internal diameter than the pole; _c_, cross-head, fixed on top of pole; _d_, guides for cross-head; _e_, side rods connecting the two cross-heads[**typo beads corrected]; _f_, bottom cross-head; _g_, pump-rod; _h_, balance-beam, with box for weights; _i_, connecting rods from balance-beam to bottom cross-head; _k_, guides for air-pump cross-head; _l_, cross-head and side rods for working air-pump; _m_, air-pump, condenser, and water-cistern; _n_, feed-pump worked from air-pump cross-head; _o_, plug-rod worked from balance-beam; _p_, exhaust-valve; _q_, steam-valve; _r_, exhaust-pipe; _s_, steam-pipe; _t_, bracket for carrying working gear; _u_, expansive steam-horn and tappets; _v_, handles for working valves.] [illustration: trevithick's cylindrical boiler for wheal prosper engine, . detail of boilers:--_a_, two wrought-iron boilers, feet in diameter, feet long, using steam of lbs. on the square inch above the atmosphere; _b_, cast-iron manhole door and safety-valve; _c_, ash-pit; _d_, fire-place; _e_, flues, the fire going first the whole length under the bottom of the boiler, then back again over the top, and into the chimney; _f_, brickwork; _g_, ashes or other convenient non-*conductor of heat; the fire-place ends of the boilers were inches lower than the opposite ends, increasing the safety, with less liability to prime, and greater surface for superheating.] "when a boy i was placed as an apprentice or learner with captain trevithick, before he left cornwall for london. on his return to cornwall, about , he employed me to erect his first high-pressure expansive pole pumping engine at a mine in gwythian. "the pole was inches in diameter; the stroke was very long, but i do not exactly recollect the length. it had a condenser and air-pump. there were two boilers made of wrought iron, feet in diameter and feet long. the fire was placed under them at one end, and flues went round them. a feed-pump forced water into the boilers; each had a safety-valve with a lever and weight. the steam in the boiler was lbs. to the square inch. the pole was raised by the admission of the strong steam under its bottom. the steam-valve was closed at an early part of the stroke, and the steam allowed to expand; at the end of the stroke it was reduced to lbs. or less, when the exhaust-valve allowed the steam to pass to the condenser, and the pole made its down-stroke in vacuum. a balance-bob regulated the movement of the engine. "trevithick's character in those days was, that he always began some new thing before he had finished the old."[ ] [footnote : captain samuel grose's recollections. . gwinear.] captain artha, one of his assistants, said:-- "i erected several of captain trevithick's pole-engines. my brother richard worked the one at wheal prosper when first erected. the pole made an -feet stroke. the case was fixed over the engine-shaft on two beams of timber from wall to wall. a cross-head was bolted to the top of the pole, and from it two side rods descended to a cross-piece under the pole-case, from which the pump-rod went into the shaft. a connecting rod worked a balance-beam, which worked the air-pump, feed-pump, and plug-rod for moving the valves. the steam, of a very high pressure, worked expansively."[ ] [footnote : captain h. a. artha's recollections. penzance, .] the first admission of the high-pressure steam under the pole was equal to a force of or tons, causing it and its attached pump-rods to take a rapid upward spring. having travelled or feet of its stroke of feet, the further supply of steam from the boiler was cut off, and its expansion, together with the momentum of the mass of pump-rods, completed the upward stroke. the pressure of the steam in the pole-case at the finish of the up-stroke would be reduced to say or lbs. to the inch, according to the amount of work on the engine. the steam then passed to the condenser and air-pump, and the engine made its down-stroke by the vacuum under the pole, and by the weight of the descending pole and pump-rods. each boiler was a wrought-iron tube feet in diameter and feet long, the fire-place under one end, with brick flues carrying the heated air under the whole length of the bottom of the boiler, and back again over the top or steam portion for superheating. [rough draft.] "camborne, _ th february, _. "i will engage to erect a puffer steam-engine, everything complete at the surface, on the cost-all-lost mine, capable of lifting an -inch bucket, - / -feet stroke, twenty-four strokes per minute, fathoms deep, or gallons of water per minute from that same depth, being a duty equal thereto, for guineas. but if a condensing engine, guineas. if of the same size as wheal prosper, guineas. "richard trevithick." the engines, erected in or , combined the novelty of the steam pole-engine, with the use of high-pressure steam of lbs. on the square inch, and the comparatively untried principle of steam expansion, carried to what in the present day is thought an extreme and unmanageable limit. the wheal prosper engine fixed near the sea-shore at gwythian is referred to in trevithick's note to mr. rastrick,[ ] as "that new engine you saw near the sea-side, with me, is now lifting forty millions, foot high, with bushel of coal" ( lbs.), "which is very nearly double the duty that is done by any other engine in the county." [footnote : see trevithick's letter, january th, , chap, xviii.] this was probably the first application of high-pressure steam to give motion to pump-rods. the engine, as compared with the neighbouring watt low-pressure steam vacuum pumping engines, was small, but the principles of high steam, expansive working, and vacuum, were combined successfully to an extent scarcely ventured on by modern engineers. trevithick's high-pressure condensing whim-engines had been for some years at work in cornwall, but mine adventurers had not dared to risk the application of high-pressure steam to the large pumping engines, fearing its great power would prove unmanageable, and its rapid movement cause breakage of the pump-rods and valves. two distinct inventions or improvements, each of which was actually followed up in different mines, show themselves in this engine: one being the form of boiler to give with economy and safety high-pressure expansive steam for large engines; the other, the application of a pole in lieu of a piston, as a more simple engine for working with strong expansive steam, and more easily constructed by inexperienced mechanics, who had none of the slide lathes or planing machines so much used by engine builders of the present day. "about captain trevithick erected a large high-pressure steam-puffer pumping engine at the herland mine. the pole was about inches in diameter, and or feet stroke. there was a cross-head on the top of the pole, and side rods to a cross-head under the pole-case. the side rods worked in guides. the pole-case was fixed to strong beams immediately over the pump-shaft. the steam was turned on and off by a four-way cock. the pressure was lbs. to the inch above the atmosphere. the boilers were of wrought iron, cylindrical, about feet inches in diameter and feet long, with an internal tube ft. in diameter. the fire-place was in the tube. the return draught passed through external brick flues.[ ] [footnote : recollections of the late captain charles thomas, manager of dolcoath mine.] "when a young man, living on a farm at gurlyn, i was sent to gwinear to bring home six or seven bullocks. herland mine was not much out of my way, so i drove the bullocks across herland common toward the engine-house. just as the bullocks came near the engine-house the engine was put to work. the steam roared like thunder through an underground pipe about feet long, and then went off like a gun every stroke of the engine. the bullocks galloped off--some one way and some another. i went into the engine-house. the engine was a great pole about feet in diameter and feet long. a cast-iron cross-head was bolted to the top of the pole. it had side rods and guides. a piece of iron sticking out from the cross-head carried the plug-rod for working the gear-handles. the top of the pole worked in a stuffing box. a large balance-beam was attached to the pump-rods, near the bottom cross-head. "there were two or three of captain trevithick's boilers with a tube through them, the fire in the tube. they seemed to be placed in a pit in the ground. the brick flues and top of the bricks were covered with ashes just level with the ground. a great cloud of steam came from the covering of ashes. "i should think the pressure was more than lbs. to the inch. people used to say that she forked the mine better than two of boulton and watt's -inch cylinder engines. we could hear the puffer blowing at gurlyn, five or six miles from the herland mine. "in i carried rivets to make captain trevithick's boilers in the mellinear mine; they were feet in diameter and or feet long, with an internal fire-tube. it took four or five months to build them. in the present day ( ) a fortnight would build them. the largest boiler-plates obtainable were feet by foot. we had to hammer them into the proper curve. the rivet-holes were not opposite one another. a light hammer was held against the rivet-head in riveting, in place of the present heavy one, so the rivet used to slip about, and the plates were never hammered home so as to make a tight joint."[ ] [footnote : recollections of mr. james banfield, penzance, .] lest the reader should doubt the comparative power of the watt low-pressure vacuum and trevithick's high-pressure steam-engines, a short but sufficiently close calculation shows that taking stuart's[ ] estimate of the effective power of the watt engine at - / lbs. on each square inch of the piston, and trevithick's engine at anything approaching to lbs. on each square inch, it becomes evident that the latter would be ten or twenty times more powerful than the former. a few figures will put the question in more practical form. [footnote : see stuart's 'history of the steam-engine.'] the wheal prosper -inch pole high-pressure expansive steam vacuum engine commenced its up-stroke with steam of lbs. on the inch, acting on the square inches of the pole, which steam at the finish of the stroke was reduced by expansion to lbs., giving, say, an average steam pressure of lbs. the down-stroke was caused by a vacuum under the pole of lbs. on the inch, reduced by, say, one-third loss in working the air-pump to lbs., giving from the compound stroke a force of lbs. on each square inch, which, multiplied by the area of the pole, gives a net force of lbs. the herland -inch pole high-pressure expansive steam puffer-engine commenced its up-stroke with steam of lbs. on the inch, acting on the square inches of the pole, which steam at the finish of the stroke--we will suppose--was reduced by expansion to lbs., giving an average steam pressure of, say, . as this puffer-engine used no vacuum, the down-stroke gave no increase of power; its compound stroke was therefore a force of lbs. on each square inch, which, multiplied by the area of the pole, gives a net force of , lbs. to compare the trevithick high-pressure steam pumping engine, with the watt low-pressure steam pumping engine, take one of the largest of the latter, made about that time, say, with an -inch cylinder, which commenced its down-stroke with steam of, say, lbs. on the inch, acting on the square inches of the piston, which steam at the finish of the stroke--the writer is describing the usage at that time, for watt himself advocated a less steam pressure--was reduced by expansion to, say, lb., giving an average steam pressure of, say, lbs. on the top of the piston, whose under side was in vacuum equal to lbs. on the inch, reduced by, say, one-third loss in working the air-pump to lbs., which power, from vacuum added to the lbs. from steam, gives a net force of lbs. on each square inch of the piston. as the watt pumping engine moved in equilibrium during its up-stroke, it thereby gained no increase of power; its compound stroke was therefore a force of lbs. on each square inch, which, multiplied by the area of the piston, gives a net force of , lbs. the practical comparison therefore stands,--trevithick's -inch pole high-pressure steam, and vacuum, on each inch lbs., net force lbs.; trevithick's -inch pole high-pressure steam, without vacuum, on each inch lbs., net force , lbs.; watt's -inch piston, low-pressure steam, and vacuum, on each inch lbs., net force , lbs. as the first cost was mainly dependent on the size, the trevithick engine was commercially much more valuable than the watt engine. "i saw captain trevithick's puffer working at the herland mine. the steam used to blow off like blue fire--it was so strong. the lever on the safety-valve was about feet long, with a great weight on it, more than a hundredweight. the engine did not answer very well, for the packing in the pole stuffing box used to burn out, and a cloud of steam escaped. the greatest difficulty was in the leaking of the boilers. you could hardly go near them. before that time we always put rope-yarn between the lap of the boiler-plates to make the seams tight. captain dick's high-pressure steam burnt it all out. he said, 'now you shall never make another boiler for me with rope-yarn.' everybody said it was impossible to make a tight boiler without it. we put barrowfuls of horse-dung and bran in captain dick's boilers to stop the leaks."[ ] [footnote : henry clark of redruth, in , aged eighty-three years.] this difficulty of making a tight and safe boiler, that puzzled watt, was moonshine to trevithick. when the strained boiler and flinching rivets allowed the boiler-house to become full of dense steam, trevithick told them to cover it up with ashes, they would not see it quite so much then, and it would keep the heat in the boiler. bran or horse-dung inside was a good thing as a stop-gap, though it added not to the strength of the boiler. trevithick was himself in a cloud of steam in the engine-house; yet, with such surroundings, he turned on and off his gunpowder steam, from his cannon of a pole-case, of tons force, sending his bolt-shot pole, inches in diameter, its destined course of ten feet, and back again, as though it were a shuttlecock, several times in a minute. having by one or two years of experience proved the value of his new pole-engine, he applied for a patent on the th june, ,[ ] of which the following is the portion referring particularly to the pole-engine:-- [footnote : see full copy of patent, chap. xvi.] "instead of a piston working in the main cylinder of the steam-engine, i do use a plunger-pole similar to those employed in pumps for lifting water, and i do make the said plunger-pole nearly of the same diameter as the working cylinder, having only space enough between the pole and the cylinder to prevent friction, or, in case the steam is admitted near the stuffing box, i leave sufficient room for the steam to pass to the bottom of the cylinder, and i do make at the upper end of the cylinder for the plunger-pole to pass through a stuffing box of much greater depth than usual, into which stuffing box i do introduce enough of the usual packing to fill it one-third high. upon this packing i place a ring of metal, occupying about another third part of the depth of the stuffing box, this ring having a circular groove at the inside, and a hole or holes through it communicating with the outside, and with a hole through the side of the stuffing box; or, instead of one ring containing a groove, i sometimes place two thinner rings, kept asunder by a number of pillars to about the distance of one-third of the depth of the stuffing box, and i pack the remaining space above the ring or rings, and secure the whole down in the usual manner. the intention of this arrangement is to produce the effect of two stuffing boxes, allowing a space between the two stuffings for water to pass freely in from the boiler or forcing pump through a pipe and through the hole in the side of the stuffing box, so as to surround the plunger-pole and form the ring of water for the purpose of preventing the escape of steam by keeping up an equilibrium between the water above the lower stuffing and the steam in the cylinder. by this part of my said invention i obviate the necessity of that tight packing which is requisite when steam of a high pressure is used, and consequently i avoid a greater proportion of the usual friction, because a very moderate degree of tightness in the packing is quite sufficient to prevent the passage of any injurious quantity of so dense a fluid as water. and i do further declare that i use the plunger-pole, working in a cylinder and through a double stuffing, either with or without a condenser, according to the nature of the work which the steam-engine is to perform." though trevithick has been spoken of as a visionary, intractable schemer, observation shows that he adhered with tenacity to original ideas, proved to be good. the plunger-pole pump, the water-pressure engine, the camborne locomotive, the pole steam-engine, were all built on the same groundwork originally started with, of greatest simplicity of form, and absence of many pieces; and it may be observed that he never applied for a patent until the value of the idea had been proved by experiment. in practice the difficulty of keeping the pole-packing in order was one of the objections to the plan; for it either leaked, or, if packed tight, caused much friction and wearing away of the middle of the pole faster than the ends, from the greater speed at the middle of the stroke. the steam-ring was therefore of importance in the engine, in those days of inaccurate workmanship; like the water cup on the gland of the plunger-pump packing, it prevented external air from injuring the vacuum. "mr. giddy, "camborne, _july th, _. "sir,--about a fortnight since i received letters from lima, and also letters to the friends of the men who sailed with the engines. they arrived on the th january, after a very good passage, and without one hour's sickness. both their and my agreements were immediately ratified, and they are in high spirits. the ship finished discharging on the th february, which was the day those letters sailed from lima with $ , for me, which has all arrived safe. "i shall make another fit-out for them immediately. i expect that all the engines will be at work before the end of october; half of them must be at work before this time. the next day, after their letters sailed for europe, they intended to go back to the mines. woolf's engine is stopped at herland, and i have orders to proceed. a great part of the work is finished for them, and will be at work within two months from the time i began. i only engage that the engine shall be equal to a b. and watt's -inch single, but it will be equal to a double -inch cylinder. it is a cast-iron plunger-pole, over the shaft, of inches diameter, -feet stroke. the boiler is two tubes, feet long each, feet diameter, / an inch thick, of wrought iron, side by side, nearly horizontal, only inches higher at the steam end of the tubes, to allow the free passage of steam to the steam-pipe. there are two -inch valves, one the steam-valve, the other the discharging valve. i have made the plunger-case and steam-vessel of wrought iron / of an inch thick. the steam-vessel is inches in diameter. the plunger stands on beams over the shaft, with the top of it at the level of the surface, with a short t-piece above the plunger-pole, and a side rod on each side, that comes up between the two plunger-beams in the shaft; this does away with the use of an engine-beam, and the plungers do away with the use of a balance-beam. [illustration: pole-engine.] "the fire is under the two tubes, and goes under them for feet, and then returns again over them, and then up the chimney. those tubes need no boiler-house, because they are arched over with brick, which keeps them from the weather, and scarcely any engine-house is needed, only just to cover the engineman. "suppose a -inch cylinder (having inches), at lbs. to the inch, an -feet stroke, working nine strokes per minute (which is more strokes of that length than she will make when loaded to lbs. to the inch). inches. in a -inch cylinder, single. lbs. to the inch. ------- feet stroke. ------- strokes per minute. ------- lbs. lifted one foot high per minute. ------- "suppose a -inch plunger-pole, -feet stroke, ten strokes per minute (which is not so fast by three or four strokes per minute as this engine will go, because she will have no heavy beam to return, neither will she have to wait for condensing, like b. and watt's, which, when loaded, hangs very long on the injection). square inches in a -inch plunger-pole. strokes per minute. ------- feet stroke. ------- lbs. to the inch, real duty. ------- ------- lbs. lifted one foot high per minute. ------- "i should judge that less than lbs. to the inch above the atmosphere would be quite enough to do the work of a -inch cylinder single, which is but a trifle for those wrought-iron tubes to stand. this engine, everything new, house included, ready for work, will not exceed _l._ two months are sufficient for erecting it. the engine of woolf's, at wheal vor, which is but two-thirds the power of a -inch cylinder, single power, cost _l._, and was two years erecting. i would be much obliged to you for your opinion on this business. "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, "richard trevithick. "i am sorry to say that the mines in general are very poor." he shows that with steam of lbs. to the inch, his herland pole puffer steam-engine of inches in diameter would be equal in power to the watt low-pressure steam vacuum engine, with a -inch cylinder. herland, like dolcoath and wheal treasury, was the chosen battle-ground of rival engineers; fifty years after newcomen had there erected his famously large -inch cylinder engine, watt surpassed it in size by a cylinder inches more in diameter, and, after personally superintending its erection in , declared that "it could not be improved on." mr. davey, the mine manager, considered that it did twenty millions of duty, though mr. watt had made it twenty-seven millions with a bushel of coal.[ ] this difference is probably explained by the then cornish bushel weighing lbs., while watt generally calculated a bushel at lbs. [footnote : lean's 'historical statement of the steam-engine,' p. .] trevithick declining to believe watt's prognostication, a public test of watt's engines in the county was demanded; mr. davies gilbert, with mr. jenkin, were requested to report on their duty, and gave it in as averaging seventeen millions.[ ] during the same year the adventurers in herland mine engaged trevithick and bull, jun., to erect a -inch cylinder bull engine to compete with watt's -inch cylinder. the result of this fight is not traceable, nor what took place there during the succeeding fifteen years; when in woolf erected in cornwall his double-cylinder engine to compete with watt's engine, and trevithick attacked them both with his herland high-pressure pole puffer in , when he erected at his own risk and cost a -inch pole-engine, engaging that it should, both in power and economical duty, equal the watt -inch engine. the boilers were similar in form to those used a year before in wheal prosper high-pressure steam vacuum pole-engine, being two wrought-iron tubes, each feet long and feet in diameter, made of plates half an inch thick. the fire was in external flues. the engine was fixed directly over the pump-rods in the shaft, using neither main beam nor air-pump. [footnote : lean's 'historical statement of the steam-engine,' p. .] trevithick's rough hand-sketch shows the steam-ring in the stuffing box and the steam-vessel; the particular use of the latter he has not described: probably it was because cornish pumping engines, not having the controlling crank to limit the movement of the piston, are obliged to trust to the very admirable, but little understood, steam-cushion, without which the ascending piston would inevitably strike and break the cylinder-cover, while in the pole puffer-engine this danger was during the descent of the pole, and therefore the discharge-steam valve was closed, while the steam in the pole-case was still of ten or more pounds to the inch, so that by the time the pole reached the finish of its down-stroke, it had compressed this steam-cushion, filling also the steam-vessel, with a pressure approaching to that in the boiler, and equal to the weight of the pole and pump-rods. a comparatively small supply of steam from the boiler into the steam-vessel brought it up to the boiler pressure, sending the pole and pump-rods upwards with a spring. the steam-valve then closed, allowing the momentum of the great weight of pump-rods, together with the expanding steam, to complete the up-stroke. the discharge-valve was then opened for a moment, allowing a blast of steam to escape, reducing the pressure say to one-half. the weight of the rods caused their downward movement, raising the load of water in the plunger-pole pumps, and at the same time compressing the steam from the pole-case into the steam-vessel, equal at the finish of the stroke to the support of the pole and pump-rods. this most simple steam-engine combined in the greatest degree the two elements of expansion and momentum. the up-stroke began with a much higher pressure of steam than was necessary to raise the load; having given momentum to the rods, the supply of steam was cut off, and the stroke was completed by expansion. the down-stroke began with a comparatively low pressure of steam under the pole. the unsupported pump-rods fell downwards, setting in upward motion the column of water in the plunger-pole pumps. the discharge-valve was closed long before the completion of the down-stroke, and the momentum of the moving mass of rods and water compressed the steam driven from the pole-case into the steam-vessel up to a pressure equal to the support of the pole and pump-rods. the pole was, therefore, continually floating or rising and falling in steam of ever-varying pressure. trevithick' s figures show the working power of the -inch pole as much greater than watt's -inch cylinder engine, even when the steam pressure in the former was much reduced, and that woolf's double-cylinder engine, of less power, cost ten times as much as the pole-engine. this sum probably included the costly buildings required for the beam-engines, which trevithick's plan dispensed with. the reader may judge of the perfection of mechanism in this plain-looking engine from the fact that a pole, with lbs. of steam to the inch in the boiler, was equal to or tons weight, thrown up and down its -feet stroke ten or fourteen times a minute, with a limit of movement perfectly under control, while modern engineers are building ships' turrets because of the difficulty of raising and depressing a -ton gun from the hold to above the water level. [rough draft.] "sir, "camborne, _september th, _. "i received a letter dated the th of august, from mr. davies, in which he did not mention the name of herland castings. on the th of the same month i wrote to you, informing you of the same, and requesting to know what state of forwardness the castings were in. on the th of august i received another letter from mr. davies, not saying what state of forwardness the castings were in, nor when they would be finished, only that they would set their hands about them, and that i might expect a letter from you stating the particulars, which has not yet come to hand. i have waited so long that i am quite out of patience. you will know that it is now nearly double the time that the castings were to have been finished in, and you have not yet answered my letters as to the state of the castings nor when they will be finished. i must again request you to write to me on this subject, otherwise i must immediately remove the orders to some other founders that may be a little more attentive to their customers. i must be informed in the positive, whether the castings will be at bristol by the next spring-tide, as a vessel is engaged for the purpose of taking them to cornwall. "yours, &c., "r. t. "mr. john rastrick, "_chepstow, south wales_." rastrick, whom he had known at the thames driftway, had become the managing engineer at the bridgenorth foundry. [rough draft.] "mr. george cowie, "camborne, _september th, _. "i received your favour of the th, and on the rd called on mr. wm. sims, your engineer, who went with me to beeralstone mine the same day. we arranged on the spot what was necessary for the engine. i hope it will be at work in good time, before the winter's floods set in. nothing can prevent it, unless the castings are detained by contrary winds. the boilers are nearly finished in cornwall. the castings at bridgenorth are in a forward state. i intend leaving this evening for bridgenorth, to ship the castings, both for herland and beeralstone. it was the wish of the agents on the mine that these castings might be sent to swansea, and taken from thence to the mine with a freight of coal. i shall, if possible, get the herland castings in the same ship. the workmen making your boilers want an advance of cash to enable them to finish. they provide both iron and labour, for which they are to receive _l._ per ton for the boiler when finished; the weight will be about tons. you may send this money to mr. sims or to me, or otherwise you may direct it to mr. n. holman, boiler-maker, pool, near truro. _l._ will satisfy them for the present. i hope to be in london this day week, and will call at your office. "yours, &c., "r. trevithick." the pole-engine was not only used in several mines shortly after its first introduction, but mr. sims, the leading engineer of the eastern mines, not generally favourable to trevithick, advocated its application in the traditional watt district. scarcely had he smoothed the way with one opponent than another sprung up in an unexpected quarter. his brother-in-law, harvey, with his once friend, andrew vivian, then a partner with harvey, opposed his plans at the herland. they were annoyed at trevithick's sending his orders for castings and machinery to bridgenorth, and may have had doubts of the success of the new inventions. they had authority in the mine, probably as shareholders, a position generally acquired in cornwall by those who supply necessary mine material, as well as by the smelters who buy the mineral from the mines. the williamses and foxes, controlling the eastern district of mines, were also shareholders and managers, supplying machinery and buying the mine produce. [rough draft.] "sir, "penzance, _ th december, _. "yesterday i was at herland, where i was informed that captain andrew vivian had been the day before, on his return from mr. harvey's, and discharged all the men on the mine, without giving them a moment's notice. before the arrival of the castings the pitmen, sumpmen, carpenters, and smiths were very busy getting the pit-work ready; at which time h. harvey and a. vivian were exulting in reporting that the iron ore was not yet raised that was to make the herland castings. the day that they heard of their arrival they discharged all the labourers, and ordered the agents not to admit another sixpence-worth of materials on the adventurers' account, or employ any person whatever. "the agents sent a short time since to perran foundry[ ] for the iron saddles and brasses belonging to the balance-bob, the property of the adventurers; but they refused to make them, with a great deal of ill-natured language about my engine. [footnote : belonging to williams and co.] "i am determined to fulfil my engagement with the adventurers, and yesterday ordered all the smiths, carpenters, pitmen, and sumpmen to prepare the adventurers' pit-work, and ordered the agents to get the balance-bob and every other thing that may be wanted at my expense, so as to fork the first lift, which i hope to have dry by monday three weeks. the engine will be in the mine this week, and in one fortnight after i hope the engine will be at work, and in less than a week more the first twenty fathoms under the adit will be dry. "in consequence of the perran people refusing to send the saddles and brasses for the balance-bob, we will make shift in the best way we can without them. the brasses i have ordered on my own account at mr. scantlebury's. the coals for the smiths i have also ordered, and the same for the engine to fork the first lift. this is very uncivil treatment in return for inventing and bringing to the public, at my own risk and expense, what i believe the country could not exist without. i am determined to erect the engine at all events and upset this coalition before i leave europe, if it detains me one year to accomplish it. "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, "richard trevithick. "mr. phillip, "_george yard, lombard street_. "p.s.--i should be glad to hear from you what is going forward respecting an arrangement of the shares." [rough draft.] "gentlemen, "penzance, _ rd december, _. "i have received the herland castings, and am very seriously sorry to say, after we had fixed together the castings on the mine and made the joints, on attempting to put the plunger-pole into the case it would not go down; neither would either of the rings go to their places into the cylinder and on to the pole; therefore the whole engine must be again taken to pieces and sent to a turning and boring mill to be newly turned and bored. how to get this done i cannot tell, for the founders here will not do it because they had not the casting them. already great expenses have been incurred by delays, and now to send them back to bridgenorth at an immense loss of time and money will be a very serious business indeed. i think that either the cylinder is bored crooked or the plunger-pole turned crooked, or both, as it will sink farther down into the cylinder on turning it round on one side than it will on the other. the whole job is most shamefully fitted up, and was never tried together before sent off. write to me by return of post and say what i am to do in this dilemma. "yours, &c., "richard trevithick. "hazeldine, rastrick, and co., "_bridgenorth_." the new engine-work from bridgenorth on arrival was found to be so inaccurately made that the pole would not go into the pole-case. henry phillips,[ ] who saw the engine make its first start, says:-- [footnote : still working in harvey's foundry at hayle, .] "i was a boy working in the mine, and several of us peeped in at the door to see what was doing. captain dick was in a great way, the engine would not start; after a bit captain dick threw himself down upon the floor of the engine-house, and there he lay upon his back; then up he jumped, and snatched a sledge-hammer out of the hands of a man who was driving in a wedge, and lashed it home in a minute. there never was a man could use a sledge like captain dick; he was as strong as a bull. then, he picked up a spanner and unscrewed something, and off she went. captain vivian was near me, looking in at the doorway; captain dick saw him, and shaking his fist, said: 'if you come in here i'll throw you down the shaft.' i suppose captain vivian had something to do with making the boilers, and captain dick was angry because they leaked clouds of steam. you could hardly see, or hear anybody speak in the engine-house, it was so full of steam and noise; we could hear the steam-puffer roaring at st. erth, more than three miles off." by the end of january, , the engine was ready for work, and after ten days of experience, he thus described the result:-- "mr. davies giddy, m.p., "penzance, _ th february, _. sir,--i was unwilling to write you until i had made a little trial of the herland engine. it has been at work about ten days, and works exceedingly well; everyone who has seen it is satisfied that it is the best engine ever erected. it goes more smoothly than any engine i ever saw, and is very easy and regular in its stroke. it's a -inch cylinder, - / -feet stroke. we have driven it eighteen strokes per minute. in the middle, or about two-thirds of the stroke, it moved about feet per second, with a matter in motion of tons; and that weight returned thirty-six times in a minute, with bushels of coal per hour. this of itself, without the friction, or load of water, is far more duty than ever was done before by an engine. i found that it required about lbs. to the inch to work the engine the first twelve hours, going one-third expansive, twelve strokes per minute, - / -feet stroke, with bushels of coal. the load of water was about , . this was occasioned by the extreme friction, the plunger-pole being turned, and the plunger-case bored, to fit so nicely from end to end, that it was with great difficulty we could at all force the plunger-pole down to the bottom of the plunger-case. this is now in a great degree removed, and since we went to work we have thrown into the balance-box tons of balance, and it would carry tons more at this time. we must have carried that load in friction against the engine, therefore, if you calculate this, you will find it did an immense duty, going twelve strokes per minute, - / -feet stroke, with bushels of coal per hour. the engine is now working regularly twelve strokes per minute, with lbs. of steam, - / -feet stroke, three-quarters of the stroke expansive, and ends with the steam rather under atmosphere strong, with considerably within bushels of coal per hour. i would drive her faster, but as the lift is hanging in the capstan rope under water, they are not willing to risk it. i have raised the steam to lbs. to the inch, the joints and everything perfectly tight. i took the packing out of the stuffing box and examined it, and found that the heat had not at all injured it; the packing is perfectly tight, not a particle of steam is lost. "i have offered to deposit _l._ to _l._ as a bet against woolf's best engine, and give him twenty millions, but that party refuses to accept the challenge. i have no doubt but that by the time she is in fork she will do millions, which is the general opinion here. the boilers are certainly the best ever invented, as well as the other parts. the draught is the best you ever saw; i have only one-quarter part of the fire-bars uncovered, yet from one-quarter part of the fire-place that i first made, i find plenty of steam. the greatest part of the waste steam is condensed in heating the water to fill the boiler; what escapes is a mere nothing. the engine will be loaded, when in fork, about lbs. to the inch. now suppose i raise the steam so high at the first part of the stroke as to go so expansive as to leave the steam, at the finish, only atmosphere strong, shall i, in that case, use any more coal than at present? the materials and joints will stand far more than that pressure; lbs. to the inch would not injure them. when the engine gets on two lifts, i will write to you again, and in the meantime please to give me your thoughts on the engine. every engine that was erecting is stopped, and the whole county thinks of no other engine. "your very obedient servant, "rd. trevithick." the new pole puffer-engine worked so satisfactorily and its movements were so manageable that the length of the stroke was increased by the spare inches, which had been allowed as a margin in case of its overrunning its intended stroke. it would bear being worked at eighteen strokes a minute, while the watt -inch engine did not exceed nine strokes a minute; with steam in the boiler of lbs. to the inch it performed its work when the steam supply was cut off at two-thirds of the stroke, completing it by expansion. it also worked well with steam of lbs. to the inch; but the want of strength in the pump-rods and the requirements of the mine caused the regular working pressure of steam to be reduced to lbs. on the inch, and to be cut off when the pole had moved through the first quarter of its stroke. the excellent draught causing the fire-bars to be reduced to one-quarter of their original surface, and the heating the feed-water by the waste steam in this powerful pumping engine, indicate the use of the blast-pipe as at that time worked in the welsh puddling-mill engine. watt's engine was for a moment forgotten, that he might challenge woolf to a trial, giving him as a help twenty millions, or the understood duty of the watt engine. this non-condensing pole-engine, with tons of pump-rods, moved at a maximum speed of feet a second, and was equal to its work with a steam pressure of lbs. on the inch. trevithick contemplated extending the expansive principle even further than he had done in the wheal prosper pole condensing engine, so that at the finish of the up-stroke the steam should only be about the pressure of the atmosphere, or say from to lbs. on the inch, having commenced it with steam of from to lbs. on the inch, and cutting off the supply from the boiler when the pole had gone but a very small part of its upward stroke, more or less as the mine requirements admitted of it. the principle of expansive working and momentum of moving parts was of necessity modified in its application to pump-work. "dear trevithick, "eastbourne, _february th, _. "i have been called here by the decease of my wife's uncle, and consequently your letters of the th did not reach me till this day. "the account you give me of your new engine has been extremely gratifying. the duty performed by the engine in giving a velocity of feet in a second, thirty-six different times in a minute, to tons of matter, by the consumption of bushels of coal in an hour, is indeed very great, amounting to about fifty-seven and three-quarter millions. so that when you obtain a proper burden, and the extraordinary friction arising from the too close fitting of the plunger-pole and case is reduced, there seems to be no doubt of your engine performing wonders. "i am of opinion that the stronger steam is used, the more advantageous it will be found. to what degree it should be applied expansively must be determined by experience in different cases. it will depend on the rate at which the engine requires to be worked, and on the quantity of matter put into motion, so that as large a portion as possible of the inertia given in the beginning of the stroke may be taken out of it at the end. "some recent experiments made in france prove, as i am told, for i have not seen them, that very little heat is consumed in raising the temperature of steam. and if this is true, of course there must be a great saving of fuel by using steam of several atmospheres' strength, and working expansive through a large portion of the cylinder. i have really been impatient for a week past to receive some account of your machine, having learned nothing about it, except from a paragraph dated hayle in the truro paper of last saturday week, and somehow or other the next paper has not reached me, "i hope to be in london about tuesday next, but at all events direct to me there, as my letters are regularly forwarded. "believe me, dear sir, "yours ever most faithfully, "davies giddy." [rough draft,] "mr. john adams, "bromsgrove, _ th march, _. "sir,--i received your favour of the th february, but did not answer it in due course, because i was then erecting an engine on the new plan, which is now at work, and performs exceedingly well. it is equal in power to a -inch diameter cylinder, double power of b. and watt's. the expense of erection, and the consumption of coals in this engine, are not one-third of a b. and watt's to perform the same work. i am the same trevithick that invented the high-pressure engine. i have sent out nine steam-engines to the gold and silver mines of peru. i intend to sail for that place in about a month or six weeks, but shall appoint agents in england to erect these engines. "no publication or description whatever has been in circulation, neither is it required, for i have a great many more orders than i can execute. "i have not seen anything of mr. losh's patent engine, or mr. collins'. "if you should go to london i advise you to call on mr. jas. smith, limekiln lane, greenwich, who is an agent for me, and will soon be able to show you an engine on this plan at work. "i remain, &c., "r. trevithick." unless the foregoing letters are based on error, the only conclusion to be drawn is that watt, on the expiry of his patent right and of twenty-eight years of labour, having erected his masterpiece in cornwall, was within a few years so beaten that trevithick, in his challenge to woolf, offered to throw in the watt engine as a make-*weight, and with such odds to bet him two to one that his comparatively small and cheap high-pressure engine should beat the two big ones, both in power, in first cost, and in economical working. the watt engine was one of his largest, with a -inch cylinder. its power was equal to trevithick's -inch pole-engine, when worked with steam of lbs. to the inch; but the latter also worked with three times that pressure of steam, whereby its power was increased threefold. the first cost of these engines was probably in inverse proportion to their power. trevithick's cost _l._, while three times that sum would not pay for the watt engine. the reported duty of watt's herland engine was twenty-seven millions; and if the trial was with his ordinary bushel of lbs. of coal, the duty would only be equal to twenty millions with lbs. of coal, which constituted the cornish bushel. trevithick's pole high-pressure steam-engine did fifty-seven millions; in other words, performed the same work as the watt engine with less than half of the daily coal. this large economy led to orders for many engines, on his promise that they should cost much less than those of watt of equal power, and should perform the work with one-third of the coal. some believed him, though others were stony-hearted, and as obstinate as donkeys. [rough draft.] "mr. phillip, "penzance, _ th march, _. "sir,--i long since expected to have heard from you that my agreement with the herland adventurers was executed. i have in every respect fulfilled my part of the engagement with the adventurers, and expect that they will do the same with me. the engine continues to work well. every person that has seen it, except joseph price, a. vivian, woolf, and a few other such like beasts, agrees that it is by far the best engine ever erected. its performance tells its effects, in spite of all false reports. "joseph price and a. vivian reported that the engine was good for nothing, that it would not do four millions, and that at the next tuesday meeting they would turn it idle. on the evening before the meeting they met at camborne for that purpose. "captain a. vivian did not attend the meeting. i could not help at the meeting threatening to horsewhip j. price for the falsehoods that he with the others had reported. "i hear that he is to go to london to meet the london committee on monday. i hope the committee will consider j. price's report as from a disappointed man. it is reported that he has bought very largely in woolf's patent, which now is not worth a farthing, besides losing the making my castings, which galls him very sorely. "the water sinks regularly fathoms per month, including every stoppage. on monday next i expect they will be putting down the second lift. the water rises about inches per hour when the engine is idle, and when at work will sink it again at the same rate, showing that the engine is equal to double the growing stream. when drawing from the pool the sinking is not much above inches per hour, which shows that the water drains from a great distance from the country. the engine is going fourteen strokes per minute, -feet stroke, - / -inch box. when herland worked last they drew a -inch box, -feet stroke, twelve strokes per minute in winter, and seven strokes per minute in summer. therefore it appears that the winter water is about from seven to eight strokes per minute, and the summer water from four to five strokes per minute for this engine. "the engine has forked faster the last week than she did before. i think that the great quantity of water that was laying round the mine at the surface is nearly drawn down, and that as we get down to a closer ground the drainage will not be so much. if we have dry weather the water will, at the next shallow level, fall off two strokes per minute before the next lift is in fork. if it continues the same we can continue to sink fathoms per month, exclusive of the time it will take to fix the lifts. as we get down the house of water will lessen considerably. the expense of the engine is about l. per month. the sumpmen and others attending on the forking the water, about _l._ per month more. they have all the materials on the mine for the pit-work, therefore a very trifling sum will bring the water down to the -fathom level, when the mine will pay her own expense. "i will thank you for an account of the meeting. "your obedient servant, "r. trevithick." mr. phillip was the financial managing shareholder--more particularly with the londoners--at that resuscitation of herland mine; and though the new engine was comparatively cheap, both in its first cost and in its consumption of coal, and satisfactorily reduced the water in the mine, payment for it was withheld because the currents of self-interest were against trevithick. mr. joseph price was the manager of a steam-engine manufactory at neath abbey, in south wales, and had been in the habit of supplying castings for cornish mines. arthur woolf was then striving to bring into use his patent double-cylinder engine, and patent high-pressure steam-boiler, which trevithick looked on as copies from hornblower and himself. this, added to woolf's sarcastic manner of speech, roused trevithick's anger. putting aside the words of the disputants, the fact is stated that the pole-engine, with a reduced steam pressure, worked a pump - / inches in diameter, -feet stroke, fourteen strokes per minute; while the largest and best engine by watt in cornwall, placed on the same mine, with a -inch steam-cylinder, gave motion to a pump of inches in diameter, -feet stroke, at twelve strokes a minute; being in round numbers just one-half the amount of the work performed by trevithick's comparatively small engine, which had not a single feature of the watt engine in it. [rough draft.] "captain joe odgers, "penzance, _march , _. "sir,--i have your favour of the th february, and requested mr. page to send to you a sketch of the agreement. on seeing him yesterday, i found that he had neglected to send it to you. he will leave the country for london in a few days, and intends to call on you at dolley's as soon as he arrives. i do not know that the agreement matters much for a few days up or down. the terms are well understood between us, which is that the adventurers and i equally share the advantages that may arise from this new engine over boulton and watt's. when you have fully arranged with your adventurers about the engine, please to write me, and i will immediately proceed to order the engine; and in the interim the agreement will be drawn up by mr. page, and executed either here or in london, just as may suit. "i remain, &c., "r. trevithick. "p.s.--herland engine goes on better and better. your adventurers will get a satisfactory account by applying in town to mr. wm. phillip, no. , george yard, lombard street. he is the principal of the london adventurers." trevithick believed that mine adventurers would agree to pay him one-half the saving caused by his engines, as compared with the cost of fuel in the watt engine. the duty performed by the latter was understood and agreed to generally; persons were chosen by the adventurers to experiment and report on the duty of trevithick's pole-engine, that the amount of payment might be ascertained in proportion to the saving effected. "mr. giddy, "penzance, _april , _. "sir,--i have long wished to write to you about the herland engine, but first wished to see the engine loaded with a second lift, and a trial made of the duty. yesterday was fixed on, before ordering another engine for the eastern shaft. "the persons attended. the arbitrators gave the duty as forty-eight millions, and said they had no doubt the engine would perform above sixty millions before getting to the bottom of the mine. "they were much within the duty, but i did not contend with them, as they said it was quite duty enough. "the engine worked - / strokes per minute, with bushels of coal per hour for the whole time, -feet stroke. there were two pump-lifts of - / -inch bucket, making fathoms, and fathoms of -inch for house-water. "the steam was from to lbs. to the inch. the valve open while the plunger-pole ascended inches, then went the remainder of the -feet stroke expansive. "it went exceedingly smooth and regular. some time since, by way of trying the power of the engine, we disengaged the balance-bob. the engine worked twenty strokes per minute, with tons of rods, &c., and drew - / -inch bucket - / fathoms, and a -inch bucket fathoms, -feet stroke, twenty strokes per minute. "this was about , lbs. weight, with the speed of feet per minute, which makes the duty performed more than the power of three -inch cylinders, single, of boulton and watt, say of -feet stroke, lbs. to the inch, nine strokes per minute, which is more than these engines will perform. i have all the orders for every engine now required in the country, which is not to be wondered at, for one-tenth part of the expense in the erection will do, and the duty is not less than three times as much as other engines. this will be proved before we get to the bottom. "the engine now works at about two-fifths of the load which she will have when at the bottom. when the next lift is in fork i will write to you again. "i am, sir, your humble servant, "richard trevithick." independent examiners reported that the herland pole-engine did forty-eight millions of duty, under various pressures of steam, up to lbs. to the inch, working five-sixths of the stroke expansively, with a speed of twenty strokes a minute, or double the speed of the watt engine; and the importance of those facts deserves the scrutiny and close study of youthful engineers. a small cheap engine, of -inch cylinder, similar in general construction to the wheal prosper pole-engine, but still more simple from the absence of air-pump and condenser, did as much work as three of watt's largest engines with cylinders of inches in diameter. this great stride in the useful value of the steam-engine was forced on the public by trevithick's single-handed energy, when every man was against him, even henry harvey, his brother-in-law and friend, his former partner, andrew vivian, and his once carpenter and assistant, arthur woolf. as a closing attempt to finally crush him, he was made personally responsible for the payment of an engine erected for the benefit of others. this was the great trial test of the power and economy of the purely high-pressure expansive steam-engine as compared with the watt low-pressure vacuum engine applied to large pumps. "sir, "hayle foundry, _ th april, _. "i was at herland to-day. captain grose received a letter while i was there, signed by captain william davey and joseph vivian, requesting him to appoint others to attend the trial of the engine, as it would not be convenient for them to do it. "captain samuel grose, jun., brought down the drawing for your engine. he said he had taken off the working gear only. if you would wish it, we will make the working-gear and all the wrought-iron work on the drawing for the two engines ordered, and will take on a man or two immediately for that purpose. you will let me know about this before you set off, and also if any alteration is to be made in the beam for wheal treasure engine, since you have altered the size of the pole. we had cast the case, but i suppose it will suit some place else. "your obedient servant, "henry harvey. "mr. richard trevithick." "about or i was employed by captain trevithick to erect various pole-engines, one of them at saltram stream. it had worked at tavistock; it was a horizontal high-pressure pole puffer. captain samuel grose was then erecting for captain trevithick a -inch high-pressure pole-engine at beeralstone, on the tamar, to drain a lead mine. i assisted captain grose. the stroke was about feet. it worked with cross-head and side rods. there were two wrought-iron boilers about feet inches in diameter and feet long. the fire and flues were outside. the steam pressure, lbs. to the inch. i also erected a similar engine with a -inch pole at wheal treasure, now called fowey consols mine; and one at logassack, near padstow. those two had brass poles. it was found that the poles cut and wore in their passage through the stuffing box, the middle wearing more than the ends, causing steam to escape. a similar pole of captain trevithick's erecting was then working at wheal regent, near st. austell. "in i saw working at wheal chance mine, near scorrier, an old -inch cylinder boulton and watt engine. a pole of trevithick's was fixed between the cylinder and the centre of the main beam. high-pressure steam was first worked under the pole and then expanded in the cylinder."[ ] [footnote : recollections of captain h. a. artha, penzance, .] the late mr. william burral, for many years manager of the boiler-making department at messrs. harvey and co., at hayle, said:-- "about the year or i helped to erect at treskerby mine an engine for captain trevithick. mr. sims was the engineer of the mine. the engine had the usual cylinder, and close to it one of captain trevithick's poles was fixed. the boilers were captain trevithick's high-pressure. the steam was first turned on under the pole. when she had finished her up-stroke the steam passed from under the pole on to the top of the piston in the cylinder. there was a vacuum under the piston. the steam-cylinder was inches in diameter, about or feet stroke. the pole was inches in diameter, and a less stroke than the piston, because it was fixed inside the cylinder, nearer to the centre of the beam. there was a pole-engine then working at wheal lushington, also at poldice, and at wheal damsel." "captain artha recollects at wheal alfred mine in the -inch cylinder pumping engine used a pole air-pump; one or two whim-engines on the same mine also used them. wheal concord pumping engine, in had a similar air-pump. old wheal damsel, near treloweth, used one as late as . the condensing water and air passed through a branch with a valve on it near the top of the pole-case, just under the stuffing box there was a foot-valve at the bottom of the pole-case."[ ] [footnote : captain artha became the resident engineer at the real del monte mines in mexico; captain samuel grose, one of the first cornish mine engineers; and mr. burral, the engineer of a department at the engine-works of messrs. harvey and co.] the writer has had the pleasure of personal acquaintance with each of those three gentlemen, who as young engineers commenced their labours in the erection of trevithick's engines. no sooner had trevithick perfected the pole condensing engine and then the pole puffer-engine, than he, in conjunction with sims, who had just taken part in the erection of one of his high-pressure steam pole-engines for working the pumps at beeralstone mine, combined the pole with the ordinary watt vacuum engines, supplying them with steam from his high-pressure boilers, in other words, converting them from their original form of low-pressure vacuum engines to high-pressure expansive compound steam-engines. the old -inch cylinder boulton and watt engine, at wheal chance (one of watt's favourite engines), was in transformed into a high-pressure engine, with trevithick's pole placed between the centre of the main beam and the steam-cylinder. the high-pressure steam from trevithick's new boilers was turned under the pole for the up-stroke, after which it was expanded in the old and much larger cylinder on the top of the piston causing the down-stroke; it then, by its passage through the equilibrium valve, allowed the piston in the large cylinder to make its up-stroke, by equalizing the pressure of steam on its top and bottom, while a fresh supply of strong steam from the boiler admitted under the pole gave power to the up-stroke; and finally, the comparatively low-pressure steam under the large piston passed to the condenser and air-pump to form a vacuum for the down-stroke, as in the watt engine. sims, the engineer at wheal chance, one of the mines in the eastern or watt district, was converted and became in or a partner with trevithick, and erected, at treskerby mine, trevithick's high-pressure pole of inches in diameter, as an addition to the old watt engine working with a cylinder inches in diameter. watt, then, within a year or two of his death, was too old to any longer take part in the contest; his engine in the hands of others was converted and became a high-pressure expansive engine. trevithick, as a further proof that he could do without the watt patent air-pump bucket, with its piston and valves, removed it from a watt engine at wheal alfred mine in , replacing it by one of his poles, answering the same purpose, but different in construction. many other mines used them; one remained at work in old wheal damsel in . they have also been used in steamboat air-pumps. having traced during a period of five or six years the rise and progress of the high-pressure expansive pole condensing-engines, the high-pressure expansive pole puffer-engine, and the combined pole and cylinder high-pressure engine, their value in a commercial sense may be further tested by the public acts of the time. lean, an authority on such matters, and certainly not given to unduly praise trevithick, spoke as follows on the duty of those particular engines at various periods; and not the least noteworthy is the fact, that herland, poldice, and treskerby, that were prominent in the early use of the watt engine, threw off their allegiance but shortly before the last days of the great engineer, and converted his low-pressure steam vacuum engines into trevithick high-pressures. "in messrs. boulton and watt, who on a visit to cornwall, came to see it--'the herland engine'--and had many experiments tried to ascertain its duty; it was under the care of mr. murdoch, their agent in the county. captain john davey, the manager of the mine, used to state that it usually did twenty millions, and that mr. watt, at the time he inspected it, pronounced it perfect, and that further improvement could not be expected. "in the average duty of the three engines (boulton and watt's) on wheal alfred mine was about twenty millions. these engines were at that time reckoned the best in the county. "in sims erected an engine at wheal chance, to which he applied the pole adopted by trevithick in his high-pressure engine. this engine attained to forty-five millions; and in it did · millions. "in treskerby engine is reported as doing · millions.--wm. sims, engineer. "in treskerby engine, to which trevithick's high-pressure pole had been adapted, had reached · millions."[ ] [footnote : lean's 'historical account of the steam-engine in cornwall,' pp. , , .] the herland engine of watt in did twenty millions; in trevithick's high-pressure pole puffer in the same mine did forty-eight millions. in his high-pressure pole-engine was combined with a watt low-pressure engine, thereby more than doubling its economical duty. in trevithick wrote:-- "that new engine you saw near the sea-side with me (wheal prosper high-pressure pole condensing engine) is now lifting forty millions one foot high, with a bushel of coal, which is nearly double the duty that is done by any other engine in the county. a few days since i altered a -inch cylinder engine at wheal alfred to the same plan, and i think she will do equally as much duty. i have a notice to attend a mine meeting, to erect a new engine equal in power to a -inch cylinder single."[ ] [footnote : see trevithick's letter, january, , vol. ii., p. .] in the four or five years from his return to cornwall in , to his leaving for south america in , he doubled the duty and the power of the steam-engine. watt once said he had received an oblique look from trevithick, sen. the time was now come for trevithick, jun., to return the compliment; his improved engines having made their way into the eastern mine district, which watt once looked upon as his own. trevithick was short of money and on the point of leaving england for south america, when mr. sims, in the employ of messrs. williams and co., favourable to low pressure, was sent to negotiate for the purchase of a share in trevithick's patent of for the high-pressure steam expansive pole-engine. " th october, .--agreement between trevithick and mr. william sims, prepared by myself and mr. day, solicitor for mr. sims, or for mr. michael williams, under whom sims acted, recites, that in consideration of _l._ paid by sims, he was to have a moiety of the patent for cornwall and devon, and that i should have power to act and make contracts whilst trevithick was out of england. "the day after contract signed, trevithick sailed in the 'asp,' captain kenny, for south america. i was on board when the ship sailed. "i see among my papers, in may, , in reference to the patent, is the following note:--'mr. michael williams said it was verbally agreed that captain trevithick should have one-quarter part of the savings above twenty-six millions.' this, i believe, was the average duty of the engines at that time. "i had several assurances relative to trevithick's claims, and much correspondence, but no allowance was made from any mines but treskerby and wheal chance; though trevithick's patent and boilers were used throughout the county without acknowledgment; and the duty of the engines had soon increased from twenty-six millions to about seventy millions. "in i attended at the account-houses of treskerby and wheal chance, of which the late mr. john williams, of scorrier, was the manager, in consequence of some of the adventurers objecting to continue the allowances on the savings to captain trevithick, when mr. williams warmly observed, that whatever other mines might do, he would insist, as long as he was manager for treskerby and wheal chance, the agreement made should be carried into effect. "i remain, my dear thomas, "your very affectionate father, "rd. edmonds."[ ] [footnote : portion of a letter written at penzance, th february, .] the agreement with mr. sims, or rather with mr. michael williams, late m.p. for cornwall, who exercised large authority in cornish mines, was that he should have for _l._ one-half of the patent for the high-pressure pole-engine, as applied to cornwall and devon. trevithick had desisted from securing a patent for the large high-pressure steam-boilers and expansive working, on a verbal understanding that he should receive one quarter of the saving from the reduced consumption of coal by those two particular inventions, twenty-six millions of pounds of water raised one foot high by a bushel of coal of lbs., being the duty of the best watt engines, to be taken as a starting-point for the payment. treskerby and wheal chance paid for the pole-engine, but the trevithick boilers suitable for high steam, and the simple methods of working it expansively, had been made so generally public, that people professed to think they had a right to them, when but a few years before they had thrown the inventor off his guard by saying "everybody knows that the cornish boiler is your plan, and as it cannot be denied, a patent will be of no service." mr. john williams[ ] stated "that whatever other mines might do, he would insist, as long as he was manager for treskerby and wheal chance, the agreement made should be carried into effect." the williamses paid to trevithick _l._ for the saving of coal by the pole patent engine, as an "acknowledgment of the benefits received by us in our mines;" but no payment was made for the greater invention of the high-pressure steam-boilers then in general use. [footnote : mr. john williams had the remarkable dream, many hours before the event, enabling him to describe the particulars of the assassination of perceval in .] in the watt treskerby engine did seventeen and a half millions. trevithick's boiler and pole were applied, and the duty was increased to more than forty millions. in the same changes were made in wheal chance, and the duty rose to more than forty-six millions. the consumption of coal was reduced to one-half, amounting in round numbers to a gain of _l._ a month in those two mines alone. /# "trevince, near truro, "dear sir, _ th january, _. "i am favoured with your letter of the st ult., enclosing also one from mr. f. trevithick, of the th idem, and have much pleasure in complying with your joint request to the best of my ability. i was well acquainted with the late mr. rd. trevithick, having had frequent occasion to meet him on business and to consult him professionally; and i am gratified in having the present opportunity of bearing testimony to his distinguished abilities, and to the high estimation in which the first cornish engineers of the day then regarded him. i need scarcely say that time has not lessened the desire in this county especially to do him justice. as a man of inventive mechanical genius, few, if any, have surpassed him, and cornwall may well be proud of so illustrious a son. "at this distance of time i can scarcely speak with sufficient exactness for your purpose of the numerous ingenious and valuable mechanical contrivances for which we are indebted to him, but in reference to his great improvements in the steam-engine i have a more particular recollection, and can confidently affirm that he was the first to introduce the high-pressure principle of working, thus establishing a way to the present high state of efficiency of the steam-engine, and forming a new era in the history of steam-power. to the use of high-pressure steam, in conjunction with the cylindrical boiler, also invented by mr. trevithick, i have no hesitation in saying that the greatly-increased duty of our cornish pumping engines, since the time of watt, is mainly owing; and when it is recollected that the working power now attained amounts to double or treble that of the old boulton and watt engine, it will be at once seen that it is impossible to over-estimate the benefit conferred, either directly or indirectly, by the late mr. trevithick, on the mines of this county. the cylindrical boiler above referred to effected a saving of at least one-third in the quantity of coal previously required; and in the year i remember our house at scorrier paying mr. trevithick the sum of _l._ as an acknowledgment of the benefits received by us in our mines from this source alone. mr. trevithick's subsequent absence from the county, and perhaps a certain degree of laxity on his own part in the legal establishment and prosecution of his claims, deprived him of much of the pecuniary advantage to which his labours and inventions justly entitled him; and i have often expressed my opinion that he was at the same time the greatest and the worst-used man in the county. "amongst the minor improvements introduced by him, it occurs to me to notice that he was the first to apply an outer casing to the cylinder, and by this means prevent, still further than watt had succeeded in doing, the loss of heat by radiation. "as connected with one of the most interesting of my recollections of mr. trevithick, i must mention that i was present by invitation at the first trial of his locomotive engine, intended to run upon common roads, and of course equally applicable to train and railways. this was, i think, about the year , and the locomotive then exhibited was the very first worked by steam-power ever constructed. "the great merit of establishing the practicability of so important an application of steam, and the superiority of the high-pressure engine for this purpose, will perhaps more than any other circumstance serve to do honour through all times to the name of trevithick. the experiment which was made on the public road close by camborne was perfectly successful; and although many improvements in the details of such description of engines have been since effected, the leading principles of construction and arrangements are continued, i believe, with little alteration, in the magnificent railroad-engines of the present day. of his stamping engine for breaking down the black rock in the thames, his river-clearing or dredging machine, and his extensive draining operations in holland, i can only speak in general terms, that they were eminently successful, and displayed, it was considered, the highest constructive and engineering skill. as a man of enlarged views and great inventive genius, abounding in practical ideas of the greatest utility, and communicating them freely to others, he could not fail of imparting a valuable impulse to the age in which he lived; and it would be scarcely doing him justice to limit his claims as a public benefactor to the inventions now clearly traceable to him, important and numerous as these are. from my own impressions i may say that no one could be in his presence without being struck with the originality and richness of his mind, and without deriving benefit from his suggestive conversation. his exploits and adventures in south america, in connection with the earl of dundonald, then lord cochrane, will form an interesting episode in his career; and altogether, i am of opinion that the biography which you have undertaken will prove highly interesting and valuable, and i wish you every success in carrying it out. "believe me, my dear sir, "yours very faithfully, "michael williams. "e. watkin, esq., "_london and north-western railway_, "_euston station, london_." arthur woolf shortly after that time ( ) erected his double-cylinder engines in cornwall. the late captain samuel grose, when giving the writer his recollections of trevithick, said:-- "when he returned from london to cornwall, about or , he employed me to look after the erection of the wheal prosper high-pressure engine. oats, captain trevithick's head boiler-maker, was constructing the boilers; woolf came into the yard, and examined them. 'what do'st thee want here?' asked oats. 'd--n thee, i'll soon make boilers that shall turn thee out of a job!' was woolf's reply. he was a roughish man. when his brother henry mutinied at the nore, woolf, who was then working an engine in meux's brewery, and had married the lady's maid, made interest with his employer to save henry from being hanged at the yard-arm, and afterwards found employ for him in cornwall. he was but a clumsy mechanic. woolf used to blow him up by saying, 'd--n thee, i wish i'd left thee to be hanged.'" the writer, who knew oats, has heard him tell similar stories of the rival engineers. in , woolf, who had been a mine carpenter, went to london with the first high-pressure steam-engine which trevithick had sent beyond the limits of cornwall[ ]--probably to meux's brewery,[ ] for he was there in , and in the receipt of _l._ a year from trevithick as engine-fireman. from the date of woolf's patent in , his pay from trevithick ceased, and with it their friendship. trevithick used to say, "woolf is a shabby fellow." [footnote : see trevithick's account-book, vol. i., p. .] [footnote : captain john vivian's recollections, vol. i., p. .] patents sprang up like mushrooms after trevithick had so liberally cast forth the seeds of the high-pressure engine, making the security, or even the form of a patent, a doubtful matter. the perfecting of expansive high-pressure engines was like the boiler, the result of years of trial. when matured in it saved cornwall and the world one-half of the coal that before had been consumed in low-pressure steam-engines. every engineer became, more or less, an expansive worker, and trevithick's saving of hundreds of thousands of pounds annually to the general public, gave to him little or no reward. at the period of those high-pressure pole-engine experiments, trevithick had devoted twenty years of constant labour to the improvement and extended use of the steam-engine, causing it to assume every variety of form except that of the watt patent engine, an approach to which was unusual, as evidenced in the high-pressure steam kensington model of , without beam, parallel motion, air-pump, or condenser, having no one portion either in principle or detail similar to the watt engine, being portable and not requiring condensing water, with single and double cylinders, placed vertically or horizontally. having during twelve busy years constructed over a hundred high-pressure steam-engines, scarcely any two of which were exactly alike, he departed if possible still further from the watt type, and went back apparently, though not in reality, to the newcomen engine, simplifying it by the omission of the great bob, and use of condensing water, as in the nautical labourer and steamboat engine of about ,[ ] and the south american mine engines of ,[ ] which had open-top cylinders, more like a newcomen than a watt, but if possible even more simple and primitive-looking than the former. again, compare the thrashing engine of [ ] with the newcomen of :[ ] the great and all-important difference being that one was a high-pressure steam-engine, the other a low-pressure atmospheric engine. then came the varieties of high-pressure steam pole-engines, working very expansively either as puffers or condensers, retaining the same dissimilarity to the watt engine: and lastly, the combination of the high-pressure pole with the watt patent engine, thereby causing the old watt engine to do more than double the work it had done when new from the hands of the maker, and also to perform this increase of work with a decrease in the consumption of coal. [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see chap. xxi.] [footnote : vol. ii., p. .] [footnote : vol. i., p. .] the following chapter will trace the adaptation of high-pressure expansive steam, from cylindrical boilers, to the form of pumping engine still in general use. chapter xx. the watt and the trevithick engines at dolcoath. having up to traced the progress of the steam-engine in cornwall through a century, during the latter half of which trevithick, sen., and his son were among its most prominent improvers, the latter having devoted a quarter of a century to the work, the effect of which is shown in the skeleton outlines of a few classes of engines, one important feature still remains for examination before a correct judgment can be formed of the events of this period and their prime movers. the use of an increasing pressure of steam gave increased force and value to the improved steam-engine, but the power of constructing engines and boilers to render the increased pressure manageable was the result of a lifetime of labour. savery, whose engine was scarcely more than a steam-boiler, failed to control its force, and is said to have blown the roof from over his head. the mechanism of newcomen's engine was well arranged, but suitable only for the working of pumps, and its power was limited to the weight of the atmosphere, from which it was called the atmospheric engine. in , an atmospheric engine with a cylinder of inches in diameter worked at the herland mine, "the only objection to which was the cost of the coal, to lessen which several methods had been suggested for increasing the elasticity of the steam, and reducing the size of the boiler."[ ] [footnote : borlase's 'natural history of cornwall.'] in richard trevithick, sen., removed the flat top of a newcomen boiler, and substituted a semicircular top, enabling it to contain stronger steam, and at the same time he improved the mechanical part of the engine by finding a better resting-place for the steam-cylinder than the top of the large boiler. pryce gives a drawing of this engine as the best at that time in cornwall.[ ] [footnote : see drawing, vol. i., p. .] "it is known as a fact that every engine of magnitude consumes _l._ worth of coal every year. "the fire-place has been diminished and enlarged again. the flame has been carried round from the bottom of the boiler in a spiral direction, and conveyed through the body of the water in a tube (one, two, or three) before its arrival at the chimney. "some have used a double boiler, so that fire might act on every possible point of contact, and some have built a moorstone boiler, heated by three tubes of flame passing through it. "a judicious engineer does not attempt to load his engine with a column of water heavier than lbs. on each square inch of the piston."[ ] [footnote : see pryce's 'mineralogia cornubiensis,' published . appendix.] while pryce's book was being printed, watt in wrote of the cornish steam-engines:-- "i have seen five of bonze's engines, but was far from seeing the wonders promised. they were , , and inch cylinders at dolcoath and wheal chance. they are said to use each about bushels of coals in the twenty-four hours, and to make about six or seven strokes per minute, the stroke being under feet each. they are burdened to , - / , and lbs. per inch."[ ] [footnote : smiles' 'lives of boulton and watt.'] the -inch was an open-top cylinder atmospheric engine at dolcoath mine under the management of trevithick, sen.; and shortly after, in or , watt's first engine was erected in cornwall.[ ] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] in trevithick, sen., gave watt an order for a patent engine for dolcoath, in size similar to the old newcomen atmospheric, having a cylinder inches in diameter, that a working trial might be made between the rival engines. the watt engine having a cylinder-cover, with the patent air-pump and condenser, was known in the county as the dolcoath great -inch double-acting engine. three steam-engines were then at work in that mine: trevithick senior's carloose (then called bullan garden) atmospheric -inch cylinder, the atmospheric -inch cylinder, and watt's -inch cylinder double-acting vacuum engine; all of which continued in operation side by side for five years until , when for a time dolcoath ceased to be an active mine. trevithick, jun., was then a boy of seventeen years. after ten years of idleness and rust, as if mourning the death of trevithick, sen., in richard trevithick, jun., as engineer, and andrew vivian as manager, induced shareholders to resuscitate the old mine. fire was again given to the voracious jaws of the boilers, and the three engines recommenced their labours and their rivalries. a year or two before this trevithick had made models of high-pressure steam-engines. davies gilbert, in , met him among other engineers, giving evidence in the watt lawsuits, when he mentioned his ideas of an engine to be worked solely by the force of steam. watt had claimed such an engine in his patent twenty-seven years before, but had failed to carry it into practice. hornblower had tried something like it in his double-cylinder expansion engine, but he did not use high-pressure steam, and consequently also failed. the _idea_, therefore, of expansive steam was not new, but the _useful mastery_ of it was. savery had tried expansive steam before watt patented it; the latter went to law with hornblower for an infringement of the _idea_, when neither of them had in truth constructed an expansive steam-engine. the low pressure of the steam from the boilers used by hornblower and watt did not admit of profitable expansion in the cylinder; at its full boiler pressure it constituted but a comparatively small portion of the power of the engine: to reduce that power by expansion was as apt to be a loss as a gain. the steam-engine was still dependent for its power mainly on steam as an agent for causing the required vacuum, until , when trevithick disclosed his method of constructing small cylindrical boilers and engines suitable for giving power from the strong pressure of the steam, irrespective of vacuum. lean, who favoured watt rather than trevithick, thus records the advent of watt's expansive engine:-- "in to mr. watt introduced the improvement of working steam expansively, and he calculated that engines which would previously do nineteen to twenty millions would thus perform twenty-six millions; but i do not find any record of this duty being performed in practice. in boulton and watt had engines in cornwall working expansively, as at wheal gons and wheal chance in camborne; but in these the steam was not raised higher than before, and the piston made a considerable part of the stroke therefore before the steam-valve was closed. "in , on account of a suit respecting their patent, which was carrying on by boulton and watt, an account of the duty of all the engines in cornwall was taken by davies gilbert, esq., and the late captain jenkin, of treworgie, and they found the average to be about seventeen millions."[ ] [footnote : lean's 'historical statement of steam-engines in cornwall,' p. .] one of these so-called expansive watt engines, erected at wheal chance, was converted into a real expansive engine by trevithick, as described in the foregoing chapter, by his high-pressure steam-boilers and the addition of his pole-engine. the conversion of the other, a -inch low-pressure vacuum engine at wheal gons, will be traced in this chapter. mr. taylor, who for many years took an active interest in cornish mining, says:-- "in an engine at herland was found to be the best in the county, and was doing twenty-seven millions, but being so much above all others, some error was apprehended. this engine was probably the best then ever erected, and attracted therefore the particular attention of messrs. boulton and watt, who, on a visit to cornwall, came to see it, and had many experiments tried to ascertain its duty. it was under the care of mr. murdoch, their agent in the county. "captain john davey, the manager of the mine, used to state that it usually did twenty millions, and that mr. watt, at the time he inspected it, pronounced it perfect, and that further improvement could not be expected."[ ] [footnote : 'records of mining,' by john taylor, f.r.s., &c., part i., p. ; published .] this best engine from the hands of watt and murdoch in the herland mine in may be taken as a watt stand-point, when its usual duty was twenty millions; and trevithick and bull erected a competing engine, probably with an increased steam pressure, for trevithick's portable high-pressure engines were at that time coming into notice;[ ] but no trace remains of the result of this contest of the watt and the bull engine, though it was one of the causes of the lawsuits. [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] "in henry clark worked as a rivet boy in dolcoath, and carried rivets to construct captain trevithick's new boiler, said to be the first of the kind ever made. it looked like a great globe about feet in diameter, the bottom hollowed up like the bottom of a bottle; under this the fire was placed: a copper tube attached to this bottom went around the inside of the boiler, and then passed out through the side of the boiler, the outside brick flues then carrying the heat around the outside of the boiler and into the chimney. "captain trevithick's first plunger-pole lifts in dolcoath were put in at this time and worked by this engine. glanville, the mine carpenter, was head man over the engines when captain trevithick was away."[ ] [footnote : henry clark's recollections in .] "charles swaine worked as a rivet boy in making captain trevithick's cylindrical wrought-iron boilers for the dolcoath engine. several of captain trevithick's high-pressure boilers were working in the mines before that, but not made exactly like the dolcoath engine boilers. when i was a boy about the year , several years before i worked on the dolcoath engine boilers, i carried father's dinner to the dolcoath smiths' shop, where he worked, and used to stop and watch the wood beam going up and down of captain dick's first high-pressure steam-whim. she was not a puffer, but a puffer-whim worked near by, called the valley puffer. at that time most of captain dick's high-pressure boilers were smallish, cast iron outside, and wrought-iron tube."[ ] [footnote : working in the valley smiths' shop, in dolcoath mine, in .] in , shortly after the reopening of dolcoath mine, trevithick, jun., selected his father's second-hand atmospheric engine of ,[ ] to further improve it by a new boiler of uniformly globular figure, with concave circular bottom, under which fire was placed; it was of wrought iron, feet in diameter, surrounded by external brick flues; a large copper tube, starting from the boiler bottom, immediately over the fire, served as an internal flue, carrying the fire by a sweep around the interior in the water space, and then out through the side of the boiler into the external brick flue. it may be said that there was nothing new in a circular form of boiler, or in an internal tube; but it will be admitted that this repaired engine, in this its third stride in the march of advancement, made publicly known those principles which in a few years more than doubled the power, the economy, and the applicability of the steam-engine. his patent drawing of shows this form of boiler applied to a small portable engine, in which, for the sake of simplicity of structure and cheapness, cast iron was used instead of wrought iron, and the internal tube omitted.[ ] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] the full detail estimate, from which the following items are extracted, of the cost of alteration was written by trevithick, jun., in the book and on the page adjoining that containing the account of the former alteration and re-erection of the same engine by trevithick, sen., in . "a -inch cylinder engine, working lbs. to the inch:-- £ _s._ _d._ boilers, tons at _l._ iron about ditto, cwt. at _l._ castings about ditto, cwt. at _s._ safety-valve and cocks wood about bob, ft. at _s._ cast iron about ditto, cwt. at _s._ brass about ditto, lbs. at _s._ piston-rod, in., ft. long, lbs. at _s._ t-piece, cwt. at _s._ cover, and bottom, and piston, cwt. at _s._ nozzles, cwt. at _s._ steam and perpendicular pipe, cwt. at _s._ receiver, ft. in. long, and bottom, cwt. at _s._ air-pump, bottom, and case, cwt. at _s._ plunger, in., ft. long, cwt. at _s._ force lift engineer " the term "single" refers to its open-top cylinder as originally erected by newcomen, when it was called the carloose engine, and so it remained after its re-erection in , under the name dolcoath new engine, alias bullan garden; but after the last re-erection in it had a cylinder-cover, and was called the shammal -inch engine; "working lbs. to the inch" meant the force on each inch of the piston, including vacuum on the one side of lbs. and steam on the other side of lbs. to the inch. watt, on his first visit to cornwall, in , spoke disparagingly of the newcomen atmospheric engines "burdened to or lbs. net to the inch." fifty years later stuart described watt's engine as "using steam of a somewhat higher temperature than degrees, so as to produce a pressure between and lbs. on each square inch of the piston; yet in practice, from imperfect vacuum and friction, it cannot raise more water per inch than would weigh about - / lbs.,"[ ] or an increase of net force--when compared with the newcomen atmospheric--of only a pound or two on the inch in the lapse of years embracing the active lifetime of watt. the cause of this slight increase of power is so simple that it has been passed by unnoticed by very many. the steam pressure in the newcomen atmospheric was continued unaltered in the watt vacuum engine. trevithick constructed the first boiler and engine capable of safely and economically using the power of high-pressure steam. nelson was obliged to come to close quarters, that his shot, propelled by weak cannon and low-pressure powder, might penetrate wooden ships. we now manufacture and control high-pressure powder, so that inches of iron armour-plates cannot resist its force; but this knowledge has taken nearly as long in growing to perfection as did the mastery of high-pressure steam, and its use in the much more complicated steam-engine. [footnote : stuart's 'history of the steam-engine,' published .] watt's engine, as described a quarter of a century after the expiration of his patent and the advent of the high-pressure steam-engine, still derived its gross force from lbs. of vacuum and or lbs. of steam, resulting in a net force of - / lbs. trevithick's engine of , which heralded the last hours of the watt patent authority, and may be taken as the first distinct evidence of comparatively high-pressure steam in large cornish pumping engines, derived its power from lbs. of vacuum and lbs. of steam, being together but or lbs. on the inch more than the watt engine, but its net force of lbs. to the inch was half again as much as the net force of the watt engine, the increase being wholly from the steam pressure, which was never practised by watt, and which in its almost unlimited force gives the greatly increased power to modern steam-engines. trevithick's estimate for a new engine of the same size as the old was _l._, but as the old one could be improved for _l._, the latter course was adopted, the wooden main beam with its segment head was retained, a cover was added to the cylinder, and a new piston-rod and piston; a pole air-pump was used in lieu of the more usual watt air-pump bucket; a feed-pole forced water into the boiler,--an indirect proof of increased steam pressure. the new globular boiler with internal tube weighed tons; the engineer's charge for carrying out the work was _l._ the use of strong steam as the prime mover of the steam-engine increased more rapidly beyond than within the limits of cornwall, for in was erected at coalbrookdale a high-pressure steam-puffer engine, to which trevithick attached a pump which forced water through a column of upright pipes, that the power of the engine might be accurately measured. it worked with steam of from to lbs. on the inch, and wholly discarded the vacuum which had been watt's mainstay. "the boiler is feet diameter, the cylinder inches diameter, -feet stroke. the water-piston is inches in diameter, drawing and forcing feet perpendicular, equal beam. i first set it off with about lbs. on the inch pressure against the steam-valve, for the inspection of the engineers about this neighbourhood. the steam continued to rise the whole of the time it worked; it went from to lbs. to the inch. "the engineers at this place all said that it was impossible for so small a cylinder to lift water to the top of the pumps, and degraded the principle, though at the same time they spoke highly in favour of the simple and well-contrived engine. "after they had seen the water at the pump-head, they said that it was possible, but that the boiler would not maintain its steam at that pressure for five minutes; but after a short time they went off, with a solid countenance and a silent tongue."[ ] [footnote : see trevithick's letter, august nd, , vol. i., p. .] this high-pressure steam pumping engine in may be taken as the first pumping engine of the puffer class using such strong steam. in the spring of the following year[ ] a somewhat similar engine was erected in london. "the cylinder is inches in diameter, with a - / -feet stroke. it requires the steam at a pressure of to lbs. to the inch to do its work well, working about twenty-six or twenty-seven strokes per minute. it is much admired by everyone that has seen it, and saves a considerable quantity of coal when compared with a boulton and watt. mr. williams, mr. robert fox, mr. gould, and captain william davey were here, and much liked the engine; they gave me an order for one for cornwall as a specimen." this particular engine was for driving machinery in a cannon manufactory. a high-pressure pumping engine was at work at greenwich, and some were at work in cornwall. [footnote : see trevithick's letter, may nd, , vol. i., p. .] "penydarran, near cardiff,[**check order of these lines] "mr. giddy, "_october st, _. "sir,--in consequence of the engine bursting at greenwich, i have been on the spot to inspect its effects. i found it had burst in every direction. the bottom stood whole on its seating; it parted at the level of the chimney. the boiler was cast iron, about inch thick, but some parts were nearly - / inch; it was a round boiler, feet diameter; the cylinder was inches diameter, working double; the bucket was inches diameter, feet column, working single, from which you can judge the pressure required to work this engine. the pressure, it appears, when the engine burst, must have been very great, for there was one piece of the boiler, about inch thick and about cwt., thrown upwards of yards; and from the hole it cut in the ground on its fall, it must have been nearly perpendicular and from a very great height, for the hole it cut was from to inches deep. some of the bricks were thrown yards, and not two bricks were left fast to each other, either in the stack or round the boiler. it appears the boy that had care of the engine was gone to catch eels in the foundation of the building, and had left the care of it to one of the labourers; this man, seeing the engine working much faster than usual, stopped it, without taking off a spanner which fastened down the steam-lever, and a short time after being idle it burst, killed three on the spot and another died soon after of his injuries. the boy returned that instant, and was then going to take off the trig from the valve. he was hurt, but is now recovering; he had left the engine about an hour. i would be much obliged to you if you would calculate the pressure required to burst this boiler at inch thick, supposing it to be a sound casting, and what pressure it would require to throw the materials the distance i have before stated, for boulton and watt have sent a letter to a gentleman of this place, who is about to erect some of those engines, saying that they knew the effects of strong steam long since, and should have erected them, but knew the risk was too great to be left to careless enginemen, and that it was an invention of mr. watt, and the patent was not worth anything. this letter has much encouraged the gentlemen of this neighbourhood respecting its utility; and as to the risk of bursting, they say it can be made quite secure. i believe that messrs. boulton and watt are about to do me every injury in their power, for they have done their utmost to report the explosion, both in the newspapers and in private letters, very different to what it really was; they also state that driving a carriage was their invention; that their agent, murdoch, had made one in cornwall and shown it to captain andrew vivian, from which i have been enabled to do what i have done. i would thank you for any information that you might have collected from boulton and watt, or from any of their agents, respecting their even working with strong steam, and if mr. watt has ever stated in any of his publications the effects of it, because if he condemns it in any of his writings, it will clearly show from that, that he did not know the use of it. mr. homfray, of this place, has taken me by the hand, and will carry both the engines and the patent to the test. there are several of boulton and watt's engines being taken down here, and the new engines being erected in their place. above horse-powers have been ordered at _l._ _s._ for each horse-power for the patent right, and the persons that ordered them make them themselves, without any expense to me whatever. if i can be left quiet a short time i shall do well, for the engines will far exceed those of boulton and watt. the engine at greenwich did fourteen millions with a bushel of coals; it was only an -inch cylinder, and worked without an expansive cock, and under too light a load to do good duty; also on a bad construction, for the fly-wheel was loaded on one side, so as to divide the power of the double engine, and connected to the pump-rods on a very bad plan. i remember that boulton and watt's -inch cylinders when on trial did not exceed ten millions; i believe you have the figures in your keeping. let us have the -horse power at work that is now building, and then i will show what is to be done. it will be loaded at lbs. to the inch on each side the piston, it has an -feet stroke with an expansive cock, and the blowing cylinder directly over the steam-cylinder, as free from friction as possible. there was no engine stopped on account of this accident; but i shall never let the fire come in contact again with the cast iron. the boiler at greenwich was heated red hot and burnt all the joints the sunday before the explosion. "i have received a letter from a person in staffordshire who has a cylinder-boiler at work with the fire in it, and he says the engine performs above all expectation; he requests me to give him leave to build a great many more. i shall put two steam-valves and a steam-gauge in future, so that the quicksilver shall blow out in case the valve should stick, and all the steam be discharged through the gauge. a small hole will discharge a great quantity of steam at that pressure. there will be a railroad-engine at work here in a fortnight; it will go on rails not exceeding an elevation of one-fiftieth part of a perpendicular and of considerable length. the cylinder is - / inches in diameter, to go about two and a half miles an hour; it is to have the same velocity of the piston-rod. it will weigh, water and all complete, within tons. "i have desired captain a. vivian to wait on you to give you every information respecting murdoch carriage, whether the large one at mr. budge's foundry was to be a condensing engine or not. "is it possible that this engine might be burst by gas? "i am, sir, "your very obedient servant, "richard trevithick." this high-pressure puffer pumping engine at greenwich, in , worked a pump of inches in diameter. the engine boy having fixed the safety-valve while he fished for eels, caused an explosion of the boiler. this was the first mishap from the use of high-pressure steam. the boiler was globular, feet in diameter, and from an inch to an inch and half in thickness, made of cast iron; the cylinder, of inches in diameter, was partly let into and fixed on the boiler. its general design is seen in the patent drawing of , fig. .[ ] trevithick determined in future to use two safety-valves, and also a safety steam-gauge. at that time one of his high-pressure puffer-engines, with a cylindrical boiler and internal tube, was working in staffordshire. [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] the greenwich high-pressure puffer-engine did fourteen millions of duty with a bushel of coals, lbs. a -horse-power engine was being built in wales, with an -feet stroke, to work expansively with lbs. of steam on the inch in the boiler. for a more thorough test with the low-pressure vacuum engines, in competition, the government intended to use the new engines, and some of watt's engines having been removed to make room for them, boulton and watt wrote to a gentleman who was about to order an engine from trevithick, "we knew the effects of strong steam long since, and should have erected them, but knew the risk was too great." moreover, "it was an invention of mr. watt's, and the patent (trevithick's) was not worth anything." this admission clearly shows not only that watt did not make high-pressure steam-engines, but that he did his best to prevent others from making them. "mr. giddy, "penydarran, cardiff, _january th, _. "sir,--i received yours a few days since, and should have answered it sooner, but i was at swansea for the last four weeks, and wished to return here to give you as full an account of our proceedings as possible. "we have had an -inch cylinder at work here by way of trial; it worked exceedingly well a hammer of the same size as is now being worked here by an atmospheric engine inches diameter, -feet stroke, which does not master its work with greater ease than the -inch cylinder. the -inch is now removed to swansea, and is winding coals; the baskets hold cwt. of coal; it lifts yards in a minute and a quarter, and burns cwt. of coal in twenty-four hours. there were twelve horses on this pit before, lifting tons of coal in the course of the twenty-four hours. you may fairly state that the -inch cylinder does between thirty and forty horses' work in twenty-four hours, with cwt. of coal. "one of boulton and watt's -inch double engine, about half a mile from it, lifting baskets of the same size, and with the same velocity, burns above three times the quantity of coal. "the -inch engine requires the steam to be about or lbs. to the inch to do its work well. the standers-by would not believe that such a small engine could lift a basket of coal, but are now much pleased with it, and have given orders for several more. there will be another at work here for the same purpose in about six weeks, a -inch cylinder, -feet stroke, which is a great power for a winding engine. "mr. watt says, in a letter to mr. homfray, that he could not make any of his experiments in strong steam answer the purpose. it is my belief that he never made any experiments of any consequence in strong steam. "a great number are building at different foundries. mr. sharratt, a founder at manchester, who has four in building, said that he would not pay the patent right; on giving him notice of a trial he agreed to pay the patent right. "i have received a letter from london, saying that an engineer called dixon has two engines on the same plan working; and says that he shall not pay anything to the patentee; that the words in mr. watt's specification are enough to indemnify him from my threats. we have had three counsels' opinions on the subject, and they all agree that the patent is good. counsels marratt and gibbs principally treated on the construction of the engine, more than on the principle; but erskine was principally on the principle of the engine, and said very little of its construction. they all say the words in mr. watt's specification will have no weight whatever against us. "i shall leave this place to-morrow for london to make inquiry into those engines, and to get the business into court if they will contend. i shall be at no. , southampton street, strand, and expect to be in town about five or six days, and if you will be so good as to return here, from oxford, with me, i will call on you in my journey down. it is but miles from bristol, and not so much as miles from oxford, and the coach passes very near this place. "there is a great deal of machinery and mining here, which would engage your attention for a few days, and very pleasant gentlemen about the neighbourhood. "if i had not been called to swansea to put up the winding engine, the road-engine would have been at work long since, but in my absence very little was done to it. the work is all ready, and a part of it put together. if i could tarry four or five days longer i could set it to work before going to london. they promise me that it shall be completed before my return. i think there is no doubt of its being finished, as i have frank bennetts here from cornwall about it, and a plenty of hands to assist him. "i have a thousand things to relate to you, too much for paper to contain, therefore must request you to be so good as to go down from oxford with me, and i will promise, on warrant, that the road-engine shall be finished before my return. when it is set to work i shall return to cornwall. "i remain, sir, "your humble servant, "richard trevithick." in an -inch cylinder high-pressure puffer-engine, with steam of lbs. to the inch, worked a large hammer as well as a -inch cylinder atmospheric engine, and more economically than a watt low-pressure steam vacuum engine with an -inch cylinder, which was five times as large as the little high-pressure. in consequence of this superiority those who came to witness the trial ordered several more of trevithick's engines, one of which with a -inch cylinder and -feet stroke was to be at work in a few weeks. watt wrote to mr. homfray "that he could not make any of his experiments in strong steam answer the purpose," and trevithick declared watt never could have tried any experiments with high steam. dixon refused to pay patent right because the words of mr. watt's specification, "in cases where cold water cannot be had in plenty, the engines may be wrought by the force of steam only, by discharging the steam into the open air after it has done its office," "are enough to indemnify him." eminent counsel were of opinion that "the words in watt's specification will have no weight whatever." marratt and gibbs were inclined to rest on the difference in the construction of the two kinds of engines, while erskine boldly said that the principle was different, and he cared little for the kind of construction. the admission by watt that he could do nothing with high steam after an experience of thirty years from the date of his patent, shows how difficult the work was to those who had to find the way; yet trevithick had several at work within a few months of his first mental sight of a steam-engine without condensing water, fitful glimpses of which passed and repassed while he sat unobserved in the crowded law court in hearing the remarks of engineers and counsel. "the public until now called me a scheming fellow, but their tone is much altered. an engine is ordered for the west india docks, to travel itself from ship to ship, to unload and to take up the goods to the upper floors of the storehouses. "boulton and watt have strained every nerve to get a bill in the house to stop these engines, saying the lives of the public are endangered by them, and i have no doubt they would have carried their point, if mr. homfray had not gone to london to prevent it; in consequence of which an engineer from woolwich was ordered down, and one from the admiralty office, to inspect and make trial of the strength of the materials."[ ] [footnote : see trevithick's letter, nd february, , vol. i., p. .] after a week or two another letter states,[ ]-- "we are preparing to get the materials ready for the experiments by the london engineers, who are to be here on sunday next. we have fixed up feet of -inch pumps for the engine to lift water. "these engineers particularly requested that they might have a given weight lifted, so as to be able to calculate the real duty done by a bushel of coal. "as they intend to make trial of the duty performed by the coal consumed, they will state it as against the duty performed by boulton's great engines, which did upward of twenty-five millions, when their -inch cylinders, after being put in the best order possible, did not exceed ten millions. as you were consulted on all those trials of boulton's engines, your presence would have great weight with those gents, otherwise i shall not have fair play. let me meet them on fair grounds and i will soon convince them of the superiority of the '_pressure-of-steam engine_.'" [footnote : see trevithick's letter, th march, , vol. i., p. .] watt left no stone unturned to prevent the use of high-pressure steam-engines, and fortune favoured him, for after four or five days trevithick again wrote:-- "i am sorry to inform you that the experiments that were to be exhibited before the london gents are put off, on account of an accident which happened to mr. homfray. i find myself much disappointed on account of the accident, for i was desirous to make the engine go through its different work, that its effect might be published as early as possible."[ ] [footnote : see trevithick's letter, th march, , vol. i., p. .] while constructing those numerous high-pressure engines for rolling mills, winding engines, and pumping engines, the welsh and newcastle locomotives were being made and worked, yet he found time to teach the people of stourbridge. "mr. giddy, "stourbridge, _july th, _. "sir,--i should have answered your letter some time since, but waited to set two other engines to work first. the great engine at penydarran goes on exceedingly well. the engine will roll tons of iron a week with tons of coal. the two engines of boulton's at dowlais burn tons to roll tons; they are a -inch and a -inch double. the engine at penydarran is - / inches, -feet stroke, works about eighteen strokes per minute: it requires the steam about lbs. to the inch above the atmosphere. i worked it expansive first, when working the hammer, which was a more regular load than rolling; then with steam high enough to work twelve strokes per minute with the cock open all the stroke; then i shut it off at half the stroke, which reduced the number of strokes to ten and a half per minute, the steam and load the same in both; but i did not continue to work it expansively, because the work in rolling is very uneven, and the careless workmen would stop the engine when working expansive. "when the cylinder was full of steam the rollers could not stop it; and as coal is not an object here, mr. homfray wished the engine might be worked to its full power. the saving of coal would be very great by working expansively. "the trials we have made for several weeks past against boulton's engines have been by working with the cylinder full of steam. the cock springs out of its seat when water gets into the cylinder, and prevents any mischief from the velocity of the fly-wheel. "the tram-engine has carried two loads of tons of iron to the shipping place since you left this. mr. hill says he will not pay the bet, because there were some of the tram-plates in the tunnel removed so as to get the road into the middle of the arch. "the first objection he started was that one man should go with the engine, without any assistance, which i performed myself without help; and now his objection is that the road is not in the same place as when the bet was made. "i expect mr. homfray will be forced to take steps that will force him to pay. as soon as i return from here there will be another trial, and some person will be called to testify its effects, and then i expect there will be a lawsuit immediately. the travelling engine is now working a hammer. "at worcester last week we put a -horse engine to work in a glover's manufactory. the flue from the engine is carried through the drying room and dries his leather. the steam from the engine goes to take the essence out of the bark, and also to extract the colour out of the wood for dyeing the leather. then it boils the dye, and the steam that is left is carried into his hot-house. it works exceedingly well. this week i put another to wind coals at this place, a -horse power, which works very well. all the tradesmen are set against it; they say that there is no carpenter or mason work about it, and very little smith-work, and that it will destroy their business. the engineer on the spot is also against it very much. i do not expect that it will be kept long at work after i leave it, unless the proprietor takes care to prevent those people from doing an injury to it. mr. homfray was here yesterday, but is now returned to penydarran. i shall go from here to coalbrookdale. "there is an engine there almost ready for the west india docks. it will be ready to send off to london in about four weeks. it will be a very complete engine. the pumps for forcing the water will be fixed on the back of the boiler. it will force gallons of water feet high in a minute; above ten times the quantity that engines worked by men can do. mr. homfray and myself shall be in town as soon as the castings are sent off. i hope you will be there at the time. if you wish to see the engines already at work in london, call on mr. david watson, steam-engine maker, blackfriars road. he lives up about or yards above the bridge on the left-hand side; you will see his name over his door. if you have time to inspect those engines you will find by comparing them against boulton's, doing the same work, that there is a great saving of coal above other engines.... i shall go to liverpool and manchester from here, and again to coalbrookdale. "there are three engines at the dale begun, to work with condensers, for places where coal is scarce. i think it is better to make them ourselves, for if we do not, some others will, for there must be a saving of coal by condensing. but with small engines, or where coal is plentiful, the engine would be best without it. they say at the dale about putting two cylinders, but i think one cylinder partly filled with steam would do equally as well as two cylinders. "that engine at worcester shuts off the steam at the first third of the stroke, and works very uniformly. i cannot tell what coal it burns yet, but i believe it is a very small quantity. i shall know in a short time what advantage will be gained by working expansive. i expect it will be very considerable. there are a great many engines making and ordered. boulton and watt and several others are doing everything to destroy their credit, but it is impossible to destroy it now that it is so well known. i have not taken any of the ground at bristol to remove. i called on them and told them it was possible to break the ground without men, and they wish me to take a piece to clear out, but would not set but a small piece at a time; therefore it would be disclosing the business to no purpose. they were very desirous to know the plan, but i would not satisfy them, neither will i unless they pay me for it in some way or other. if you direct for me at the dale it will find me. i am happy to find that you have a seat in the house. i wish every seat was filled with such. "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, "richard trevithick." trevithick fully understood the value of the expansive principle in : when working with steam of lbs. to the inch, the engine went at a speed of twelve strokes a minute. on cutting off the steam at half-stroke, the speed and consequent work done fell to ten and a half strokes a minute; in other words, the work performed by the engine fell off only one-eighth part, while the quantity of steam and consequently of coal was reduced by one-half. the principle was established, but the application was practically incomplete from the want of heavier fly-wheels, to give out their momentum during the latter half of the stroke, when the expanding steam was lessening its force. "the saving of coal would be very great by working expansively, but as coal is not an object here," mr. homfray was careless about the expansion. thirty-three years after this indirect check to steam-engine economy, the writer, then living in the sirhowey iron works, and within stone's-throw of mr. homfray's works, recommended the removal of the boulton and watt's waggon boilers, to make room for trevithick's boilers, on the plea of saving one-half the fuel, and at the same time increasing the power of the engine, and thereby the pressure of the blast in the iron furnaces. the proprietor was careless about the saving of coal, and was doubtful that an increased blast would increase the quantity of iron smelted. the promise that the wages of one-half of the number of boiler firemen would be saved, was understood. trevithick's high-pressure boilers replaced the watt low-pressure, resulting in a largely-increased quantity of iron from the greater power and pressure of blast in the furnaces, and at one-half the expenditure of coal in the boilers: ten men had been employed as firemen of the watt boilers during twenty-four hours; with trevithick's boilers, five men did the work. the high-pressure puffer-engine, with an -inch cylinder, working with lbs. of steam, rolled as much iron as the two larger low-pressure vacuum engines of watt, of and inch cylinders, which together were more than three times the size of the high-pressure engine, and cost three times as much. at stourbridge, as elsewhere, everyone was against the new plan. the engineer in charge did not like it, and the carpenters, smiths, and masons saw the end of their occupation as engine erectors, if there was no longer a necessity for foundations, well-work, &c., for condensing water, and many other things, necessary to complete a watt engine; while the high-pressure puffer was no sooner unloaded than it was ready to work. a great charm in trevithick's character was his freedom and largeness of view in questions of competition. he was then making three engines at coalbrookdale, to be worked with high-pressure steam, combined with the watt air-pump and condenser; and though smarting from the contest with his great rival, yet wrote, "i think it is better to make them ourselves, for if we do not, some others will, for there must be a saving of coal by condensing. but with small engines, or where coal is plentiful, the engine would be best without it." those words accurately describe the practice of the present day, though written sixty-six years ago, and were followed by others equally true in principle, though varied in form to suit special requirement. "they say at the dale about putting two cylinders, but i think one cylinder partly filled with steam would, do equally as well as two cylinders." these sagacious views required the untiring labour of the following twelve years to perfect and make practical, when applied to the largest engines of the time; which we shall now trace in the construction of a strong and economical boiler, supplying high-pressure steam to the cylinder during only a comparatively small portion of the stroke, completing it by expansion, so that at its finish the steam had become of low pressure when passed to the condenser. the moving parts and expansive gear were so simplified as to be applicable to the then existing low-pressure steam vacuum engines without the complication of the double cylinders of hornblower and woolf. "dear sir, "penydarran place, _december th, _. "i have been favoured with your letter, and in answer, respecting mr. mitchell, i am at a loss to know from your letter what kind of iron he may likely want. if you will direct him to write to me, and explain himself, i will immediately reply to him and do what i can to assist and serve him. i believe there are vessels going over frequently from cardiff to cornwall with coals, that he might have part in cargo and the remainder in coals. i am happy to give you the most satisfactory account of our 'trevithick's engine' going on well. it has now been at work many months, and is by far the best engine we have. we have for weeks weighed the coal, and knowing the work it does, can speak with confidence. its inches diameter steam-cylinder consumes as near as can be tons of coal in twenty-four hours, or tons per week; and in this time it rolls with ease tons long weight of iron from the puddling furnaces, at the same heat, into bars of inches by about half an inch thick. now, one on messrs. boulton and watt's plan, of ' inches' steam-cylinder, at our neighbouring works at dowlais, employed in doing exactly the same kind of work, consumes _full_ as much coal, and rolls only tons in the week. these being facts, open for any person daily to see, must convince any dispassionate man of the superiority of 'trevithick's engines,' and that the saving of fuel is nearly one-third, besides the other advantages of saving water and grease, which is no little. the packing of the piston now gives us little or no trouble, it goes from a fortnight to a month, opening the top now and then to screw it down, as it gets slack, which should be attended to. we use no grease or oil in packing the piston or working the engine, having found blacklead mixed with water, and poured 'a little now and then' through a hole on the top into the steam-cylinder, suits the packing of the piston much better, and is cheaper than anything else. about _s._ worth of blacklead will last our engine a week. we are now so thoroughly convinced of the superiority of these engines that i have just begun another of larger size. the boiler is to be or feet long, feet diameter, fire-tube at wide end feet inches, and at narrow end, where it takes the chimney, inches, steam-cylinder inches diameter. this boiler, on account of the length of its tube withinside, will, i have no doubt, get steam in proportion, and work the engine with much less coals than our present one. trevithick is at coalbrookdale, manchester, &c., &c., very busy, a great number of engines being in hand in that part of the world; and i think by perseverance the prejudice is wearing away very fast, and in spite of all messrs. boulton and watt's opposition, they must and will take the lead of theirs. any person now wanting engines, must be next kin to an idiot to erect one of boulton's in preference to trevithick's. i find there is a small one making near you by mr. vivian. i hope they have corresponded with trevithick about the proportions of it; if they have not, i shall be particularly obliged to you to desire them to do so, for by his experience of what he has done they may be benefited, for it would be a shocking thing to have a bad engine put up for the first time in his native county. "mrs. homfray unites with me in best compliments, and wishing you many happy returns of the season. "i remain, dear sir, "your most obedient servant, "samuel homfray. "_to mr. davies giddy._" the evidence in this contest between the watt low-pressure steam vacuum engine and the trevithick high-pressure steam-puffer engine is in favour of the new principle; for the steam-engine with an -inch cylinder did fifty per cent. more work than the vacuum engine with a -inch cylinder with an equal quantity of coal, though the latter was seventy-five per cent. larger than the former; and a still greater economy was expected from the larger boiler to be built, feet long, feet in diameter, with internal fire-tube feet inches diameter at the fire end, tapering to inches at the chimney end. thus in the cylindrical boiler in wales had nearly reached its present form, and homfray thought that none but idiots would prefer the watt engine; forgetting that trevithick's near friends and neighbours were carrying on a similar contest at dolcoath mine. "penydarran place, _january nd, _. "mr. davies giddy, "dear sir,--i have duly received your favour enclosing a letter for mr. trevithick, and which i, according to your desire, forwarded to him at manchester, where he now is; and a letter directed to him, to the care of mr. whitehead, soho foundry, manchester, will find him, as he will stay a little time there, being very busy. i had lately the pleasure of writing to you, and gave you the account of our engine working, and the satisfaction it gives; i have nothing more to add on the subject, but that it is now at work, going on as usual, and i should be happy for you to have a sight of it. "we are beginning another of a larger size, and i have no doubt but by making the cylindrical boiler larger, so as to take a longer tube withinside it, by which means the fire will spend itself before it leaves the tube to go up the chimney, that we shall work to much better advantage in point of fuel than we do at this present one, as this boiler is so short that a great deal of the flame of the fire goes up the chimney. we are now better acquainted with the different proportions than we at first were, for which reason i am anxious that one now making by mr. vivian should be made according to the directions of mr. trevithick. "i beg leave to offer you the compliments of the season, and many happy returns, and "remain, respectfully, dear sir, "your most obedient servant, "samuel homfray." trevithick, always busy, was just now doing the work of a host, for everybody had to be taught how to make high-pressure steam-engines; and the newcastle locomotive, the thames steam-dredging, and other special applications of steam-power required his presence, especially the fight with watt at dolcoath mine, where andrew vivian, as mine manager, was erecting a high-pressure steam-puffer whim-engine to compete with a watt low-pressure steam vacuum whim-engine. "the adventurers grumbled because captain trevithick was so often away from the mine. glanville, the mine carpenter, the head man over the engines, made a trial between trevithick's high-pressure puffer whim and watt's low-pressure condenser. when captain trevithick heard of it, he wrote down from london that he would bet glanville _l._ that his high-pressure puffer should beat watt's low-pressure condenser. then he came down from london and found that the piston of his engine was half an inch smaller in diameter than the cylinder. when a new piston was put in, she beat boulton and watt all to nothing. persons were chosen to make a three or four weeks' trial, and when it was over, 'a little pit was found with coal buried in it, that glanville meant to use in the watt engine.'"[ ] [footnote : recollections of henry clark, living at redruth in .] pooly, smith, and others, say that trevithick's dolcoath puffer had the outer case of the boiler of cast iron, the fire-tube of wrought iron, the cylinder horizontal, and fixed in the boiler. captain joseph vivian saw trevithick's whim in stray park mine about or , and a similar one was erected in dolcoath, and after a year or two a boulton and watt low-pressure whim was put up to beat it. the trial was in favour of the watt engine, but everybody said the agents were told beforehand which way the report ought to go; so the engine that _puffed the steam up the chimney_ was beaten. trevithick, who was busily engaged in manchester at that time, the early part of , when informed of what was going on in cornwall, wrote:-- "i fear that engine at dolcoath will be a bad one. i never knew anything about its being built until you wrote to me about penberthy crofts engine, when you mentioned it. i then requested captain a. vivian to inform me the particulars about it, and i find that it will not be a good job. i wish it never was begun."[ ] [footnote : see trevithick's letter, january th, , vol. i., p. .] "mr. giddy, "camborne, _february th, _. "sir,--on my return from town i altered the pressure of the steam-engine at the bottom of the hill, dolcoath. before i returned there was a trial between mine and one of boulton's; both engines in the same mine and drawing ores from the same depth. the result was, boulton's beat the pressure-engine as to . since it was altered there have been three other trials; the result was to in favour of the pressure of the steam-engine. they are now on trial for another month, and at the next account _they intend to order a new boiler for the great engine_, and work with high-pressure steam and condenser, provided this engine continues to do the same duty as was done in the former trials. this engine is now drawing from a perpendicular shaft, and boulton and watt's from an underlay shaft; but to convince captain jos. vivian, we put it to draw out of the worst shaft in the mine, and then we beat more than three to one; we lifted in forty-seven hours, tons of stuff fathoms with bushels of coal. the engine was on trial sixty-six hours, but nineteen hours were hindered by the shaft and ropes, &c., which made the consumption of coals about / ths of a bushel per hour. the fire-tube is feet inches diameter, and the fire-bars were only inches long. the fire-place was but feet inches wide by inches long, and the fire about or inches thick; it raised steam in plenty; it was as bright as a star. the engine is now doing the work of two steam-whims; the other steam-whim in the valley is turned idle, and both shafts will not more than half supply it. tons are equal to nearly kibbals, which were drawn in forty-seven hours. "mr. harris has a -inch cylinder making at hayle, for crenver, and mr. daniel has a -inch for perran-sand, and a great number are waiting for the trial of this month, _before altering their boilers to the great engines_. "the steam-whim that is now turned idle at the valley was - / -inch cylinder, -feet stroke; it turned the whim one revolution to one stroke, and lifted the kibbal the same height at a stroke as my engine did, and i think took the same number of gallons of steam to lift a kibbal as mine did. their steam was not above lbs. to the inch; _mine was near lbs. to the inch_; yet i raised my steam of near lbs. with a third of the coals by which they got theirs of lbs. to the inch. this is what i cannot account for, unless it is by getting the fire very small and extremely hot. another advantage i have is, that there is no smoke that goes off from my fire to clog the fire sides of the boiler, while the common boilers get soot half an inch thick, and the mud falls on the bottom of the boiler, where the fire ought to act; but in these new boilers the mud falls to the bottom, where there is no fire, and both the inside and outside of the tube are clean and exposed both to fire and water. this fire-*place[**hyphenated below] of inches was feet long when i came down, and then the coal did not do above one-seventh of the duty that it now does. "i would be very much obliged to you for your opinion on what i have stated, and what _advantage you think the great engine is likely to get from working with steam about lbs. to the inch, and shut off early in the stroke, so as to have the steam about lbs. to the inch when the piston is at the bottom. i think this, with the advantage of the fire-place, will make a great saving._ "the present fire-place is feet from fire-door to fire-door, feet wide, and feet thick in fire. there is not one-tenth of the coals that are in the fire-place on fire at the same time; it will hold tons of coals at one time, and i think that a great deal of coal is destroyed by a partial heat before it takes fire. a boiler on the new plan will not cost more than two-thirds of the old way, and will last double the time, and can be cleaned in three hours. it requires twenty-four hours in the old way, and we need to clean the boilers only one-fourth the number of times. "though these trials have shown so fairly that it is a great advantage, my old acquaintances are still striving with all their might to destroy the use of it; but facts will soon silence them. "i am about to enter into a contract with the trinity board for lifting up the ballast out of the bottom of the thames for all the shipping. the first quantity stated was , tons per year, but now they state , tons per year. i am to do nothing but wind up the chain for _d._ per ton, which is now done by men. they never lift it above feet high. a man will now get up tons for _s._ my engine at dolcoath has lifted above tons that height with bushel of coals. i have two engines already finished for this purpose, and shall be in town in about fifteen days to set them at work. they propose to engage with me for twenty-one years. the outlines of the contract they have sent me down, which i think is on very fair terms. i would thank you for your answer before i leave this county. "i am, sir, "your very humble servant, "rd. trevithick." in the trial at dolcoath during his absence the high-pressure steam-puffer whim was beaten by watt's low-pressure steam vacuum whim-engine as to ; but having corrected some oversight in the puffer-engine, it then beat watt as to . the trial was to be continued for a month; and provided the superiority of his whim-engine could be maintained, the adventurers would allow him to apply his high-pressure boilers to their large boulton and watt pumping engine. the trial with the whim-engines was for the greatest number of kibbals of mineral raised to the surface by the least consumption of coal. a dispute arose on the difference of the shafts, the one causing more friction to the moving kibbal than the other, when trevithick agreed to take the worst shaft in the mine. on a trial during sixty-six hours watt's engine was beaten by more than four times; and as trevithick's engine did the work that before required two engines, one of the low-pressure steam watt engines was removed that the engine working with lbs. on the inch might perform the whole work. "my fire-tube is feet inches in diameter, and the fire-bars only inches long, and the fire only about or inches thick; it raised steam in plenty, and was as bright as a star." these words certainly imply the use of the blast-pipe, making the fire as bright as a star, and enabling the small boiler to give the required supply of steam. several high-pressure puffer-engines had been ordered, and many persons were waiting the conclusion of the month's public trial to enable them to judge between the watt and the trevithick engine. "mr. giddy, "camborne, _march th, _. "sir,--the day after i wrote to you the first letter, i received yours, and this day i have yours of the st instant. "i am very much obliged to you for the figures you have sent me. i am convinced that the _pressure of steam will not hold good as theory points it out, because on expanding it will get colder, and of course lose a part of its expansive force after the steam-valve shuts_. i think there can be no risk in making this trial on dolcoath great engine, as they intend to have a new boiler immediately, so as to prevent stopping to cleanse; and a boiler on this new plan can be made for one-third less expense than on the old plan, when you count the large boiler-house and ashes-pit, and brickwork round the boiler. it is not intended to alter any part of the engine or condenser, but only work with high steam from this new boiler; and if this boiler only performs as good duty as the old one, it will be a saving of near l. to them on the erection. _the vast matter this great engine has in motion will answer in part the use of a fly-wheel_: the whole of the matter in motion is near about tons, at a velocity of about feet a minute. this i know will not be sufficient; but it will be about equal to a fly-wheel of feet diameter, tons weight, twenty rounds per minute, if weight and velocity answer the same purpose. "since monday, the th february, being dolcoath account-day, both engines have been on trial, and are to be continued until the next account, th instant. the engines are kept on in the usual way, as at other times. neither of the engines have done so much duty as on the first trials, as they have not been so strictly attended to. the average of the trial at this time stands cwt. for a bushel of coals to boulton and watt's engine; mine, cwt. for a bushel of coals. "if i do not remain in cornwall to attend next dolcoath account, i shall be in town about the th instant, otherwise about the th instant. i shall call on you immediately on my arrival. in this time i should be glad to hear from you again. the trinity business will answer exceedingly well; i have two engines ready for that purpose to put to work on my arrival in town. "i am, sir, "your very humble servant, "rd. trevithick. "p.s.--i would try the evaporation of water by both boilers, but boulton and watt's engine is so pressed with work, and being on the best part of the mine, they will not stop it a moment. a boiler of feet diameter and feet long will have as much fire-sides in the tube as there is now in dolcoath great boiler. the fire-tube in this boiler would be feet diameter, and a fire-place feet long in it would be feet of fire-bars. in the whim-engines i find that a fire-place inches long and the tube feet inches diameter would, being forced, burn bushel per hour. at this rate the great tube would burn near bushels per hour, which is above the quantity that the great engine boiler can consume, now at work. small tubes would have an advantage over large ones. two boilers would not cost much more than one large one, and be much stronger." the battle-ground of the fight between low and high pressure from to had also served for the personal encounter of trevithick, sen., and watt a quarter of a century before, when the dolcoath great pumping engine was erected to compete with the two earlier atmospherics; all three were still at work, overlooked by carn brea hill and castle, once the resort of druid priests, whose sacrificial rites are still traced, by the hollows and channels for the blood of victims on the granite rocks. [illustration: carn brea castle. [w. j. welch.]] "mr. giddy, "camborne, _march st, _. "sir,--the trial between the two engines ended last monday, which was dolcoath day. boulton and watt's engine, per average of trial, ton cwt. qrs., with bushel of coals; the other, tons cwt. qrs., with ditto, the same depth of shaft. the adventurers ordered the new castings that were made for another of boulton and watt's engines to be thrown aside, and another new engine of mine to be built immediately. the great boiler for the old engine is not yet ordered. "i have received orders for nine engines within these four weeks, all for cornwall. two -inch cylinders, two -inch ditto, three -inch ditto, one -inch ditto, one -inch ditto. i expect one will be put to work next week at wheal abraham, for lifting water. "this day i shall leave cornwall for london. shall stop two days in the neighbourhood of tavistock, and take orders for three engines. as soon as i arrive in town i will call at your lodgings. i expect that the patent will be brought into court about the end of may. a person in wales owes us about _l._ patent premium, and he says that the patent is not good. more particulars you shall have on my arrival. "the railroad is going forward. i have the drawings in hand for the inclined plane. "i am, sir, "your very humble servant, "rd. trevithick." the fact that expansion of steam caused reduction of heat was so evident to trevithick that he ventured to doubt his friend's theory. the trials between the whim-engines having continued a fortnight, showed that the high-pressure steam-puffer had lifted cwt., while the low-pressure steam vacuum only lifted cwt. with the consumption of a bushel of coal. a suitable high-pressure boiler for the watt low-pressure steam -inch pumping engine should be feet long, feet in diameter, with an internal fire-tube feet in diameter; proportions approved of in the present day. the recommendation in to use small tubes may claim to be the first practical decision on the advantage of tubular boilers; and at the same time we read of the first hesitating step on the part of the public to use high-pressure steam in a watt low-pressure engine, which was still deferred for further consideration, even with the limited pressure of lbs. to an inch; so the large watt pumping engines were doomed for another four or five years to struggle through their work with low-pressure steam, though at that time cook's kitchen high-pressure expansive condensing whim-engine had been for years at work close by. the shareholders professed to have fear of explosion; but party-feeling and ignorance were the real causes of opposition, for working men had no dread of the new engines, while influential men leaned toward watt's old-fashioned plans. this fear of trevithick's expansive plans and high steam is the more surprising, because at that time a new boiler was required for the watt -inch cylinder pumping engine and trevithick's cylindrical tubular boiler could be made for one-third less cost than the watt waggon boiler, thus saving _l._, and in addition he promised to apply the higher pressure of steam to the watt engine without any change in its parts or expenditure of money, and make it set in motion at the commencement of the stroke the tons of pump-rods, the momentum of which would, with the expansion of the steam, when shutting it off soon after the first start in the movement of each stroke, carry it through to the end; and he practically compares this advantage from hoarded momentum in the pumping engine with his experience of the fly-wheel of the rolling-mill expansive engine in wales. the whim-engine with a fire-tube feet inches in diameter used lbs. of coal per hour; and at that rate one cylindrical boiler feet long, feet in diameter, with internal fire-tube feet in diameter, would supply steam for watt's -inch cylinder; but in place of it he preferred two smaller boilers, because small tubes have an advantage over large ones, and are much stronger. the whim trials--high-pressure puffer against low-pressure vacuum--went on for another fortnight, when high pressure, having done twice as much work as low pressure, with an equal consumption of coal, the adventurers threw aside the work that had been made for another watt engine, ordering one in its stead from trevithick; but they could not just then make up their minds to place the watt -inch pumping engine in his hands. "dear sir, "camborne, _may th, _. "i am very happy to find you have so far continued your agreement with the trinity gents, and think the bargain is a good one. must still beg leave to remind you not to proceed to show what your engine will do till the agreement is fully drawn up and regularly signed. "dolcoath agents, since they are informed of the accident at the iron-works in wales, _of the engine blowing to pieces_, have requested me to have your opinion whether the old cylinder is strong enough for the boiler of the intended new engine, or whether you would recommend them to have a new one. your answer to this as soon as possible, as mr. williams and some others are likely to make some objections. "mr. sims, the engineer, has published in the truro paper, that one of boulton and watt's engines at wheal jewell has drawn more than a ton of ore over and above that drawn by the dolcoath engine from the same depth by a bushel of coal. on inquiry i found they had only tried for twenty-two hours. they said they left off with as good a fire as they began with. this i argued was not a fair trial. they say they are now on a trial for a month. "the little engine at wheal abraham does its duty extremely well. the particulars as to consumption of coal cannot be fairly ascertained, as she has never been covered, is fed with cold water, and has not water to draw to keep her constantly at work. "i wish i could give a better account of the mines than is in my power to give, or of the standard price for ore, though the latter is rather looking up than otherwise. our friend, north binner downs, is better than paying cost, but very little. at present the levels are all poor; the lode in the west shaft has underlayed faster than the shaft, and we have not seen it for several fathoms. the ground lately in the shaft has been cleaner killas, and if any alteration, better ground. it is now fathoms under the -fathom level, and we are driving to cut the lode. the ground in the cross-cut is harder than when you were on the spot. the water is sinking in old binner; it is about fathoms under the adit in the western part, and deeper in the eastern part; we do not account for this. wheal st. aubyn combined poor. wheal abraham looks promising, and creuver about paying cost. dolcoath is better than when you left us, or when i was in london. the last sale was only about tons. the next sale on thursday is upwards of tons, and we expect a little better standard. "i wish you could discover who that old gent is that wanted a large slice in dolcoath, that i might get at him through some unknown channel, for i want money sadly. "cook's kitchen continues poor, tin croft ditto; wheal fanny not rich. we had a pretty little fight last account there with t. kevill and w. reynolds, esquires: black eyes and bloody noses the worst effects. t. kevill's face was much disfigured, and he might have found a new road out of his coat. "at a meeting of condurrow adventurers yesterday, twenty-four of them agreed to have one of our engines, cylinder inches in diameter and -feet stroke, provided the foxes do not object to it. when the order is given i shall write to mr. hazeldine, provided i do not hear from you that it is better to send the order to any other place. "if you have occasion to write mr. hazeldine, i wish you would press him to hasten the engines for wheal goshen, &c. "i am served with a vice-warden's petition by mr. harris for not working the weith mine in a more effectual manner, and he prays the vice-warden to make the sett void. the trial will come on some time the beginning of july, and by that time i suppose we shall have two fire-engines working thereon. "had mr. harvey done as he was desired we should have had one working there at this time, but he has but now begun to do anything to it. we have the cylinder and ends home from polgooth, and my cousin simon vivian is making the tubes. we have the other cylinder from wheal treasury, and i have ordered horton to cast a cock for it the same as that at dolcoath. we have cut the south lode at the adit level about or fathoms east of the engine, and have driven about fathoms on it. it turns out about half a ton per fathom at _l._ a ton. the ground at _s._ per fathom; this all in a hole, and is better going down. the back is sett to four men at _s._ _d._; their time is out this week, and i suppose they must have _s._ next. this may turn out a few thousands, and i think too promising a thing to give up to mr. harris. "i am happy to inform you that all our friends are in good health, and beg my most respectful compliments to mrs. rogers and adopted son; and am, "dear sir, "yours very sincerely, "andw. vivian. "the promised news respecting the engine business i am very anxious to have, as it will i hope make me _proud_, as proud i shall be when i am able to pay everyone their demands, and have sufficient to carry on a little business to maintain my family and self without the assistance of others. may you succeed in your undertaking and also be independent, is the sincere wish of your friend. john finnis and others are anxious to know when they will be wanted. "a. v." the explosion at greenwich in was made much of, though the fault was clearly not in the boiler. three years afterwards, in , a steam-cylinder burst in wales, therefore mr. williams, a large shareholder in dolcoath, objected to the use of high-pressure expansive steam in their large watt pumping engine, and desired their engineer, mr. sims, to make a competitive trial after his own fashion. at condurrow mine one of trevithick's engines was to be ordered if the foxes and williamses did not object; and so it was that trevithick's high-pressure steam-boiler was not ordered, and the watt vacuum engine was for a longer time to receive no increase of power. "some of captain dick's early boilers had flattish or oval fire-tubes. in i repaired an old one in wheal clowance mine in gwinear. the flat top had come down a little; we put in a line of bolts, fastening the top of the tube to the outer casing. "about i saw in carsize mine in gwinear a pumping engine that captain dick had put up. the boiler was a cylinder of cast iron, with a wrought-iron tube going through its length in which the fire was placed. the steam-cylinder was vertical, fixed in the boiler. she had an air-pump and worked with a four-way cock. the steam was about lbs. to the inch."[ ] [footnote : banfield's recollections in .] "about i removed one of captain trevithick's early high-pressure whim-engines from creuver and wheal abraham, and put it as a pumping engine in wheal kitty, where it continued at work for about fifteen years. the boiler was of cast iron, in two lengths bolted together, about feet in diameter and feet long. at one end a piece was bolted, into which the cylinder was fixed, so that it had the steam and water around it. there was an internal wrought-iron tube that turned back again to the fire-door end, where the wrought-iron chimney was fixed; the fire-grate end of the tube was about feet inches in diameter, and tapered down to about foot inches at the chimney end. it was a puffer, working lbs. of steam to the inch; it worked very well. there were several others in the county at that time something like it. it was made at the neath abbey works in wales."[ ] [footnote : recollections of captain g. eustace, engineer, residing at hayle, .] these boilers were of the kind first tried in cornwall about . the oval tube in the kensington model of continued in use in cornwall for many years. the cast-iron outer casing was soon abandoned, though one of them in wales remained in work fifty years, using steam of lbs. to lbs. to the inch. "my dear jane, "hayle foundry, _august th, _. "i saw captain andrew vivian on wednesday, who told me that he had been offered _l._ a year to inspect all the engines in the county, and report what duty they were doing, in order to stimulate the engineers. he declined accepting it, having too much to do already; and he thought it would be worth trevithick's notice, as it would not take him more than a day or two in a month. "i remain, my dear jane, "yours sincerely, "h. harvey. "i wrote this letter on sunday, with an intention of sending it then, but thought it best to wait until this day, in hopes of hearing the determination of government in your favour; but your letter has arrived without the desired information. all that i can now say is, to desire that trevithick will make up his mind to return to cornwall immediately. "h. h." the application to the government for remuneration for benefits conferred on the public was unsuccessful. the office of registrar of cornish engines was unsuitable; fortunately for mining interests, illness obliged trevithick to revisit his native county, for by the increased power and economy of his engines dolcoath mine, so frequently mentioned, and so important in olden time, now returns , _l._ worth of tin yearly. trevithick's first act on returning to cornwall in was the erection of the high-pressure boilers and pole vacuum engine at wheal prosper; at the same time renewing his proposals to dolcoath to use his improved boilers, which had been broken off in , and to apply high-pressure steam to their low-pressure watt engine, with the same safety and profit as in wheal prosper; the evidence was undeniable, so his plans were agreed to, and in the early part of the high-pressure boilers, called the trevithick or cornish boilers, were constructed in the dolcoath mine under his directions. old john bryant, who worked the dolcoath large engines both before and after the introduction of higher pressure steam, including the carloose or bullan garden -inch cylinder engine, wheal gons -inch cylinder single engine, and the watt -inch cylinder double, with the bee-but boiler, such as trevithick, sen., used in ,[ ] followed by the watt waggon boiler, and afterwards by the globular boiler of trevithick, jun., in ,[ ] and still later also with the cylindrical boiler of , gave the following statement, when seventy-four years old, to the writer:-- [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see vol ii., p. .] "in the old bee-but and the waggon boiler the steam pressure in the boiler was not much; we did not trouble about it so long as the engines kept going: when the steam was too high it blew off through the feed-cistern. when captain trevithick tried his high steam in dolcoath we hoisted up the feed-cistern as high as we could; when the steam got up, it blew the water out of the cistern. captain dick holloed out, 'why don't you trig down the clack?' "the cylindrical boilers when they were first put in leaked very much; we could hardly keep up the fire sometimes. i reckon the steam was or lbs. to the inch. captain dick's boilers made him lots of enemies. i heard say in one mine where he was trying his boilers against boulton and watt's waggon, a lot of gunpowder was put into the heap of coal."[ ] [footnote : old john bryant's statement in .] the waggon or hearse watt boiler was attached to his -inch cylinder double, and the old man recollected having raised the water cistern, when trevithick's globe boiler gave an increased pressure in , ten or twelve years before the cylindrical boilers were made in dolcoath. "some time after captain dick's globe boiler and steam-whims had been at work in dolcoath, a letter came down from london, saying that he would save the mine _l._ a month if they would put in one of his new plan boilers. "they were put in hand in the mine, and i worked about them; they were wrought-iron cylindrical boilers, about feet long, and or feet in diameter; the fire-tube was about feet in diameter; the fire returned around the outside in brick flues. three boilers were put in side by side. "when captain dick first tried them, he said to the men, now mind, the fire-bars must never have more than six inches of coal on them; give a shovel or two to one boiler, and then to another. when captain dick's back was turned, the men said they wasn't going to do anything of the sort, there would never be no rest for them. they used to say that the boilers saved more than l. the first month."[ ] [footnote : clark's recollections in , when he was eighty-three years old, and resided at redruth.] clark, when a boy, in , helped to construct trevithick's globular boiler in dolcoath, and recollected the events of the few following years, during the contests with the whim-engines about , and the introduction of the large cylindrical wrought-iron boilers for the pumping engines in , and the struggle preceding the downfall of the watt low-pressure steam vacuum engine, to make room for the high-pressure expansive steam-engine, with or without vacuum. "about captain trevithick threw out the boulton and watt waggon boilers at dolcoath and put in his own, known as trevithick's boiler. they were about feet long, feet in diameter, with a tube about feet inches in diameter going through its length. there was a space of about inches between the bottom of the tube and the outer casing. many persons opposed the new plans. the boulton and watt low-pressure engine did not work well with the high steam, and the water rose in the mine workings. captain trevithick, seeing that he was being swamped, received permission from the mine managers to dismiss the old engine hands and employ his own staff. captain jacob thomas was the man chosen to put things right. he never left the mine until the engine worked better than ever before, and forked the water to the bottom of the mine. before that time the average duty in the county by the boulton and watt engines was seventeen or eighteen millions, and in two or three years, with trevithick's boilers and improvements in the engines, the duty rose to forty millions. about he (captain vivian) was manager of wheal towan; their engines were considered the best in the county, doing eighty-seven millions; they had trevithick's boilers, working with high-pressure steam and expansive gear; few if any of boulton and watt's boilers could then be found in the county. sir john rennie and other scientific men, who doubted the reports of the duty, came and made their own trials with the engines, and were satisfied that the duty was correctly reported. "about that time a mr. neville requested him to report on the engines at his colliery at llanelthy; one was an atmospheric of newcomen's, doing six millions; and four or five of boulton and watt's patent engines averaged fourteen millions."[ ] [footnote : captain nicholas vivian was a schoolfellow and intimate friend of trevithick's; he resided at camborne in , when he gave his recollections.] when at last the cylindrical high-pressure boiler was admitted, and men had been taught to fire them, many persons still liked the old plans, and among them the easy-going low-pressure enginemen. the consequence was that the watt engines under their management refused the early doses of trevithick's high steam, not easily digesting it, and their obstinacy nearly swamped trevithick and his plans. "when a little boy, about , i frequently carried my father's dinner from penponds to dolcoath mine. one day, not finding him in the engine-house, i sought him in the account-house, but not knowing him in a miner's working dress, refused to give him his dinner. william west then worked with him. i heard there was difficulty in making the new boilers and the old engine work well; engineers from other mines looked on from a distance, not liking the risk of explosion. people seemed to be against the new plans; some labourers worked with them." this narration--sixty years after the events--from mr. richard trevithick, the eldest son of the engineer, shows that william west helped in applying high-pressure steam to the watt low-pressure engine, and that but few sympathized with the innovators on old customs; but among them was captain jacob thomas, who successfully fed the old engine with strong steam. at that time the watt engines in cornwall had been doing seventeen or eighteen millions; trevithick's new boilers increased their duty to forty millions. "william pooly[ ] was working in dolcoath before captain trevithick's new boilers were put in, and helped to put them in. [footnote : william pooly worked the dolcoath -inch engine in ; his recollections were given in the old engine-house, on the spot once occupied by watt and his -inch great double engine.] "the shammal -inch engine was an open-top cylinder, with a chain to the segment-head wooden beam. so was the -inch cylinder stray park engine, then called wheal gons[ ] in dolcoath sett, and the boulton and watt -inch cylinder double-acting. [footnote : smiles speaks of this as bonze's.] "there used to be great talking about different boilers; a boiler of captain trevithick's worked with higher steam than the others. just before captain dick came back to the mine a boulton and watt hearse boiler had been repaired with a new bottom; it was never used. i and william causan took a job to cut up the boiler at _s._ _d._ the hundredweight; it weighed tons. jeffrie and gribble were the mine engineers; glanville used to be considered captain dick's man in the mine. you could stand upright on the fire-bars in the middle hollow of the hearse boiler, and so you could in the outside brick flues; the middle hollow was like a horse-shoe. when captain dick put in his cylindrical boilers he altered the -inch single; there was hardly anything of her left but the main wall, with the wood bob and a chain to the piston-rod, and also to the pump-rods. there was an air-pump, and i think a second-hand cylinder was brought, but it was a -inch; the old shammal engine had been altered, too. "the new boiler put in was about feet in diameter and from to feet long, two round tubes went through it; the fire-place in one end of one tube and in the other end of the other tube; after going through the tubes the draught went into the brick flues under the bottom and sides. when the new engine was put in, gribble said, �why, these little things will never get steam enough;� everybody said so. "in the boulton and watt engines we didn't trouble about feed-pumps and gauge-cocks. "a wire came through a stuffing box in the top of the boiler; a biggish stone in the boiler was fastened to one end of the wire, the other end was fastened to a weighted lever near the water cistern, just above the boiler; when the water got low the stone opened the valve in the water cistern. that was when they were putting in captain dick's new cylindrical boilers to the old -inch engine. she did so much more work, with less coal, that in a year or so they agreed to throw out boulton and watt's engine, and to put in a stronger one that could stand captain dick's high steam. jeffrie and gribble were the mine engineers that put her up. the -inch cylinder came from wales. the big beam was cast at perran foundry in ; you can see the name and date upon it now. the boiler and the gear-work were made in the mine. the exhaust-valve is exactly as when it was put in, worked by a rack-and-tooth segment. the equilibrium valve is unchanged, except that the rack is taken out and a link put in. "the steam-valve was taken out soon after she went to work, and the present double-beat valve was put in; it is the first of the kind i ever saw. some were made before that time with a small valve on the top of the big one, that opened first, to ease the pressure. "john west[ ] fitted up the valve-gear in the mine with the expansive tappets, the same as when she stopped a month or two ago, and the same as the present new one has. [footnote : three wests, all skilful mechanical engineers, were employed at that time in dolcoath, all of them known to the writer, who thinks the double-beat valve was the handiwork of john west, not related to trevithick's partner.] "captain dick's cutting off his strong steam at an early part of the stroke, used to make the steam-valve strike very hard; so the new plan valve, with a double beat, was put in; that must have been about or ; and the valve and expansive horn for working were just exactly like what they have put into the present new engine in . she was the engine that showed them how to fork the water, and burn only half the coal. "i worked in this mine the old atmospheric engines, and then boulton and watt; and then trevithick's boilers in boulton and watt; and then trevithick's boilers and engine; and now i come every day to the new engine, though i can't do much. they give me _s._ a month; and my name is william pooly, dolcoath, ." three years ago (in ), when the writer entered the old engine-house in which watt's -inch cylinder double had been erected in , adjoining the old walls that then enclosed that early newcomen -inch cylinder carloose engine, re-erected by trevithick, sen., in in bullan garden portion of dolcoath, an old man sat near a small window in a recess in the thick wall of the engine-house, within reach of the gear-handles of the jeffrie and gribble -inch cylinder engine that trevithick, jun., had erected in on the foundations of the removed watt engine; he held in one hand a portion of slate from the roof, and in the other an old pocket-knife, one-half of the blade of which had been broken off, leaving a jagged fracture, with which he made the figures of some calculation on the rude slate; on his nose rested the brass frame of a pair of very ancient spectacles, with horn glasses. he answered the writer's question by, "yes, i am william pooly; i worked this engine, and the other engines before it--the great double and the little shammal working out of the same shaft; and i am seventy-four years of age. the single worked upon a shaft up there; she was called wheal gons." that old man, still living, had worked in dolcoath mine one of the first steam-engines of newcomen; the -inch, modified by trevithick, sen.; then the -inch double of watt; and, finally, the high-pressure engines of trevithick, jun.; he saw the open-top cylinders, atmospheric of newcomen, in the shammal -inch and wheal gons -inch, with their wooden beams with segment-headed ends, moving in rivalry with the watt -inch double, with cylinder-cover and parallel motion; he saw the two former engines, as altered by trevithick, jun., using the higher steam from the globular boiler on which henry clark worked in , when "there used to be great talking about different boilers, and a boiler of captain trevithick's worked with higher steam than the others; and the waggon boiler of watt, that had just been repaired, was discarded and cut up;" thus described by trevithick, "the fire-place is feet from fire-door to fire-door, feet wide, and feet thick in fire,"[ ] which he proposed to replace in by a cylindrical boiler to give steam of lbs. on the inch. [footnote : see trevithick's letter, february th, , vol. ii., p. .] pooly also saw the finishing stroke in , when the boilers still known as the trevithick or cornish boilers, gave steam to the three engines; after a twelve years' fight between low and high pressure, commencing with trevithick's globular boiler and internal tube, in dolcoath, in the year , from which time it gained step by step, though in comparatively small engines, up to , when the cylindrical boilers took the place of the condemned hearse and globular boilers, and gave really strong and expansive steam to the three dolcoath pumping engines that from time immemorial had been rivals, causing all three of them to lift an increased quantity of water, and at the same time to save one-half in the cost of coal; this continued for four or five years, when in the -inch double and the -inch, being the youngest and the oldest of the three, were removed, that a new -inch cylinder, better adapted to trevithick's expansive steam might more cheaply perform their joint work. prior to this change the three engines were known by the names shammal -inch, formerly bullan garden,[ ] but before that as carloose, of the period and form of the pool engine;[ ] stray park single, formerly wheal gons,[ ] dated from to ; and the -inch double of watt in . [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : query bonze, spoken of by smiles.] "sir, "dolcoath mine, _march th, _. "i have obtained the following information respecting the building of the first cylindrical boilers, as ordered by your late father for dolcoath; and some information of the results as to the coals consumed, compared with the consumption by the boilers previously in use here. "george row, now about seventy-two years old, and working at camborne vean mine, says he assisted to build the two first cylindrical boilers with internal tubes used in cornwall. they were built in dolcoath mine in the year ; they were feet long, feet diameter, having an oval tube feet inches in the largest diameter at the fire end; the other or chimney end of the tube was somewhat smaller. they were found too small for the work to be done, and another boiler was built immediately, feet long, feet inches diameter, and he believed a -feet tube. "john bryant, now seventy-four years old, works a steam-engine at west wheal francis. he worked at dolcoath the -inch cylinder double-acting engine, upon boulton and watt's plan. when he first worked her she had the old bee-but boiler, feet in diameter. they were taken out for the boulton and watt waggon boiler, feet long and feet wide, with two fire-doors opposite one another. "then the boulton and watt waggon was taken out for captain trevithick's boilers, which he worked for several years. two boilers were put in, each feet long, feet diameter, with an internal oval tube, he thinks, feet by feet inches. shortly after, another boiler of similar form was added, feet long, feet diameter, -feet tube. "he cannot say what the saving of coal was, but remembers that the duty performed by the engine with the waggon boiler was thirteen to fourteen millions. mr. william west came to the mine as an engineer, and by paying great attention increased the duty of the boulton and watt engine and boiler to about fifteen millions. he does not recollect the duty the engine performed with the cylindrical boilers. "mr. thomas lean, of praze, the present reporter of mine engines in the western part of cornwall, in answer to a note i sent to him, says he has no account of any report of dolcoath engines for the _year _, but during the month of april in that year the engines did - / millions. during the whole of that engine was reported to average a duty of twenty-one millions. the whole of the above are at per bushel of lbs., and the whole of the accounts furnished by mr. lean are for trevithick's cylindrical boilers. "from the dolcoath mine books i find the following: paid for coals for the whole mine during the year , _l._ _s._ _d._, or per month, _l._ _s._ _d._ during the first three months of the coal averaged _l._ per month. in may of this year, , captain trevithick is entered on the books as paid _l._ on account of boilers; and in august of the same year, for erecting three boilers, _l._ i think the three boilers were at work in april, , the month mr. lean gives as the first reported. from april, , to december, during nine months, the cost of coals was _l._ _s._, averaging _l._ _s._ _d._ per month. during the next year, , the cost for coal was _l._ _s._ _d._, or an average per month of _l._ _s._ _d._ i cannot find the price paid per ton for the coal in these years, but the average price during and was much alike, making it probable that the price per ton during , , and , was nearly the same; and that the saving of the above _l._ per month in dolcoath was wholly on account of the saving effected by trevithick's cylindrical boilers. "the testimony of john bryant, that the duty with the waggon boiler was say fourteen millions, and that of mr. lean, giving twenty-one millions with the new trevithick boiler, bear much the same proportion as the charges for coals in the respective periods above given. "in the year a new -inch single engine was erected in the place of the old boulton and watt -inch double engine with trevithick's cylindrical boilers. the average duty performed during the year was - / millions. this same engine is still at work, and her regular duty is from thirty-six to thirty-eight millions. "i am, sir, "your most obedient servant, "charles thomas. "francis trevithick, esq." captain charles thomas, who was one of the most experienced of cornish miners, for many years the manager of dolcoath, and in youth the acquaintance of trevithick, states that the new high-pressure boilers were made in the mine in , and gave their first supplies of strong steam to the three large pumping engines in april, , with such good effect that the increasing water which had threatened to drown the mine was speedily removed, and that with a saving of nearly one-half of the coal before consumed. prior to their use dolcoath mine paid _l._ monthly for coal; but for the latter nine months of the year, in consequence of the new boilers, the cost was reduced to _l._ a month. this saving in the pumping cost of one mine crowned with success the high-pressure steam engineer, who had been steadily gaining ground during his fight of twelve or fourteen years on the battle-ground chosen by watt thirty-three years before. the low price of tin and copper, which caused so many engines to cease working about the close of the last century, had changed for the better, and the present century opened with an increasing demand for steam power. trevithick's high-pressure portable engines had worked satisfactorily for several years; and as a means of making public the relative duty performed by cornish pumping engines, and of solving conflicting statements on the rival systems of low and high pressure steam, it was determined that an intelligent person should examine and give printed monthly reports of the amount of duty done by the different engines, and in captain andrew vivian was requested to take this work of engine reporter in hand; on his refusal it was offered to trevithick. in august, , mr. lean commenced such monthly reports, showing that the duty of twelve pumping engines at the end of that year averaged seventeen millions, exactly the duty done by the boulton and watt engines thirteen years before, as reported by davies gilbert and captain jenkin in , proving the small inherent vitality of the watt engine. in the dolcoath pumping engines, with trevithick's cylindrical boiler and high steam expansion, are thus reported:--"the boulton and watt, dolcoath great double engine, -inch cylinder, did a duty of - / millions; the shammal -inch cylinder, single engine, did - / millions; and the -inch single, stray park engine, millions." shammal engine, nearly years old, beat the watt engine of more than half a century later; and so did stray park -inch, which watt had laughed at when he first tried his hand as an engineer in cornwall in .[ ] [footnote : see vol. i., p. ; vol. ii., p. .] the marked change in these three engines, while for two or three years under trevithick's guidance, becoming more powerful and economical, raised the usual swarm of detractors, and in a special trial was made, which lasted for two days, to test the reported increased duty by the cylindrical boilers and expansive working. the unbelievers were then convinced, and agreed to throw out the boulton and watt great double engine -inch cylinder, together with its neighbour, the worn-out old -inch, and put in their stead one engine with a cylinder of inches in diameter, with expansive valve and gear, and parts strong enough and suitable to the high-pressure steam, on trevithick's promise that it should do more than the combined work of the other two with one-half the coal. in this new engine commenced work, and did forty millions of duty, increasing it during the next two or three years to forty-eight millions, being three times the duty performed by the watt -inch double engine before it was supplied with steam from trevithick's boilers, and twice as much as it performed when so supplied. lean says, "this was the first instance of such duty having been performed by an engine of that simple construction." the other mines followed trevithick's advice, but never paid him a penny. on this lean again says, "the engines at work in the county in would have consumed , _l._ worth of coal over and above their actual consumption yearly, but for the improvements that had been made since ." trevithick's engines were very durable, as well as cheap in first cost and in working expense. this famous dolcoath -inch engine remained in constant work night and day for fifty-four years; after which good service the steam-pipes, being thinned by rust, were held together by bands and bolts; the steam-case around the cylinder would no longer bear the pressure of steam; the interior of the cylinder from wear was one inch larger in diameter than when first put in, and had to be held together by strap-bolts. the original boilers were said to remain, only they had been repaired until not an original plate remained; but there they were in the old stoke-hole in , when, from the fear of some part of the engine breaking and causing accident, it was removed. [illustration: trevithick's dolcoath -inch cylinder pumping engine, erected in , ceased working . _a_, steam-cylinder, inches in diameter, -feet stroke; _b_, steam-jacket; _c_, steam expansion-valve, inches diameter, double beat; the upper beat inches diameter, the under beat - / inches, valve inches long; _d_, expansive cam on plug-rod; _e_, plug-rod for moving the gear; _f_, expansive horn; _g_, equilibrium valve, inches in diameter, single beat moved by a tooth-rack and segment; _h_, exhaust-valve, - / inches in diameter, single beat moved by a lever and link; _i_, equilibrium-valve handle; _j_, exhaust-valve handle; _k_, y-posts for carrying the gear arbors; _l_, main beam in two plates of cast iron; _m_, parallel motion; _n_, feed-pump rod; _o_, air-pump bucket-rod, the pump, feet inches diameter; _p_, the main pump rods.] [illustration: cylinder, main beam, and pump-rod of dolcoath -inch cylinder engine.] in the writer was a member of the dolcoath managing committee, when it was determined that the old engine of should be replaced by a new one. the cylinder sides were reduced in thickness by half an inch; the steam-pipes and nozzles were thinned by rust and decay; the valves and gear-work remained in good order. captain josiah thomas, the present manager of the mine, offered to sell this old engine at scrap price, that it might be stored in the patent museum at kensington as a memento of the early high-pressure expansive steam pumping engine. [illustration: boilers erected in in dolcoath, used in the boulton and watt -inch engine, then in the new -inch until . _a a_, two wrought-iron cylindrical boilers, feet in diameter, feet long, with internal fire-tube, oval, feet inches by feet; _b_, a boiler, feet inches diameter, feet long, cylindrical tube, feet diameter in the fire-place, the remainder feet; _c_, brick bridge; _d_, fire-bars; _e_, brick external flues under boiler; _f_, brick side-flues; _g_, ashes, or other non-conductor; steam to [**unclear] lbs. on the inch above the atmosphere.] the steam-cylinder of was cast in south wales; the beam still working in the new engine of was cast in the foundry of the williams' at perran. john west replaced the original flat expansive steam-valve with a double-beat valve; the gear was principally made by him on the mine, and remained in good working to the last. this double-beat valve is the first the writer has met with; it is of the same form as the modern double-beat valve; an earlier plan was to have a small valve on the top of the main valve. the steam in ordinary working was shut off when the piston had moved from an eighth to a quarter of its stroke. the gons, or stray park -inch cylinder, survived its companions, the double, and single, for some ten or fifteen years, having beaten both of them in duty. a memorandum in trevithick's handwriting shows that he in , when designing his large globular boiler with internal flue at the reworking of dolcoath, tested the relative duty of the watt -inch double and the -inch single engine, then called wheal gons, the latter in its original form of open-top cylinder atmospheric; shortly after which it probably received a cover about the same time as the -inch, for both those engines were thoroughly repaired by trevithick at the reworking of the mine, twelve or fourteen years prior to the use of the cylindrical boilers. "at the time that boulton and watt made their trial of seal-hole engine against hornblower's engine at tin croft, the engines were put in the best order, and good coals brought in for the purpose, to work for twenty-four hours. the trial was attended by the principal mining agents; the result was about ten millions by each engine. "at dolcoath mine an old atmospheric engine continued to work for several years by the side of one of boulton and watt's engines of the same size; the water lifted and coals consumed were carefully taken and made known to the public, showing that boulton and watt's engine performed, when compared with the old engine, as to ."[ ] [footnote : memorandum in trevithick's writing.] hornblower was an active engineer in cornwall before watt; the patent of the latter claiming the sole right of working an engine by steam in the cylinder,[ ] drove the former to use two cylinders, in one of which the expansion was carried out, as a means not described in watt's patent; a lawsuit was the consequence. the two engines when tried by trevithick[ ] performed an equal duty of ten millions. in he tested the dolcoath atmospheric -inch single against watt's great -inch double action. "the atmospheric performed ten millions," precisely the duty of the patent watt and the patent hornblower contests of six years before; but the watt dolcoath engine, then considered the best he had made, did sixteen millions. these trials in and enable us to compare the newcomen, the hornblower, and the watt engines; shortly after which trevithick tried higher steam in one or more of those same engines from his globular boiler.[ ] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see vol. ii, p. .] "sir ch. hawkins, "camborne, _march th, _. "sir,--this day i shall attend the account at wheal prosper mine, in gwythian, to contract with the adventurers for erecting a steam-engine on my improved plan, for drawing the water fathoms under the adit. i called on wheal liberty adventurers at st. agnes last week, and found that several of them had given up their shares rather than put in a new engine, and the remainder of them very sick. "i told them that i would fork the water with the present engine, and draw instead of gallons each stroke, fathoms deep (which she did), gallons per stroke, fathoms deep, by altering the engine on the same principle as i have done with the dolcoath great engine, and several more that are now altering. the expense of altering the engine, and forking the water to bottom, and proving the mine, will not exceed _l._ "all the adventurers are very anxious to again resume their shares and make the trial, on condition that i will undertake the completion of the job at a certain sum, but not otherwise. "i am certain, from what dolcoath engine is doing, that i can far exceed the power above stated, and perform the duty with one-half the coal the engine consumed before, and would not hesitate a moment to engage the job on the terms they propose, but i have not money sufficient to carry it into execution, as i must lay out a large sum in erecting the engine on the gwythian mine, and unless i can be assisted with _l._, shall not be able to undertake the job. "if you think it worth your notice to encourage this undertaking by lending me the above sum for six months, i will pay you interest for it, and before drawing any part of it from you would get materials in the mine that should amount to above that sum, and also give you an order on the adventurers to repay you the whole sum before receiving any part myself. "as i have been a bankrupt, perhaps you may scruple on that account, but that business is finally settled, and i have my certificate; and indeed i never was in debt to any person; not one shilling of debt was proved against me under the commission, nothing more than the private debts of my swindling partner. "at wendron we are working an engine lately erected on a copper lode, which has a very promising appearance, and near this spot you have land at besperson, where there is also a very kindly copper lode, which deserves trial; if you are inclined to grant a sett, i think i can find adventurers to join me to try the mine. "i have lately read a letter from your hind, that the engine continues to mend; it far exceeds my expectation. i am now building a portable steam-whim, on the same plan, _to go itself_ from shaft to shaft; the whole weight will be about cwt., and the power equal to twenty-six horses in twenty-four hours. "the only difference in this engine and yours will be the fire in the boiler, and without mason-work, on account of making it portable. i shall pass the rope from the fly-wheel round the cage of the horse-whim. "if you should fall in with any west india planter that stands in want of an engine, he may see this one at work in a month, which will prove to him the advantage of a portable engine, to travel from one plantation to another. the price, completely finished and set to work, free of all expense, in london, _l._ "i am, sir, "your very humble servant, "rd. trevithick. "n.b.--captain john stephens informed me, a few days since, that the lead mine at newlyn was rich." in wheal prosper mine the first high-pressure expansive steam-condensing pole-engine had been worked, just before the date of the foregoing letter, and that evidence of increased power and economy was immediately followed by the application of the same principles of high-pressure steam and very expansive working to the watt low-pressure steam vacuum engines at wheal alfred, dolcoath, and other mines, with such satisfactory results as to warrant his offering, on the battle-ground of his first attack on the watt low-pressure steam vacuum principle at seal-hole in st. agnes, fourteen years before,[ ] at his own pecuniary risk, to so apply those principles in the wheal liberty low-pressure steam-engine, which had failed to drain the mine, lifting only at the rate of gallons of water one fathom high at each stroke; that it should lift an increased quantity of water, and that, too, from an increased depth, making the load equal to gallons, and to perform such increase of work with one-half of the quantity of coal before used; in other words, he was willing to engage to make the old low-pressure steam-engine perform by its conversion into a high-pressure steam-engine threefold its original work, and also to increase its duty or economic value sixfold; resting his argument on the similar changes, then to be seen in operation at wheal alfred mine, and especially in the watt -inch double-acting engine at dolcoath, whose history we have been tracing. well might sir charles hawkins hesitate to believe what the experience of sixty years has barely sufficed to make plain to us. [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] "captn. trevithick, "penzance, _march th, _. "sir,--in consequence of the conversation that has passed between you and west wheal tin croft adventurers, the said adventurers have resolved to put an engine on that mine, agreeable to the proposals offered by you; that is, the engine shall be capable of lifting a -inch bucket, fathoms, -feet stroke, strokes per minute, or a duty equal thereto; for which they will pay you guineas one month after the engine shall be at work, and guineas more at four months after that, and guineas more at four months from that time, making the full payment of guineas in nine months from the time the engine shall set at work, the adventurers paying all expense, except the engine materials, which shall be delivered on the mine. but in case the engine not performing the above duty, the adventurers to be at liberty to return the same engine, and you to pay back all the money that you had received for the said engine. "signed by gabl. blewett, "in behalf of the adventurers and company." trevithick was willing to spend more than his last penny in establishing the superiority of his high-pressure steam expansive engines, but the selfishness of adventurers retarded their progress. the atmospheric, mentioned by watt as working in dolcoath in ,[ ] did five or six millions of duty, yet in trevithick's hands, about to , when he erected his globular boiler with internal tube, one of them was tested with the -inch watt low-pressure vacuum engine, when the latter did sixteen millions to ten millions by the atmospheric engine, being nearly double the duty it performed in its original form; and we shall still trace this same engine as bonze or gons until it increased to six times its first duty under the name of stray park -inch. [footnote : see vol. i., pp. , ; vol. ii., p. .] trevithick having erected a high-pressure steam condensing whim-engine at cook's kitchen,[ ] and in dolcoath[ ] a high-pressure puffer whim-engine, pleaded hard in [ ] to be allowed to supply the large pumping engines of newcomen and watt with higher pressure steam from his cylindrical boiler, which after years of consideration dolcoath, in , agreed to. in he wrote:--"that new engine you saw near the sea-side with me is now lifting forty millions, one foot high, with one bushel of coal, which is very nearly double the duty that is done by any other engine in the county. a few days since i altered a -inch cylinder engine at wheal alfred to the same plan, and i think she will do equally as much duty. i have a notice to attend a mine meeting to erect a new engine, equal in power to a -inch cylinder single."[ ] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] [footnote : see trevithick's letter, january th, , vol. ii., p. .] the beneficial results of those acts are too large to be here entered into in detail. in round numbers, the early pumping engines of newcomen did five millions;[ ] trevithick caused them to do ten millions of duty with a bushel of coal. watt, during thirty years of improvements, caused the duty to reach sixteen or twenty millions in . trevithick, on the expiry of the watt patent, then came into play, and before he had reigned half the time of watt, again doubled the duty of the steam-engine, as he states in "his new engine was doing forty millions, being nearly double the duty of any other engine in the county." these statements by trevithick agree very nearly with the generally-received accounts of the progressive duty of the large pumping steam-engine. [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] "in davies gilbert, esq., and the late captain jenkin of treworgie, found the average of the boulton and watt engines in cornwall to be about seventeen millions. in august, , the eight engines reported averaged · millions. during the year dolcoath great engine, with a cylinder of inches in diameter, did twenty-one and a half millions nearly. dolcoath shammal engine, with a cylinder of inches in diameter, did twenty-six and three-quarter millions. dolcoath stray park engine, with a cylinder of inches in diameter, did thirty-two millions. "in a trial was made, to prove the correctness of the monthly reports. stray park engine at dolcoath was chosen for the purpose, because its reported duty was such as led some persons to entertain doubts of its accuracy. the trial was continued for ten days, to the full satisfaction of all concerned. "in , jeffrie and gribble erected a new engine, -inch cylinder, single, at dolcoath, which did forty millions. this was the first instance of such duty having been performed by an engine of that simple construction. "in , dolcoath engine performed the best during this year, and at one time reached forty-eight millions. "in , treskerby engine, to which trevithick's high-pressure pole had been adapted, reached · millions. "in , sims also erected an engine at wheal chance, to which he applied the pole adopted by trevithick in his high-pressure engines. this engine attained to forty-five millions. "in public attention had now been attracted to the improvements which captain grose had introduced into his engine at wheal towan. the duty of this engine, in the month of april this year, equalled eighty-seven millions. "this again gave rise to suspicions of error in the returns. this engine was accordingly subjected to a trial (as stray park engine had been in ), which was superintended and conducted by many of the principal mine agents, engineers, and pitmen of other mines. "the quantity of coal consumed in , compared with the quantity that would have been consumed by the same engines in the same time, had they remained unimproved from the year , shows that the saving to the county amounts to , tons of coal, or , _l._ sterling per annum."[ ] [footnote : lean's 'steam-engine in cornwall.'] lean seems to have calculated on a bushel of coal as lbs. in , when trevithick was about to give increased pressure of steam to the cornish engines, his friend davies gilbert reported the average duty of the watt engine in cornwall to be seventeen millions. in august, , the reported duty averaged · millions. this was the month and year in which trevithick, after twelve years of working evidences of the reasonableness of his promises of increased power and economy from using high-pressure steam, was allowed to erect his cylindrical boilers for the large pumping engines in dolcoath mine. has the reader realized that the -inch atmospheric carloose engine, of nearly years before,[ ] had in [ ] become the bullan garden engine of trevithick, sen., which was improved and re-erected by trevithick, jun., in ,[ ] when the name was again changed, this time to shammal, because it was linked to another engine, no other than the watt -inch double engine? this shammal -inch took steam from the globular boiler, using a pole air-pump[ ] and a watt condenser, though retaining the beam with the arched head and chain connection; and again in took still more highly expansive steam from the cylindrical boilers with a new beam and parallel motion, enabling it in to beat its rival, the watt dolcoath great double engine.[ ] the old -inch gons, under the name of dolcoath stray park engine, with trevithick's improvements, did sixty-seven per cent. more work than the watt -inch with an equal quantity of coal. [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] [footnote : see lean's report, vol. ii., p. .] this startling fact was disbelieved by the advocates of low-pressure steam, and as the visible change in the dolcoath engine from newcomen to watt, and from watt to trevithick, had been gradual and not very striking, and the public were careless of principles, the one most puffed was most thought of; but the money saved was tangible, and in a special trial was made, which lasted two days, to discover if it was really true that trevithick's appliances could so increase the duty of the engine. the -inch cylinder, then called stray park engine, was selected; the result proved that the large saving reported from trevithick's boilers and expansive working during the last three or four years, was an incontrovertible fact. the high-pressure steam was also given to the defeated watt -inch double engine; yet this newest of the three engines was the first to be condemned, and her place was taken in by an engine of inches in diameter, which trevithick promised should, with his high steam and new expansive gear, do the work of the watt -inch and the old -inch put together; which was more than fulfilled by its doing forty millions, and, as lean says, "was the first instance of such duty having been performed by an engine of that simple construction." in the new -inch engine which had been erected by the mine engineers, jeffrie[ ] and gribble, who had long been employed by trevithick in dolcoath, was the best in the county, doing forty-eight millions, nearly three times the duty as given by mr. gilbert for the watt engine in . in trevithick's pupil, captain samuel grose, erected his wheal towan engine, which performed a duty of eighty-seven millions, some of the working drawings of which were made by the writer. in the principle laid down by trevithick had become so general in the county as to cause a saving to the cornish mines, in coal alone, of , _l._ yearly. in addition to this, the increased power of the engine lessened the first cost by at least one-half. [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] the national importance of such weighty facts calls for further corroborative proof, for we can scarcely believe that two atmospheric low-pressure steam-engines, made before the time of watt, could be altered so as to perform more work, and at a less cost than the watt engine, by an ingenious supply of higher steam pressure from trevithick's boilers, together with the watt air-pump and condenser. the following words from watt are descriptive of his practice, though contrary to his patent claim:-- "at a very early period, while experimenting at kinneil, he had formed the idea of working steam expansively, and altered his model from time to time with that object. boulton had taken up and continued the experiments at soho, believing the principle to be sound, and that great economy would attend its adoption. "the early engines were accordingly made so that the steam might be cut off before the piston had made its full stroke, and expand within the cylinder, the heat outside it being maintained by the expedient of the steam-case. but it was shortly found that this method of working was beyond the capacity of the average enginemen of that day, and it was consequently given up for a time. "'we used to send out,' said watt to robert hart, 'a cylinder of double the size wanted, and cut off the steam at half-stroke.' "this was a great saving of steam, so long as the valves remained as at first; but when our men left her to the charge of the person who was to keep her, he began to make, or try to make, improvements, often by giving more steam. the engine did more work while the steam lasted, but the boiler could not keep up the demand. then complaints came of want of steam, and we had to send a man down to see what was wrong. "this was so expensive, that we resolved to give up the expansion of the steam until we could get men that could work it, as a few tons of coal per year was less expensive than having the work stopped. in some of the mines a few hours' stoppage was a serious matter, as it would cost the proprietor as much as l. per hour."[ ] [footnote : smiles' 'lives of boulton and watt,' p. .] pole expresses the same view, intimating that watt only used steam of or lbs. pressure to the inch. "in watt's engine, as is well known, the pressure of steam in the boiler very little exceeded the pressure of the atmosphere. he recommended that when the engine was underloaded, this excess should be equal to about inch of mercury; and when full loaded, ought not to exceed inches; adding, 'it is never advisable to work with a strong steam when it can be avoided, as it increases the leakages of the boiler and joints of the steam-case, and answers no good end.'[ ] [footnote : appendix a to tredgold, 'pole on cornish engines,' p. .] "mr. watt's engines with such boilers" (which will not retain steam of more than - / lbs. per square inch above the atmosphere) "cannot be made to exert a competent power to drain deep mines, unless the supply of steam to the cylinder is continued until the piston has run through more than half its course.[ ] [footnote : 'phil. mag. and annals,' n.s., vol. viii., p. , by w. j. henwood.] "in - captain trevithick erected a high-pressure engine of small size at marazion, which was worked by steam of at least lbs. on the square inch above atmospheric pressure. in , as mr. farey admits,[ ] the same gentleman introduced his celebrated and valuable wrought-iron cylindrical boilers,[ ] now universally used in this county. [footnote : ibid., p. .] [footnote : ibid., vol. i., p. .] "to these, everyone at all acquainted with the cornish improvements ascribes a great part of the saving we have obtained. this will farther appear from an extract from a valuable work edited by john taylor, esq., f.r.s.[ ] [footnote : 'records of mining,' p. .] "the monthly consumption of coal in dolcoath mine was, in , bushels; in , bushels.[ ] the alteration in the boilers was the introduction of captain trevithick's cylindrical boilers in the place of the common waggon boilers, which had until then been there in use. [footnote : alteration in the boilers that year.] "mr. woolf, as mr. farey states, came to reside in cornwall about the year , and his 'first engines for pumping water from mines were set up by him in .'"[ ] [footnote : 'phil. mag. and annals,' vol. x., p. , "notes on some recent improvements of the steam-engine in cornwall," by w. jory henwood, f.g.s.] the foregoing was read at the philosophical society in , to refute erroneous statements on the watt and trevithick engines. my friend mr. henwood had at that time made official experiments in conjunction with mr. john rennie on the detail, working, and duty of high-pressure steam cornish engines, the watt low-pressure steam principle having been wholly given up. rees's 'cyclopædia'[ ] also bears the following similar testimony to date of the increased duty:-- [footnote : see rees 'on the steam-engine,' published .] "trevithick's high-pressure engine was erected in wales in to ascertain its powers to raise water. the duty was seventeen millions and a half pounds raised one foot high for each bushel of coals. "the high-pressure steam-engines require a greater quantity of coals, in proportion to the force exerted, than the engine of mr. watt, and consequently are not worked with advantage in a situation where coals are dear. "from the reports of the engines now working in the mines of cornwall, which, with the exception of a few of woolf's engines, are all on mr. watt's principle, and most of them constructed by messrs. boulton and watt, taking the average of nine engines--bad, good, and indifferent together--they were found in august, , to raise only thirteen millions and a half. but when it was known by the engine keepers that their engines were under examination, they took so much pains to improve the effects, that by gradual increase the engines in lifted twenty-one millions and a half, taking the average of thirty-three engines. in , stray park, a -inch cylinder, feet inches stroke, single-acting, being one of the three engines on the vast dolcoath mine; its performance in four different months was thirty-one, thirty-one and a quarter, twenty-eight, and twenty-eight and a half millions." this statement reveals a source of error in estimating the relative values of the watt and the trevithick engine; that of the latter was the welsh locomotive, compared in duty with the large watt pumping engine, pointed out in trevithick's letter[ ] of that time, as an unfair comparison; the small high-pressure puffer, in , is admitted to have done seventeen and a half millions of duty with a bushel of coal of lbs., while in rees' calculation of the engines, he gives watt lbs. of coal to a bushel; and having stated that the watt pumping engines in cornwall, in , averaged but thirteen and a half millions of duty, draws the false conclusion that the high-pressure cannot compete with the low-pressure where coals are dear; yet he agrees with other writers that the great increase in the duty of the cornish pumping engines commenced from (when trevithick first gave them his high-pressure steam); and states that in the stray park -inch cylinder single-acting engine,[ ] being one of three then working in dolcoath, did thirty-one millions. [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see watt's statement, vol. ii., p. .] the 'encyclopædia britannica' on the question of duty states:[ ]-- [footnote : see "steam-engine," published .] "the duty of the best of smeaton's engines was, in , , , foot pounds per cwt. of coal. on the expiration of watt's patent, about the year , the highest duty of his engines amounted to twenty millions, or more than double the former duty, which may represent the economical value of the improvement effected by watt under his various patents. "the reported duty of cornish pumping engines, by the consumption of lbs. of coals, rose from an average of nineteen millions and a half, and a maximum of twenty-six millions in , to an average of sixty millions and a maximum of ninety-six millions in . it is necessary to bear in mind the distinction between the duty of a bushel of coal and lbs." here, also, are the same general facts as to the duty of the watt engine, and the marked and rapid increase of duty dating from trevithick's dolcoath engines in ; but the confusion and even contradictions in the statements prove how little the subject was understood. "a rough draft, prepared by mr. edmonds on trevithick's return from america, dated , for an application to parliament for remuneration to trevithick, says, 'that this kingdom is indebted to your petitioner for some of the most important improvements that have been made in the steam-engine. "'that the duty performed by messrs. boulton and watt's improved steam-engines in , as appears by a statement made by davies gilbert, esq., and other gentlemen associated for that purpose, averaged only fourteen millions and a half (pounds of water lifted foot high by bushel of coal), although a chosen engine of theirs under the most favourable circumstances lifted twenty-seven millions, which was the greatest duty ever performed till your petitioner's improvements were adopted, since which the greatest duty ever performed has been sixty-seven millions, being much more than double the former duty. that, prior to the invention of your petitioner's boiler, the most striking defect observable in every steam-engine was in the form of the boiler, which in shape resembled a tilted waggon, the fire being applied under it, and the whole being surrounded with mason work. that such shaped boilers were incapable of supporting steam of a high pressure or temperature, and did not admit so much of the water to the action of the fire as your petitioner's boiler does, and were also in other respects attended with many disadvantages. that your petitioner's invention consists principally in introducing the fire into the midst of the boiler, and in making the boiler of a cylindrical form, which is the form best adapted for sustaining the pressure of high steam. "'that the following very important advantages are derived from this your petitioner's invention. this boiler does not require half of the materials, nor does it occupy half the space required for any other boiler. no mason work is necessary to encircle the boiler.[**'"] "'that, had it not been for this your petitioner's invention, those late vast improvements which have been made in the use of steam could not have taken place, inasmuch as none of the old boilers could have withstood a pressure of above lbs. to the inch beyond the atmosphere, much less a pressure of lbs. to the inch, and is capable of standing a pressure of above lbs. to the inch.'" trevithick's retrospect views of are supported by the letter of the late michael williams, m.p., the most experienced of cornish mine workers, but belonging to the eastern district that had been for many years the users of the watt engines in cornwall. "in reference to his great improvements in the steam-engine, i have a more particular recollection, and can confidently affirm that he was the first to introduce the high-pressure principle of working, thus establishing a way to the present high state of efficiency of the steam-engine, and forming a new era in the history of steam power. to the use of high-pressure steam, in conjunction with the cylindrical boilers, also invented by mr. trevithick, i have no hesitation in saying that the greatly-increased duty of our cornish pumping engines, since the time of watt, is mainly owing; and when it is recollected that the working power now attained amounts to double or treble that of the old boulton and watt engine, it will be at once seen that it is impossible to overestimate the benefit conferred, either directly or indirectly, by the late mr. trevithick on the mines of this county. i have often expressed my opinion that he was at the same time the greatest and the worst-used man in the county."[ ] [footnote : see letter of michael williams, chap. xix.] the late sir john rennie and other scientific persons were, about , associated with mr. henwood[ ] in examining the work performed by cornish pumping engines: their reports are curtailed in the following comments on wheal towan engine, similar to trevithick's dolcoath engine of , except perhaps that the last named was a little inferior in its detail movements, while much less care was taken to avoid unnecessary loss of heat. [footnote : henwood, 'edinburgh journal of science,' .] [illustration: steam diagram of wheal towan pumping engine, erected .] mr. henwood also gave indicator diagrams of the expansion of the steam, on one of which the writer has marked ten horizontal lines, indicating the position of the piston at each foot of its stroke, and ten longitudinal lines dividing the diameter of the cylinder into tenths. the steam pressure in the boiler was · lbs. on the square inch above the atmosphere, or · lbs. for each of the ten longitudinal line divisions. _x_ to _c_ represents the top of the steam-cylinder inches, diameter; _x_ to f the length of the cylinder for a -feet stroke of the piston. by the time the piston had moved through one-twentieth of its course, reaching _c_, the expansive working had commenced; and when one-tenth of the stroke had been run, half of a division was cut off, showing by the curved indicator line the decrease in pressure of steam to . lbs. the comparatively small passage through the steam-valve not giving room for sufficient steam to follow up the increasing speed of the piston, led to its continued expansion in the cylinder, and by the time the piston had moved feet, reaching d, the steam pressure was reduced by two divisions or . lbs., or a pressure of . lbs. on the piston; at this point the steam-valve was closed, and the remaining four-fifths of the stroke was performed by expansion; at the fifth horizontal line, or middle of the stroke, only three divisions of steam are left, giving a pressure of . lbs. to the inch; at the finish of the stroke there is only half a division, from e to f, or . lbs. of steam to the inch above the pressure of the atmosphere. on the return up-stroke of the piston, when it had reached within a foot of the finish of its course at c, the equilibrium valve closed, causing the enclosed steam of . lbs. to the inch to be compressed at the finish of the up-stroke shown by the curve g a to . lbs. on the inch, equal to its pressure about the middle of the down-stroke at n. trevithick's expansive engine therefore, commencing its work with steam of . lbs. on the inch above the atmosphere, only took a full supply from the boiler during one-tenth of its stroke, and none after one-fifth had been performed, while at the finish of the stroke it had about the same pressure as watt began with. the _power_ of the watt low-pressure steam vacuum pumping engine was increased by trevithick from two to three fold, and its economical duty in about the same proportion; in other words, he increased the effective power of the steam-engine two or three fold without additional consumption of coal. in the wheal towan engine the steam-cylinder was inches in diameter, with a -feet stroke. the shaft was feet in depth; the main pumps inches in diameter; the pump-rods were of wood, about inches square, and weighed more than the column of water in the pipes. the boilers were trevithick's cylindrical with internal tube, wholly of wrought iron. the cylinder and steam-pipes were surrounded with sawdust about inches in thickness, as a non-conductor of heat. the upper surfaces of the boilers were covered with a layer of ashes for the same purpose. the duty performed was · millions of pounds of water, raised one foot high by the consumption of a bushel of coal weighing lbs. the immense power and economy of this engine are best understood by its average labour costing only one farthing in coal for lifting tons one foot high. at or about that time an old intimate of trevithick's, captain nicholas vivian, managed the mine, and mr. neville, a shareholder, also a user of steam-engines in wales, observing the economical working of wheal towan high-pressure steam expansive engine, doing eighty-seven millions, requested its manager to examine colliery engines, all of which were of the low-pressure kind; one of them was a newcomen atmospheric, whose duty was six millions; four or five others were watt low-pressure steam vacuum engines, doing fourteen millions; therefore the high-pressure steam-engine did six times as much work with a bucket of coal as the low-pressure steam vacuum, and fourteen times as much as the low-pressure steam atmospheric engine. several competitive trials by the county engineers were published about that time, in one of which, after a personal examination of the engine, mr. w. j. henwood[ ] and others reported a duty of · millions with a -lb. bushel of coal.[ ] [footnote : address, royal institution of cornwall, by w. j. henwood, .] [footnote : trevithick calculated lbs. to a bushel; watt generally lbs.; lean lbs., but latterly lbs.] mr. rennie had been a pupil, a fellow-worker with low-pressure watt, and while his son, sir john rennie, was examining the high-pressure steam expansive engine erected by trevithick's pupil, captain samuel grose, under the management of trevithick's friend, captain nicholas vivian, the latter was engaged in reporting on certain low-pressure steam-engines in wales, one of which was a newcomen's atmospheric, probably the last of its race, whose principle of construction was a century old, working in company with the watt low-pressure steam vacuum engine, then half a century old, the principles of both systems being on their last legs, and under the care of trevithick's supporters. during this jumble of engines, old and new, without a clear comprehension of their differences in principle, trevithick, who had just returned from america, and lived within a few miles of wheal towan, looked on unconsulted and unconcerned on questions which in his mind had been settled by him in dolcoath fifteen or twenty years before. the writer, during the wheal towan controversy, was the daily companion of trevithick, and made drawings of the engine at the works of harvey and co., of hayle, where it was constructed about . captain samuel grose's wheal towan engine was in general character similar to his teacher's dolcoath -inch engine of , working with about the same steam pressure and degree of expansion. the valves, gear, and nozzles were perhaps improved in detail; but the groundwork was unchanged. the first high-pressure steam cornish pumping engine made in france was designed and superintended by the writer at the works of messrs. perrier, edwards, and chaper, at pompe-à-feu, in chaillot, a suburb of paris. the principle was the same as the dolcoath engine, and the detail differed but little from it or the wheal towan, except that its exterior was a little more artistic than its prototypes in cornwall, in keeping with french requirements. it was built in , within a few yards of the low-pressure steam pumping engine erected by perrier and others in , which still continued pumping water from the seine for the supply of paris. stuart says, "an engine by boulton and watt was sent to france, and erected by m. perrier at chaillot, near paris. the french engineer, proney, with a detestable illiberality, attributes all the merit of the improvements in the chaillot engine to his friend perrier, the person who merely put together the pieces he had brought from soho."[ ] [footnote : stuart 'on the steam-engine,' p. .] the perrier of was related to the perrier of the pompe-à-feu engine-building works of , and his nephew took the trevithick engine from paris to a coal mine not far from brussels, but not fully understanding the use of the balance-bob--the woodwork for which had not been completed in paris, though all other parts had been fully erected--did not find it easy to manage the engine. the writer viewed perrier's move as an infringement of the agreement between him and edwards, the partner of perrier and chaper, and therefore declined to take any further interest in the engine. mr. edwards had before that been a partner with woolf, in a small engineering works in lambeth; and the writer had also before that been a pupil of woolf's, in the works of messrs. harvey and co., of hayle. the drawing of 'la belle machine' (plate xiii.), of , serves not only as a record of that time, but also in conjunction with the drawing of dolcoath engine of , enables an engineer to form a sufficiently correct idea of the wheal towan engine and boilers of , which in effective duty is scarcely excelled by the best pumping engines of the present day. the events connected with those paris engines bring together the engineering works of watt, proney, perrier, trevithick, and woolf, in the person of his once partner, edwards. the writer, when constructing 'la belle machine,' had not the slightest knowledge of those links, and heard the name and repute of his engine by the following chance:-- in a passenger leaving the train of the great western railway at drayton station, asked the writer's permission to walk on the line and examine its construction. during a short conversation he mentioned the having purchased at a sale in france the drawings of an engine known as 'la belle machine,' representing the cornish high-pressure expansive steam pumping engine:--_a_, steam-cylinder, inches in diameter, -feet stroke; _b_, steam-pipe from boiler; _c_, regulating steam-valve, double beat; _d_, regulating rod and handle for steam-valve; _e_, expansive steam-valve, double beat; _f_, balanced lever and rod for opening expansive valve; _g_, expansive clamp on plug-rod, with regulating rod and thumb-screws; _h_, cataract-rod for relieving expansive valve-catch; _i_, quadrant relieving the catch; _j_, plug-rod; _k_, equilibrium valve, double beat; _l_, clamp in plug-rod to close equilibrium valve by its action on the handle; _m_, balanced lever and rod to open equilibrium valve; _n_, quadrant and catch relieving equilibrium valve by the action of cataract-rod; _o_, regulating slide on cataract-rod; _p_, equilibrium steam-pipe conveying steam from the top to the bottom of the piston; _q_, exhaust-valve, double beat; _r_, clamp on plug-rod, closing the exhaust-valve by its descent on the handle; _s_, balance lever and rod, opening exhaust-valve; _t_, quadrant and catch, relieving equilibrium valve by the action of cataract-rod; _u_, regulating slide on cataract-rod; _v_, exhaust-pipe to condenser; _w_, y-posts for carrying the gear. the steam in the boiler was from lbs. to lbs. on the square inch above the atmosphere. [illustration: plate . la belle machine. high pressure steam expansion pumping engine.-- . london: e.& f n. span. , charing cross. kell. bro^s. lith. london.] lean states that had the pumping engines at work in cornwall in remained unimproved since , at which time they had benefited by three years of continuous improvement, a yearly additional expenditure of , _l._ for coal would have been the consequence, and that the first step was trevithick's expansive steam from the cylindrical tubular boiler, engines using such steam performing a duty three or four fold what boulton and watt had ever attained, or perhaps thought possible of attainment.[ ] the birth of the idea of using expansive steam may in truth be traced back nearly one hundred years to the time of newcomen's atmospheric engine, and the hope expressed in of a smaller boiler and more elastic steam[ ] was partially realized in the engine and boiler of trevithick, sen., in bullan garden in , followed in by the competing engine erected by watt in dolcoath mine, under trevithick's management. little further change was made until , when the globular boiler and internal tube of trevithick, jun., gave a second start to the use in large engines of more expansive steam; and even this partial move was the result of years of thought and practical experiment; for in , when twenty-one years of age, he was the elected judge on a competitive trial between the watt engine at seal-hole, patented in , and hornblower's double-cylinder engine at tin croft. each engine performed a duty of ten millions, both of them were called expansive, while in fact neither of them were so, for the pressure of the steam in the boiler did not admit of it. as lean says, "as the steam used was raised but little above the pressure of the atmosphere, it was found that the power gained did not compensate for the inconvenience of a more complicated and more expensive machine." or, as watt said to robert hart, "we resolved to give up the expansion of the steam until we could get men that could work it," as he found it more costly than profitable. again in , trevithick's own writing records his experiment in dolcoath between the bullan garden -inch atmospheric engine and the watt -inch great double-acting engine, when the latter did sixteen millions to ten millions by the atmospheric. at that very time he was constructing his high-pressure steam portable engines, and in the following year, after seven years of most active experience, prompted by the watt lawsuit against cornish engineers, he in gave the beaten -inch engine steam of a higher pressure from the stronger globular boiler. people, following the ideas of watt, were still afraid of trevithick's plans, distinctly laid down in his letters of , recommending a cylindrical boiler for the dolcoath pumping engine, because similar boilers giving steam to his whim-engines have enabled them to beat the watt whims. this continued until , when the greatly-increased power and economy of the high-pressure expansive steam pumping engine at wheal prosper caused the neighbouring dolcoath in to give trevithick's plans free scope. the long smouldering rivalry between low and high pressure, on the eve of the final discomfiture of the former, burst forth in loud words and evil prognostications, causing the mining interest of cornwall to appoint an examiner who should publish monthly the duty performed by the various pumping engines, the first of which appeared in the autumn of , when trevithick was building his boilers in dolcoath, and preparing the engines, as far as was possible, to submit to strong steam. by expansive valves and suitable gear, balance of power between the engine and the pump-work necessitating balance-bobs, strengthening the pit-work to bear the more powerful and sudden movement, and fifty other things, which we know must have presented themselves in such work, occupied the greater part of trevithick's time from to . that first report enumerates twelve pumping-engines, probably all of them watt engines, averaging a duty of seventeen millions. [footnote : see lean's historical statement, p. ; published .] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] we have before traced the rapid and immense increase in the power and in the duty of cornish pumping engines from , and it may be taken as comparatively true in the larger sense applying to the improvement of the steam-engine everywhere. dolcoath mine, one hundred years ago, under the management of trevithick, sen., followed by his son as the strong-steam engineer, and by his grandson as one of the committee of management in these modern times, has served during that long period to illustrate the progress of the steam-engine, and still in active operation, was thus spoken of in 'the times' of dec. th, :--"this old and extraordinary mine is now raising about tons of tin every month, worth from _l._ to _l._" chapter xxi. engines for south america. [rough draft.] "sir, "camborne, _may th, _. "yours of the th inst. i should have answered by return, as requested; but an unexpected circumstance prevented my being at swansea as early as proposed, which, as it happens, best suits your purpose as well as my own. i shall not be able to be there within twenty days from this time, of which i will give you timely notice. i hope before that time mrs. rastrick will be safe out of the straw. i have been detained in consequence of a strange gentleman calling on me, who arrived at falmouth about ten days since, from lima, in south america, for the sole purpose of taking out steam-engines, pumps, and sundry other mining materials to the gold and silver mines of mexico and peru. he was recommended to me to furnish him with mining utensils and mining information. he was six months on his passage, which did not agree with his health, and has kept his bed ever since he came on shore; but is now much recovered, and hopes to be able to go down in the cornish mines with me in a few days. i have already an order from him for six engines, which is but a very small part of what he wants. i am making drawings for you, and intend to be with you as soon as they are finished. money is very plentiful with him, and if you will engage to finish a certain quantity of work by a given time, you may have the money before you begin the job. the west india engine will suit his purpose. i shall have a great deal of business to do with you when we meet. in the meantime please to forward the thrashing engines to cornwall as quickly as possible. the engine for plymouth will be put to break the ground as soon as i can find time to go up there. please to say when and by what ship i shall have the small engines. "i remain, sir, "your very obedient servant, "r. t. "to mr. john u. rastrick, "_bridgenorth, shropshire._ "the copper mine mentioned in my last is improving very fast." the strange gentleman referred to was don francisco uville, a person of great influence in lima, who a year or two before had travelled from peru to england and back, in search of steam-engines to pump water from the ancient gold and silver mines then flooded and idle. boulton and watt, at soho, on being consulted, discouraged the attempt, because of the difficulty of conveying heavy machinery over mountain pathways, and also because their low-pressure vacuum engine, using steam but slightly above atmospheric pressure, would be much less effective in the comparatively light atmosphere on the high summits of the cordillera mountains than in england. uville, who had heard of the wonderful ability of english engineers to construct steam pumping engines, was utterly downhearted at this decision of the great soho engineers, and while dejectedly wandering through the streets of london, unconsciously gazed into the shop window of mr. roland in fitzroy square, near the spot on which trevithick had run his railway locomotive three years before.[ ] rumour of passed events may have led him to visit the ground on which had worked a new kind of steam-engine. his searching glance discovered among numerous articles for sale, an unknown form that might be the talisman he had travelled thousands of miles in search of. the shopkeeper informed him that it was a model of richard trevithick's high-pressure steam-engine, which worked without condensing water, or vacuum. if what he heard was true, why should it not work equally well in the light atmosphere of the mines? the great engineer at soho might be in error or ignorance. the experiment, as a last resource, was worth making. he would pay the _l._ for the model, carry it to the mines of cerro de pasco, in the high mountains above lima, where, if it worked as well as it did in london, the rich mines of peru would again reveal their long-hidden treasure. the model was conveyed by ship to lima, and then on a mule up the narrow precipitous ascents to cerro de pasco, over mountains more than , feet high. fire was placed in the small boiler as he had seen it done in london, and with the same result, to the great joy of uville, who determined to revisit england in search of the inventor of this new and wonderful power. on his return voyage, when rounding cape horn, bets were made on the chances of his finding the man who had invented the high-pressure steam-puffer engine,[ ] and of his being able to persuade such a person to make the required engines and accompany them to peru. such gloomy forebodings ended in an attack of brain fever. the vessel touched at jamaica, where uville was landed. on recovering health and strength he embarked for england in one of the packet-ships, and during the voyage still spoke of the object of his search. a fellow-traveller, called captain teague, rejoiced him by saying, "i know all about it; it is the easiest thing in the world. the inventor of your high-pressure steam-engine is a cousin of mine, living within a few miles of falmouth, the port we are bound for." on landing, uville, still weak and obliged to keep his bed, was told that trevithick, the engineer, lived in london, and was constructing the thames tunnel; but further inquiry showed that he also had suffered from brain fever, and had just returned to penponds, only a few miles from falmouth. on the th of may, , a letter reached trevithick, requesting him to visit the sick uville, and in a fortnight from that time the engineer had mastered the requirements of the peruvian mines, and had designed and made arrangements for the supply of six pumping engines, together with the pumps and all things necessary for the underground workings; the whole to be delivered in four months. [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see london locomotive, vol. i., p. .] [rough draft.] "sir, "camborne, _may nd, _. "i have engaged to get six engines, with pit-work, &c., to send abroad. a great part of the wrought-iron work and the boilers i have arranged for in cornwall. these engines will be high-pressure engines, because the place they are for has a very deep adit driven into the mountain; and lifting condensing water to the surface would be a greater load than the whole of the work under the adit level. "i call a set of work, a -inch cylinder single engine, -feet stroke, piston, cylinder bottom, single nozzle, with two -inch valves and perpendicular pipe; no cylinder top; the piston-rod not to be turned; -inch safety-valve, fire-door, two small y[**symbol] shafts and gear-handles, &c.; a good strong winch set in a broadish frame, such as is often used on quays or in quarries, fathoms of -inch pumps, a -inch plunger, an -inch working barrel, clack-seat and wind-bore, with brass boshes and clacks, a force-pump for the boiler, and fathoms of -inch pipes to carry the water to and from the engines. i have engaged to supply six full sets of the above-mentioned materials. "all these castings must be delivered in cornwall in four months from the time the orders are given; therefore, if you take the job, or any part of it, you must enter into an engagement to fulfil it in the time. as there ought not to be a moment lost, i wish you to answer me immediately in what time you will deliver those materials in cornwall; or otherways, what part of them you can execute in the time. "i am making the drawing, which will be ready before i can receive your answer. for whatever part of the job you may engage i will lodge the money to pay for the whole in mr. fox's hands, which will then be paid for before you begin the work, as soon as you execute the agreement. "r. t. "mr. pengilly, _neath abbey, south wales_." it is an odd coincidence that while writing of the events of fifty-eight years ago, pumping engines are being sent to those same mines with the steam-cylinder in twenty-two pieces, no piece to weigh more than lbs.--a facility in mechanical arrangements not enjoyed by trevithick--having trevithick's high-pressure boilers, giving steam of lbs. on the inch.[ ] [footnote : made by harvey and co., hayle, .] [rough draft.] "sir. "camborne, _june nd, _. "i drop you this note just to inform you that i have begun your job. yesterday i engaged a great many smiths and boiler-builders, who set to work this morning. i have also engaged all the boiler-plates in the county, which will be sent to-day to the different workmen. the master-smiths that i have engaged are the best in the kingdom. i have obligated them to put the best quality of iron, and to be delivered at falmouth within four months. i have been obliged to give them a greater price than i expected, otherwise they would not turn aside their usual business employment for a short job of four months. "mr. teague is with me, and one other, assisting about the drawings. if you call at camborne about friday, shall be able to show you the designs. the drawings for the castings will be sent to the iron-founders by the end of this week; and by the end of next week shall have the whole of the different tradesmen in full employ. if you wish to have a greater quantity of machinery ready by the end of september, there ought to be as little time as possible lost in giving your orders. i can get you double the quantity, provided you give the orders in time. "as soon as it is convenient to you to arrange the payments i would thank you to inform me, because we find in practice that the best way to make a labouring machine turn quickly on its centres, is to keep them well oiled. "r. t. "f. uville, esq., mr. hooper's, _falmouth_. "n.b.--if you intend to be at camborne, please to drop me a note by post, and i will be at home." in all trevithick's moves there was a scramble for money, in which he invariably came worst off. he could give a good hint that working centres would not turn well without the essential oil; but he failed to apply the principle to himself. liberal words and golden prospects carried him off at once; and before uville was strong enough to visit the cornish mines and to fully explain what he wanted, the machinery was being made, though at that same time the thrashing and ploughing engines, and the locomotive and rock-boring engine, and the great fight with watt at dolcoath, were in progress. [rough draft.] "mr. rastrick, "camborne, _june th, _. "sir,--enclosed i send to you a drawing for a set of pumps for one of the engines for south america, with a drawing for a part of the castings for one of the boilers, for you to make a beginning. the drawings for the engines i will send in a few days. the spanish gentleman who is now gone to london to arrange his money concerns, will be down again in about ten or twelve days, and then we shall both call at bridgenorth, and bring with us the engagement for you to sign, for the performance of such quantities of work as you can execute in four months. "i have made arrangements with the smiths and boiler-*builders here, to weigh and pay at the end of every week. the regulation of your payment is left to you to point out in any way you please. as time is of the greatest consequence, i hope you will set to work immediately. "the reason for making the pumps so short, is on account of the extreme badness of the roads over the mountains, where these engines are to be conveyed, it being almost impossible to carry above five hundredweight in one piece. the west india engine is sold to send to lima, but not to be conveyed over the mountains. i shall also bring drawings with me for one or two winding engines for the same place. please write to me by return of post. "r. t." [rough draft.] "camborne, near truro, _june th, _. "mr. francis uville, "at messrs. campbell and co.'s, london. "sir,--i have your favour of the th instant, respecting the weight of the largest parts of the engines. i will take care to reduce the weight if possible, so as to be carried on the backs of mules. "by the time i receive your letter i shall have arranged the whole of the engine business, and intend to go immediately to wales and shropshire, to get the engagements executed for the performance of the work by the time proposed. i shall write to you again before i leave home, and as soon as i arrive in wales will also write to you. i shall not stay in wales above two days, but go to bridgenorth in shropshire, where i hope to have the pleasure of meeting you, as it will only be about twelve hours' ride out of your road to cornwall. "in the north i shall introduce you to the sight of a great deal of mining and machinery, and in about ten days from the time you arrive at bridgenorth, shall be able to accomplish the business so as to return again to cornwall. "i would thank you to inform me as early as you can, of the number of engines you intend to get executed by the proposed time, because when i am in the north i shall be able to arrange with the founders accordingly. the smiths are all at work for you. "r. t." [rough draft.] "mr. uville, "cornwall, camborne, _june th, _. "sir,--your favour of the th instant, dated from falmouth, i received, and in return wrote to you immediately--directed for you at messrs. campbell and co.'s, london. as you said in your last letter, that immediately on your arrival in town you would write to me, i have expected every post since last tuesday would have brought me a letter; but as i have not received it according to your promise, i am fearful that your letter may be unexpectedly detained, especially as you told me the last time i saw you at falmouth, that you would enclose me a bank post bill. all the founders and other tradesmen are in full employ on your engines. "i intended to have left cornwall for wales and shropshire by this time, with the founders' articles for execution; but being disappointed in not hearing from you, agreeable to our appointment, i shall delay it until i hear from you, which i must request you to have the goodness to do by return of post, because those delays make very much against the execution of your work; and as time is of so great a consequence to you, i hope you will not lose a moment in writing and giving me the necessary instructions, with a few drops of that essential oil that you proposed sending me on your arrival in town. "r. t." the sugar rolling-mill engine that had been made for the west indies so pleased uville that he purchased it at once, intending it for the mint at lima. he also ordered one or two winding engines, in addition to the pumping engines. trevithick had arranged that no piece should exceed lbs. in weight. then came uville's order, "if possible to be reduced so as to be carried on the backs of mules." since that time the path on the mountains has been improved, yet the present limit of weight is lbs. the absence of the promised bank post bill was another difficulty. [rough draft.] "camborne, _june rd, _. "mr. francis uville, "at messrs. campbell and co.'s, park buildings, london. "sir,--your favour of the th instant came safe to hand. "i was in hopes that i should have found a remittance enclosed. all the tradesmen that i have employed on your work were to have been paid every saturday, and i made my arrangement with you accordingly. unless this mode of proceeding is followed up, you cannot get your work done in any reasonable time, especially as you are an entire stranger. for my own part i have placed the greatest confidence in your honour, with which i am fully satisfied. "but i have to get this work from a great number of different tradesmen, and must make regular payments agreeable with my engagements with them. as the articles are about to be executed by different tradesmen, regular weekly payments ought to be established, of which i informed you before the work began. "i am ready for my journey to wales and shropshire, but cannot proceed with further engagements until i hear again from you. i have placed the fullest confidence in your word, a proof of which you have in the great exertion i have made to get the work done; but unless you in return place some confidence in me, or any other engineer that you may employ, a work of this magnitude cannot be carried on with promptitude. "as the whole of the work in my part has been put into immediate operation, it would be a very serious loss both of money and time to discharge the hands. i hope you will fully consider this business, and must beg you will have the goodness to write to me by return of post. on receiving the needful from you i shall leave cornwall for wales and shropshire. "r. t." trevithick for once in his life was wise, and would not start on his journey to bridgenorth until the money had reached him. this prudent resolve was soon forgotten in the love of making the steam-engine useful; and as such creations in his hands grew into shape and size before other men would have got through preliminary discussions, pecuniary difficulties sprang up, as mushrooms do in a night. [rough draft.] "camborne, _september th, _. "messrs. hazeldine, rastrick, and co., "gentlemen,--enclosed you have three of mr. uville's drafts, value one hundred and fifty pounds. "i should have sent it in one draft, but had not a suitable stamp. the castings, pipes, ale, &c., arrived safely. i hope that all the boilers and wrought-iron work will be finished by the end of this month, and shipped off for london. immediately after mr. uville and i shall leave cornwall for bridgenorth on our journey to town. we are both very anxious to see the 'sanspareil' engine at work, and hope you will have it ready by that time. i have received orders from different persons since i have been here, for steam-engines for the west indies, and must, if possible, have three ready early in november, as the ships sail then that will take them. "i wish you would say in your next if this can be done in time, because these persons are very extensive agents for the planters, and are extremely anxious to generally adopt them in the west indies. "we find from your letter that you are getting on pretty fairly with uville's work. "i remain, "your very humble servant, "richard trevithick." [rough draft.] "gentlemen, "camborne, _september th, _. "after writing to you on sunday last, mr. uville received letters from cadiz, from the spanish government, informing him that there was a line-of-battle ship there that should take the engines to lima. now as this ship is detained for this purpose, all possible dispatch must be made to get the whole of the materials shipped as early as possible for cadiz. i am pushing the smiths as hard as possible, and you must do the same at your works, that the greatest dispatch may be made. i am ordered by mr. uville to request you to get one water-engine, pumps, &c., complete, one winding engine, winding apparatus, &c., complete, and one crushing apparatus, complete, in addition to the former order. i wish you would also get on as fast as possible with the new engine, but do not let this engine prevent the getting forward the work for lima. "i wish to have made apparatus to work expansively, and also a temporary water-pump, to load the engine, so as to prove its duty by the consumption of coal. "if the jobs are not completed by our arrival, you need not expect any rest until its completion. your answer will oblige, "r. t." "messrs. hazeldine, rastrick, and co." the money difficulty was for a time surmounted, with a prospect of the completion and shipment of the work for london within four months of the giving of the order; and the spanish government proposed that a line-of-battle ship should take the engines to lima from cadiz. an order was given for another pumping engine and another winding engine, to be provided with gear for working expansively, and a temporary water-pump, that in case of need the amount of work the engines could do with a given amount of coal might be tested. a crushing machine, now called "quartz-crusher," also formed part of this additional order. the new engine, which he hoped they would get on with, was probably the steam locomotive plough then being constructed at bridgenorth. [rough draft.] "gentlemen, "camborne, _september nd, _. "i have your favour of the th instant, and hope to find you as forward on your job on our arrival at bridgenorth as you state. i expect all the boiler and smith work will be shipped for london early in october; we shall then leave cornwall for your works, at which time you will be very much annoyed with our company, unless we find your assertions grounded on facts. enclosed i send you mr. uville's draft for _l._ your receipt for the draft enclosed in my letter of the th instant has not yet arrived. "i hope you will also have all the apparatus ready to try the new engine; mr. uville is very anxious to take the first of these new engines with him. when you send a receipt for the enclosed, please to say what state of forwardness the whole of our work is in, and do not neglect a moment to get the whole executed with all possible dispatch. "nothing short of a want of cast iron will confine our friend in england one day after the end of this month. "i am, gentlemen, "your very humble servant, "richard trevithick. "messrs. hazeldine, rastrick, and co." it seems probable that in a railway locomotive, with apparatus for rock boring, and steam-crane, was made for south america as the forerunner of the 'sanspareil' of . [rough draft.] "gentlemen, "camborne, _october st, _. "i received your favour of the th last evening, and now enclose you another draft of mr. uville's for _l._ we shall wait impatiently for your next letter to know when you will finish. mind, this is the st of october, and agreeable to promise the time is up. mr. uville wishes you to cast sixty carriage-wheels for him, inches in diameter from out to out, and to weigh about lbs.; cast them of strong iron, and of a strong pattern, to take a - / -inch axle by - / inches deep in the hole; also cast four plunger-pistons inches diameter to suit the -inch working barrels, provided it should be used for the purpose of a plunger. they must be in every respect the same as the -inch plunger-pistons, only inches less in diameter. [illustration] "soon after the receipt of your next letter you may expect to see us, as a vessel has been engaged to take all the boilers and smith work on board to-morrow week for london. "i remain, sir, "your humble servant, "richard trevithick. "messrs. hazeldine, rastrick, and co." probably those cast-iron wheels were ordered with a view to steam locomotion in the cordilleras. an engine is described in the invoice as having chimney, axles, carriage-wheels, &c. [rough draft]. "gentlemen, "camborne, _october th, _. "on making the drawings of the engine with the winding and crushing apparatus, when at work i find that if there is no crank, but the sweep rod is connected to a pin in the arm of the fly-wheel; in that case the fly-wheel will cut off the engineer from getting at the cock; but if the sweep is connected to a crank, then there will be sufficient room. the copy of materials taken from your books and given to mr. uville does not say in which way it was intended. i send you a sketch how it will stand worked by a pin in the fly-wheel, and also if worked by a crank over the cylinder, with the fly-wheel outside the wood partition of the house. if you have cast all the parts for the winding engine, you should try to alter it, having the fly-wheel outside the wall of the house, and a crank for the inside end of the shaft. the fly-wheel shaft will be nearly the same length both ways, only it must be long enough for the fly-wheel to pass between the wood partition and the -feet cog-wheel. the centre of the winding cylinder will be inches from the outside of the wood end of the house, against which the fly-wheel ought to run. i have received your favour of the th instant, and have enclosed, agreeably to your request, a draft of mr. uville's for _l._, which will be the last from cornwall. all i have to say is, you have taken longer time for the completion of your work than you first proposed, which has made mr. uville apprehensive that it will be the means of his losing the spanish ship promised him to take the engines. he desires me to inform you that he has complied with this advance on purpose to enable you to push your work with the utmost exertion. [illustration: winding engine for south america.] "please to inform us the precise time we must quit cornwall for bridgenorth; we now wait entirely on you without any other thing to engage us. i fear mr. rastrick being so much from home will impede our job. if we miss this ship it will certainly make much against us all, losing three or four months in getting a south sea whaler, and having the engine in a vessel not able to defend herself against an enemy, and having to pay or per cent. insurance, and prevent our getting other orders for another set of engines, and if taken by the enemy perhaps altogether damn the undertaking. therefore i would have you to well consider the great inconveniences attending delay. "i think i need not say much more to you on this head, as you ought to feel more for your own interest than i can scribble to you on paper. "yours, &c., "r. trevithick. "messrs. hazeldine, rastrick, and co." this rough hand-sketch and letter fully describing his requirements, is an illustration of the facility with which trevithick designed his engines and made known his wishes to others. [rough draft.] "gentlemen, "camborne, _october rd, _. "mr. uville wishes everything to be sent off as soon as finished, except the rolling engine, which is to remain until he arrives. we intend to leave cornwall for bridgenorth on monday, november st. you may expect to see us three days after that date. the wheels ordered for the carriages are to run on the ground and not on railroads. mr. uville now wishes to have seventy-two instead of sixty as ordered before. "i remain, gentlemen, "yours, &c., "r. trevithick. "messrs. hazeldine and co." the last-named engine was intended for the coinage operations in the mint at lima. the use of railway locomotion had been under discussion with the engine builders, and probably those particular carriage-wheels were ordered in the hope that the portable engine built for conveying itself from place to place in the sugar plantations of jamaica, would in the cordilleras be made to draw waggons on common roads. the hand sketch of the winding engine in the letter of the th october, was to correct an error in an order hastily given a month before; when, to save time, outline instructions for this complicated work were hurriedly sent to the manufacturer, that a commencement might be made while the more perfect detail drawings were being completed; the first-proposed position of the fly-wheel would prevent the engineman from conveniently reaching the four-way cock; trevithick therefore suggested that the fly-wheel should be moved to the outside of the house, and a crank placed on the end of the driving shaft in lieu of the crank-pin in an arm of the fly-wheel. the sketch illustrating this change makes us fully acquainted with the kind of winding high-pressure steam-puffer engines of -horse power, with open-top cylinders of inches in diameter and about feet inch stroke, sent to peru in . steam, of lbs. to the inch above the pressure of the atmosphere, was admitted under the bottom of the piston by a cock moved by an eccentric on the fly-wheel shaft; the gradual closing of the cock reduced the supply of steam when about one-third of the stroke had been made, wholly cutting it off some time before its completion, making it a high-pressure steam expansive engine. the movement of the cock then turned the steam from under the piston into the chimney blast-pipe, and the down-stroke was performed by the weight of the descending piston, made more than usually deep and heavy to prevent the tendency to twist in the cylinder from the angle of the jointed connecting rod, and also by the momentum of the fly-wheel and its balance-weight, moving at a speed of thirty strokes a minute. its boiler was the trevithick wrought-iron cylindrical, with internal tube and fire-place, but so arranged that if necessary the fire could be placed in brick flues under the boiler, returning through the tube. the cylinder for the winding engine was probably fixed in the boiler, costing, with whim-barrel and winding apparatus complete and ready for work, _l._ does the reader ask, did so cheap an engine ever work? or perhaps his knowledge of engineering gives rise to the question, how did it work? for it looks like a newcomen of just exactly a hundred years before, only it needs no injection water or great main beam; and certainly it is not a watt, for it has neither air-pump nor condenser, nor vacuum, nor cylinder-cover, nor parallel motion, nor any other thing like watt invented; but it has high-pressure steam, which he disapproved of, and it really worked thousands of miles away, where there were no mechanics to keep it in order, and on mountains so difficult of access, and in so light an atmosphere, that watt, who had the first chance of supplying steam-engines to the new world, declared it to be impossible. the pumping engines are described in trevithick's note of nd may. they also were high-pressure puffer-engines with open-top cylinder, inches in diameter, -feet stroke, with a cross-head working in guides, and side rods connecting to the pump-rods. two valves turned the steam on and off from under the piston, with the ordinary gear and handles. the boiler was similar to that for the winding engine, but larger, and had not the cylinder fixed in it; a balance-beam regulated the movements, as it had no great main beam, and differed from ordinary engines just as the winding engine did. the power was horses, and with an -inch pump barrel, feet of -inch pumps, a winch, and all apparatus necessary for draining the mine, the cost was but _l._ [rough draft.] "plough inn, blackwall, _december th, _. "mr. rastrick, "sir,--i am requested by mr. uville to write to you, to push the boilers as fast as possible. a ship will sail for the south sea fishery in about five weeks, and will engage to take the whole of the engines. we have not finally closed with her, because we cannot state the exact time until we hear from you. you must not lose a moment in sending the boiler to town. i should have gone to cornwall before this, but have been detained, getting a ship; and i do not like leaving until my agreements are executed, which cannot be done until the beginning of next week. "i have been obliged to have all the transactions between the mines, and the spanish government, and mr. uville, translated into english, before the outlines of an agreement could be drawn up, which has been a most tedious job. "most of the people have been out of town, and those that were not would do no business in the christmas, which has occasioned a loss of near ten days. "as soon as the agreements are executed, i will immediately send to you money from this place. i have been kept so long here, that it will not be worth returning to cornwall until after mr. uville sails. i shall be at bridgenorth in about ten days, and will remain until the work is finished. write how the work is getting on, and what state the winding engine is in. "yours, &c., "rd. trevithick." [rough draft.] "dear sir, "camborne, _march th, _. "your favour of the rd february was sent to me from bridgenorth. i have also received your favour of the st instant, and will attend to the drawings you mention, and be prepared to meet you as early as you please, only give me as much notice as you can. "i hope by this time that mr. page has done something toward the needful, to be at your service. i have, agreeably with your letter this day, desired capt. thomas trevarthen to hold himself in readiness for london about the end of this month. i have not yet seen bull. i wish you to write me if i am to give him notice also to hold himself in readiness for town. i fear that those two persons will not be sufficient to conduct the work with speed, especially if capt. trevarthen should be unwell; he is a good miner and pitman, and could assist in fixing the engines. bull can only act as an assistant to an engineer, therefore neither of them can take the sole direction of the work. "there will be those four large boilers to be put together on the spot, which neither of those persons know but little about. i think it would take a great charge and care from your mind to have a third person with you that could go through the whole of the undertaking, especially as the distance from england is so great. this undertaking of such immense magnitude and value ought not to depend solely on your own health, as neither of the other two could get on without your assistance in laying down and planning the outline of the whole of the work belonging to the machinery. if any one of the parts should be lost or broken, it would require some ability in that country to contrive a substitute. the expense of a third able man might prevent much loss of time and difficulty, and would not be an object in a business of such a scale as you have commenced with. "i recommend a third person, that you might count on a speedy and effectual start. even in this kingdom, where machinery is so well understood, i have known several good undertakings fail, from not employing at first an experienced engineer to conduct the work; which i am doubtful would be the case at pascoe, if you were not able to attend yourself to the erection, and do not take a person with you for that purpose. i beg your pardon for thus attempting to recommend to you a third person to go out; but i think a work of this magnitude, where expedition is important, ought not to rest on the health of one man, especially under a changeable climate. please to consult your friends, and give me your opinion on it in your next. "my health is much improved; my wife desires her best respects, and thanks for your present. please to write soon. "yours, &c., "rd. trevithick. "mr. uville, _ , east stien, london_." [rough draft.] "mr. page, "camborne, _march th, _. "sir,--yesterday mr. joseph edwards, of truro, informed me that teague had given notice of trial, and that the case would come on at the assize on the th, and requested me to desire you to write to him immediately, and give him the whole of the transaction relative to mr. uville's arrest in london. "he also wishes that some attention had been paid to the threat that mr. uville received from teague's so-called friend, so as to ascertain whether it came direct from him, which he thought would have some weight in court. i shall attend to give evidence at the assize with mr. edwards. i shall anxiously await a reply to my last. how does harvey's business get on? "my respects to mr. day, and shall be very glad to find him recovering his health as fast as i am. a crust of bread and clear air are far preferable to luxuries enveloped in clouds of smoke and heaps of filth. "your obedient servant, "rd. trevithick. "p.s.--i hear that teague is still in london, and that his furniture is removed to his friend's house, to save it from the hands of surrounding evil spirits." trevithick showed no undue amount of discontent on discovering that uville had led him into pecuniary difficulties, and even his tendency to interfere in engineering matters was not hastily resented. in december, , while in london, arranging for a vessel to convey the engines to lima, and also to secure written agreements with uville, who expected to leave england in a week or two, the going into the documents made known many weak points, one of them being shortness of money. the expected week or two had lengthened out to three months, and uville was still in london, and capt. thomas trevarthen and bull were to be there, ready to start, about the middle of march, . four large boilers, in pieces, were to go for the pumping engines, to be put together in the mines; and trevithick strongly recommended the sending a third man, to take general charge of the practical work, which mr. uville thought he himself could manage. page and day were lawyers, who drew up very long documents. money to pay expenses was raised by the sale of shares in a company formed by uville without sufficient authority, and page was to go to the mines to look after his own and the english shareholders' interests; between them uville was arrested, apparently for some trifle. [rough draft.] "mr. uville, "camborne, _march th, _. "sir,--i shall write to him again by this post, and push him to send down the transfer of my shares, already agreed on, for my execution, and hope i shall be able to meet messrs. hazeldine and co.'s demand before it will be due. the young man bull has been with me. i told him i expected that you intended to take him with you, and capt. trevarthen is making preparation for going. i am glad you intend to take a third person with you. i have not thought or said anything to anyone about this business. mr. vivian informed me that, from the conversation he had with you on the subject, he had expected to hear from you. i can answer for mr. vivian's honesty, ability, and pleasant behaviour, and he is a person very suitable for the engagement, only that one failing of making too free with an evening glass, which you were not unacquainted with while in cornwall at dolcoath mine. i do not like to take an active part in this business, because if any accident should happen to him, my sister or his family might charge me with being accessory to his going; therefore i must beg to be exempt from taking any part in this engagement. "i remain, sir, yours, "rd. trevithick." [rough draft.] "mr. page, "camborne, _april th, _. "sir,--i have your favour of the th instant. i intend to be in town on sunday week, but this need not prevent their writing to me here; and both you and they may still be doing your best towards disposing of shares. "your obedient servant, "rd. trevithick." [rough draft.] "mr. uville, "camborne, _april th, _. "sir,--i intend to be in london on sunday, the th, and shall call immediately on this person for money, which shall be at your service. wheal alfred and wheal prosper agents wish you a prosperous voyage, and success in your mines. "i remain, sir, "your obedient servant, "rd. trevithick." trevithick was now embarked with a crew of speculators, and in payment for his services was made a partner, and sold a portion of his shares to pay for the engines which uville had ordered. henry vivian, his brother-in-law, and the brother of his late partner andrew vivian, wished to be the third person engaged to go with the machinery to america. trevithick spoke of his honesty and ability, but declined, on account of the family relationship, to take any part in the appointment. the two notes on the th april, , close the correspondence. page was busy selling shares to raise money, and trevithick was to get some money, which was to be at the service of uville. the delay between this period and the time of starting was mainly caused by financial and other arrangements managed by uville. on the st september, , uville, henry vivian, thomas trevarthen, and william bull sailed from portsmouth for lima in the 'wildman,' taking with them four pumping engines, with pump-work and rods complete; four winding whim-engines, with all winding apparatus complete; one portable locomotive engine on wheels, to be used for a rolling mill or other purposes; one mill for grinding ore; and one rolling mill, probably for the mint at lima. these nine steam-engines, with their apparatus complete for work at the mines, cost _l._; the grinding and rolling mill cost _l._ more; but various other expenses more than doubled the amount, which reached the large sum of over , _l._ on reference to the conditions of agreement under which uville acted, dated th july, , don pedro abadia, don josé arismendi, and don francisco uville, were partners engaging to drain a range of mines. uville was to go to london to purchase two steam-engines, and was authorized to expend $ , (say _l._). $ (say _l._) was to be paid to him as the value of trevithick's model, which he had a few years before bought in london for _l._ he was to engage one or two english workmen. no new partner was to be allowed. they also contracted with the various workers of mines in yauricocha, yanacancha, caya chica, santa rosa, and in the mining ridge of colquijilca, for a period of nine years, to commence within eighteen months of that time, to sink a general pit for the drainage of those mines, and to pump out the water by steam-engines. the payment for this drainage was to be one-twentieth part of the ore raised by the different mines. "an agreement made at london this th day of january, , between don francisco uville, of lima, in the viceroyalty of peru, of the one part, and richard trevithick, of camborne, in cornwall, engineer, of the other part. whereas, by an agreement of partnership made and signed at lima, and whereas the said francisco uville did in pursuance of his contract with the said miners soon after the ratification thereof, embark for england, for the purpose of fulfilling the same on his part, and on his arrival there in the month of april last, made application to the said richard trevithick, who is an experienced engineer and miner, and requested him to assist him in promoting the object of his journey, which the said richard trevithick (being penetrated with a high sense of its utility) agreed to do, and hath accordingly applied himself wholly to that object, ever since the arrival of the said francisco uville in england: and whereas under the direction of the said richard trevithick, and by the orders of the said francisco uville, various machines and engines have been made for the purposes of the said concern, a part of which has been already paid for by the said francisco uville; but several of the bills brought by him to england not having been honoured, by reason of the absence from england of the parties upon whom they were drawn, the said francisco uville hath not at present sufficient funds to answer the engagements he has entered into in this country, and don juan ..,[**] to whom he was in that case directed by his partners to offer shares in the said concern, and from whom he could have received supplies, not being at this time in london, the said francisco uville has agreed to admit the said richard trevithick to be a partner in the concern, upon his advancing and paying a proportionable part of the expenses necessary for carrying on the same. now these presents witness that in consideration of the said richard trevithick having paid and agreeing by these presents to pay certain bills for machinery ordered by the said francisco uville to the amount of _l._ or thereabouts, the particulars of which have been ascertained and settled by and between the said francisco uville and richard trevithick, and also in consideration of the services which the said richard trevithick hath already rendered to the said undertaking, and of the future benefits which he is expected to perform for it, the said francisco uville for himself, and on the behalf and in the name of the said pedro abadia and josé arismendi (who will ratify these presents in the capital of lima as soon as it shall be produced to them, to which the said uville holds himself bound), doth, by virtue of the power and authority given to him by his said partners, agree to admit the said richard trevithick to be a member of the said company, and doth hereby declare him to be a member thereof and a partner therein to the extent of , dollars, and as such, entitled to a share and interest in all the profits and advantages of the company in the proportion which the said sum of , dollars shall bear to the amount of capital employed by the company in the purposes of their establishment, which proportion will amount as nearly as can now be ascertained to one-fifth of the capital stock embarked in the said concern. "fran. uville. "richard trevithick. "_ th january, ._" so trevithick paid _l._ and received nothing for his engineer's work, to be made a partner, contrary to uville's limit of authority, in a speculation that proved to be not worth a farthing. the following is a summary of the detail invoice of engines and machinery which left london for lima in september, , in charge of uville, just fifteen months after his landing at falmouth in search of trevithick:-- "invoice of four steam-engines, four winding engines, one portable rolling engine and materials for ditto, two crushing mills, four extra-patent boilers, spare materials for engines, boring rods, miners', blacksmiths', and carpenters' tools, &c., shipped on board the 'wildman,' john leith, master, from london to lima, by, on account and risque of don francisco uville, don pedro abadia, and don josé arismendi, merchants at lima. dated . to four steam-engines of -horse-power each £ _s._ _d._ (complete for lifting water with under-adit and house lift-pumps, and wrought-iron pit-work, rods, &c., at _l._ _s._ each , to four winding engines of -horse-power each, with whims, barrels, shafts, &c., complete for lifting ore, at _l._ each to one portable steam-engine of -horse power, for rolling, with its chimney, axles, carriage-wheels, &c. ----------- , a mill for grinding ore £ a rolling mill duplicates, sundries, freight, insurance, &c., &c. , ------------- , ------------- £ , " the nine steam-engines, including a locomotive, with its chimney, axles, carriage-wheels, &c., a crushing mill and a rolling mill, cost but _l._ other expenses, for freight, insurance, &c., &c., increased the amount to , _l._ william williams,[ ] on his return from the cerro de pasco mines, states:-- [footnote : residing at angarrack, near hayle, .] "on the rd march, , i saw in yauricocha mine two of mr. trevithick's engines at work; one of them was a horizontal -inch open-top cylinder pumping engine, about a -feet stroke; there were two fly-wheels about feet diameter and a cog-*wheel feet diameter, giving motion to two wrought-iron beams working a -inch pump bucket. the other was a -inch cylinder winding engine with a large fly-wheel. three cornish boilers, about feet inches diameter, with feet inch tube, feet long, made of / ths of an inch plates, supplied steam of lbs. on the inch." chapter xxii. peru. "conditions under which don pedro abadia, don josé arismendi, and don francisco uville, establish the project of draining the mines by means of steam-engines, to be brought from england. " st. the company is composed of three contracting persons without admitting therein any other whatever. " nd. there are intended as a fund for the undertaking , dollars, to be divided into four shares in the following manner:--two shares to don pedro abadia, one to don josé arismendi, one to don francisco uville. four shares, dollars , . " th. these principles of good faith and friendship being established, the project is to be carried into effect with the greatest possible activity, for which purpose, by the first opportunity, the funds shall be forwarded by don pedro abadia to the amount of , dollars, with the necessary instructions for the construction of the machinery to a person who may be appointed. " th. as it has been estimated that , dollars will cover the cost of two engines in england, if the said uville finds another on credit, he is authorized to purchase it on account of the company. " th. should the undertaking yield profits, uville shall also be credited for dollars for the value of the model. " th. in the instructions that may be given to uville, it shall be stipulated on what terms he may engage one or two english workmen. "lima, _ th july, _." "_contract._ " st. the present contract shall be considered binding for nine years, to be computed from the time the steam-engines may be erected in the different parts of these mines that may be judged suitable. " nd. the miners herein contracting cede their mines in yauricocha, yanacancha, caya chica, santa rosa, and in the mining ridge of colquijilca, and the company offer the means, steam-engines, and instruments for draining the same, and on these principles the obligations of both parties are as follow, to wit. " rd. the company binds itself within the period of eighteen months, or sooner if possible, to bring over the steam-engines to drain successively the different parts of these mines, and immediately on their arrival to place them in yauricocha, and afterwards in yanacancha, caya chica, santa rosa, and in the mining ridge of colquijilca, to sink a general pit for the collection of the waters at a depth of varas from the adit or drainage level of santa rosa. " th. each miner whose mine situated in the parts above specified is not perfectly drained in consequence of the filtration or natural gravity of the water to the general pit, is to continue a tube to communicate with the said general pit on his own account, in order fully to enjoy the benefit of the draining, it being well understood that the company shall not refuse to admit the waters of any of the mines situated in this part whatever their quantity may be. and the company shall be further bound to supply funds to any miner who may not have sufficient to defray the expenses of such tube of communication at an interest of per cent., to be refunded out of the first metals which may be obtained. " th. the recompense to be made to the company for the general drain procured in the place or places agreed on, shall be, with regard to yanacancha and yauricocha, in consequence of the known richness of those places, and of the timber required by the softness of the ground to secure the mines, per cent. on the ore that shall be extracted therefrom, and lodged either in the common depots or in the respective warehouses; and in the mines of santa rosa, caya chica, and colquijilca, per cent., which distribution is respectively to be made on the quantities obtained. " th. that the miner who refuses to enter into this fair contract whose mines are benefited by the means of the engines, shall be compelled to pay the contributions and to perform what has been therein stipulated according to ordinance. "this contract being agreed to, the contracting parties signed respectively to be bound and compelled; and i, the royal judge and sub-delegate hereof for his majesty, signing it with all the contracting parties and witnesses before me on the said day, month, and year. "pedro abadia, josé arismendi, francisco uville, josé maria de ulloa, ignacio beistequi, the marquis de la real confianza, josé herressæ, publo anellfuertes, ramon garcia de purga, josé antonio de arrieta, josé camilo de mier, josé lago y lemus. "for myself and don remiqia, p. procuration manuel queypo, rafael doper, juan gonzalez, augustin zambrano, francisco rasines, francisco fuyre, manuel ysasi, alberto de abellaneda, ysidro crespo, juan antonio arrasas, pedro gusman, manuel yglesias, patricio bermudez, bartolome de estrada. for the miners, don castano villanueva, juan isidoro, manuel de santalla, juan palencia, antonio perez, manuel cavellero, domingo pallacios, matias canallero, ambrosio ortega, francisco de otayequi, pedro de arrieta, juan de erquiaga, josé zeferino abaytad, antonio villaseca, estanislas maria de arriola, josé maria del veto, ambrosio guidones, santiago oreguela. for don pedro mirales, p. procuration, thomas hidalgo, nicholas berrotarran, barnabe perez de ybarrela, augustin bayroa, francisco xavier de uribe, manuel varela. for my brother, juan francisco de aspiroz, juan miguel de aspiroz. "in the city of los reyes on the th september, ." these extracts from an agreement drawn up by the leading men in peru in are proofs of remarkable energy. rumours of the power of steam-engines used in mines in england had reached lima, don francisco uville was sent on a mission of inquiry, and in consulted boulton and watt at soho, who gave an opinion that their engines were not suitable to so elevated a position where the atmosphere was so much lighter than in england, and the difficulties of transit so great. on his return to lima he carried with him a small model of trevithick's high-pressure steam-engine. the spaniards on seeing it work had the good sense and courage to put aside the watt report and adopt the principle of the small but active high-pressure steam-puffer engine. an influential company was formed, which sent uville again to england to seek out the high-pressure engineer and purchase his engines. what stronger evidence could be given of the great difference between the rival engineers and their engines? the one with low-pressure steam and vacuum, the other with high-pressure steam and without vacuum. the three persons contracting to drain the peruvian mines agreed that no other should be allowed to join them in the contract; two steam-engines were to be purchased, and if convenient a third engine might be ordered on credit. one or two english mechanics were to accompany the engines which the contractors engaged should be in lima within eighteen months. ten months had passed before uville reached trevithick, and when in may, , he communicated to the cornish engineer the same wants that he had made known to watt two years before, how different was the answer received. "i engage to supply in four months six -inch cylinder high-pressure steam pumping engines, with pumps and all necessary apparatus complete."[ ] this promise was nearly fulfilled,[ ] but want of money, the ordering of additional machinery, and difficulty in finding a ship,--for spain was then at war, or on the verge of it, with the south american republics,--delayed for a time the completion of the order; but within eight months even the additional work seems to have been ready, and the following agreement was entered into, though the ship with her freight of _nine_ steam-engines did not leave england until september, , fifteen months after uville's first meeting with trevithick. [footnote : see trevithick's letter, nd may, , vol. ii., p. .] [footnote : see trevithick's letters, nd sept. and rd oct., , vol. ii., pp. , .] "_agreement dated the th january, ._ "the said persons from whom he (uville) would have received supplies, not being at that time in london, the said francisco uville has agreed to admit the said richard trevithick to be a partner in the concern, upon his advancing and paying a proportionable part of the expenses necessary for carrying on the same. now these presents witness, that in consideration of the said richard trevithick having paid, and agreeing by those instruments to pay certain bills for machinery ordered by the said francisco uville to the amount of _l._, and also in consideration of the services which the said richard trevithick hath already rendered, and of the future benefits which he is expected to perform, doth agree to admit the said richard trevithick a partner therein, as nearly as can be ascertained to one-fifth share of the whole. "he hath planned and directed the particular construction of three steam-engines, and hath for that purpose taken many journeys to manufacturing towns and other places. "he hath given to the said francisco uville a general knowledge of english mining, miners' tools, winding and crushing engines, &c., &c., and for that purpose hath taken him to various mines in england, to which the said richard trevithick, through his interest, had access. he hath instructed the said francisco uville in the art of making drawings of mines, and in engineering. "he hath furnished him with various drawings of english mines, and plans for the future working of spanish mines, and hath given to him every other engineering and mining information. "he hath increased the power of the three engines above mentioned to the extent of one full third, without making any additional charge for so doing, and he hath agreed to supply the said company with a fourth engine, and to wait for the payment of it, until the return of the said francisco uville to lima, in recompense for all which the said francisco uville doth for himself and his partners grant to the said richard trevithick one and quarter per cent. of the net produce or profits (all expenses first deducted) of the ore extracted from the said mines, and as a further recompense, doth appoint him sole engineer in europe for all the machinery that shall be used or required." the nine steam-engines, with apparatus for minting, crushing ores, draining, winding, and even locomotion, with miners' tools complete down to mine ladders, borers, picks and gads, and hammers, were received by a large and influential body of spaniards residing near lima, under the special patronage of the viceroy. the machinery had then to be taken up precipitous tracks that foot-passengers trembled to walk on, to the height of more than , feet. the calculated profit was , _l._ a year, of which , _l._ a year was to be trevithick's share, a portion of which was sold to pay for the engines. a prospectus drawn up in england states that "the whole capital was in four hundred shares, of which trevithick held eighty, valued at , _l._, together with special advantages to be accorded to him." the machinery having left england in september, , reached peru in the early part of , shortly after which one of the engines was at work in the mint at lima, within two years from the giving the order for it in england; for in the early part of the latter year trevithick wrote to one of his men:-- "i am sorry to find by mr. uville's letter that the mint engine does not go well. i wish you had put the fire under the boiler and through the tube, as i desired you to do, in the usual way of the old long boilers, then you might have made your fire-place as large as you pleased, which would have answered the purpose, and have worked with wood as well as with coal, and have answered every expectation. "i always told you that the fire-place _in the boiler_ was large enough for coal, but not for wood, and desired you to put it under it. the boiler is strong enough and large enough to work the engine thirty strokes per minute, with lbs. of steam to the inch. i hope to leave cornwall for lima about the end of this month, and go by way of buenos ayres, and cross over the continent of south america, because i cannot get a passage; none of the south sea whalers will engage to take me to lima, they say that they may touch at lima or they may not, in the whole course of their voyage; therefore, unless i give them an immense sum of money for my passage, they will not engage to put me on shore at lima, and for me to risk a passage in that way, and to be brought back again to england after two years' voyage, without seeing lima, would be a very foolish trip; therefore to make a certainty, i shall take the first ship for buenos ayres, preparations for which i have already made."[ ] [footnote : unfinished rough draft of letter by trevithick.] the whole of the machinery having been sent off, trevithick was prepared to make his way across the then little-known continent of south america in its broadest part, from buenos ayres to cerro de pasco.[ ] his departure was deferred from various causes until the th october, , when he sailed from penzance in the south sea whaler 'asp,' capt. kenny. [footnote : see trevithick's letter, december th, , vol. ii., p. .] [illustration: penzance in olden time. [w. j. welch.]] "dear sir, "penzance, _ th august, _. "i am enabled to furnish you with a few particulars which led to the introduction of steam-engines into spanish america, which you will embody into your interesting paper for our next geological meeting, as you deem most proper. "captain trevithick was born in illogan, cornwall, , but he has generally resided at camborne, the adjoining parish. he has devoted the greatest part of his life to mechanics and to improvements in the high-pressure steam-engine, and many engines of captain trevithick's construction are now working in different parts of england. "mr. francisco uville, a native of switzerland, visited lima and the rich peruvian mines in the neighbourhood of lima, at an early age, and being a gentleman of great intelligence, he thought it possible that the silver mines at pasco, about miles from lima, which were fast falling into decay for want of machinery to drain the water, might be restored to their former celebrity by the introduction of steam-engines. "mr. uville, who is now about thirty-six years of age, came to england in , where he continued a few months, and just as he was about to leave london he observed by accident a model of a steam-engine, made by captain trevithick, at the shop of a mr. roland, fitzroy square, and mr. uville so much liked the simplicity of its construction, that he immediately purchased it at twenty guineas. mr. uville returned to lima with it, and tried it on the mountains of pasco, in consequence of which, on the th of july, , mr. uville, with don pedro abadia and don josé aresmendi, eminent merchants at lima, were so confident of success, that they formed a company to drain the mines at pasco and its vicinity; and on the nd of august then following a contract was entered into by these gentlemen and the proprietors of the mines in that district. soon after which mr. uville was deputed by the company to return to england and to find out some able engineer to assist him in procuring proper steam-engines to be conveyed to the mines. "uville having put into jamaica, came to england in the 'fox' packet, capt. tilly, and arrived at falmouth early in the summer of . during the passage mr. uville frequently talked of the object of his voyage, and that he was particularly anxious to find out the maker of the model of the engine he took to lima, and recollecting that the name of 'trevithick' was on the model, he mentioned it to a mr. teague, who happened to be on board the packet, when the latter informed him that capt. trevithick was his first cousin, and that he resided within a few miles from falmouth. immediately on mr. uville's arrival an interview took place between him and capt. trevithick, and soon after mr. uville removed to capt. trevithick's house in camborne, where he resided several months, during which time capt. trevithick instructed him in mining, machinery, &c. "capt. trevithick and mr. uville, after seeing most of the mines in cornwall, visited several other mining districts in england, to afford mr. uville a better opportunity of acquiring the best knowledge of engineering by examining the steam-engines erected. afterwards they went to london, when mr. uville was introduced to a mr. campbell, of the east india company's department. mr. campbell informed mr. uville that the best engineers in europe were messrs. boulton and watt, of birmingham; and strongly recommending them to him, he observed that he was convinced if engines could be made capable of being transported to the mines of pasco across the mountains they would be able to do it. mr. uville accordingly applied to these gentlemen, and fully explained to them the nature of the engines which would be wanted, and the state of the road by which they must be conveyed, and messrs. boulton and watt returned an answer that it would be impossible to make engines small enough to be carried across the cordillera to the mines. "capt. trevithick, however, was not startled at the difficulties, and having applied himself to the improvements of his high-pressure engines, entered into a contract with mr. uville to provide nine steam-engines for the company at lima; and, by virtue of the powers with which mr. uville was invested, capt. trevithick was admitted a partner of one-fifth in the concern; besides which, for his great pains and services he had rendered, mr. uville guaranteed to him a handsome percentage on the profits of the company (_vide_ articles of agreement of th january, ). "these matters being settled, nine engines were provided at an expense of about , _l._, and were shipped on board the 'wildman,' south sea whaler, capt. leith, who sailed from portsmouth for lima the st september, , accompanied by mr. uville and the following cornish engineers,--thomas trevarthen, of crowan; henry vivian, of camborne; and william bull, of chacewater, in gwennap. "the engines arrived at lima, and were received by a salute from the government batteries, and the greatest joy was testified on the occasion. "on the th july, , the first steam-engine was set to work at santa rosa, one of the mines of pasco, under the direction of mr. bull (_vide_ despatch of that date, signed josé g. de prada). "on the th october, , capt. trevithick sailed for lima in the 'asp,' south sea whaler, capt. kenny, accompanied by mr. page, a gentleman of london, and james saunders, of camborne, an engine maker; and on the th february, , they arrived at lima, where capt. trevithick was immediately introduced to the viceroy by don p. abadia, and he received the most marked attention from the inhabitants (_vide_ 'lima gazette' of th february). "perhaps you will think it proper to notice the furnaces which captain trevithick took out in the 'asp' to lima for the purpose of purifying the silver by sulphur. a great expense will be saved by these means. any further information which i can afford you i will readily give. "i am, dear sir, "your very obedient and humble servant, "rd. edmonds. "h. f. boaze, esq." this statement, from a solicitor more than fifty years ago, inadvertently points out the difference between the steam-engine of watt and that of trevithick. the former said it was impossible to make engines having the required power small enough to be carried to the mountain mines, whereas a small high-pressure engine by the latter had sufficient power. day and page were lawyers advising mr. uville in london. page sailed from penzance with trevithick and james saunders, a boiler maker, in the 'asp,' a south sea whaler, on the th october, , just two years after the departure of uville with the machinery and engines. the difficulty of conveying heavy weights up the mountain foot-paths was almost insurmountable. mr. rowe, who went to these mines in , says,-- "the cerro de pasco mines are about miles from lima; we crossed a ridge , feet high. the mines were about , feet high above the sea. there was but one road; no wheel vehicle could be used; everything was carried on mules. sometimes the road was only - / feet wide, cut in precipices three or four hundred feet perpendicular: some of the men were afraid to walk, and dared not ride. "i lived in the house that used to be mr. trevithick's office and store-room; it was in the suburbs of the town of cerro de pasco. the shafts are some of them in the middle of the town; several pieces of captain trevithick's engines lay about the shafts, and some on the way up, as though they had stuck fast, and some we saw at lima. mr. jump, a director on the mine, pointed out a balance-beam that mr. trevithick had put up thirty years before. only one englishman then remained there who had worked for mr. trevithick; he was called sycombe, and said trevithick's men were an unmanageable lot. "the natives worked in the mines underground. the atmosphere was only about lbs. on the inch. we found a coal mine not far off; the quality was not very good. the smiths had difficulty in welding with it. our heaviest pieces of machinery did not exceed lbs. the worst parts of the road have been a little improved since that time." just one month before trevithick sailed from penzance for lima, the first pumping engine taken out by uville had been satisfactorily put to work in the mountain mine of santa rosa, with its steam-cylinder weighing double the limit fixed on by modern engineers. the following information respecting the progress of the steam-engine fixed on the santa rosa mines, one of the mineral ridges of pasco, in the viceroyalty of peru, is extracted from the government-gazettes of lima, dated the th of august and th of september, :-- "progress of the steam-engine, &c. "_his excellency the viceroy of peru to the editor._ "in order to satisfy the eager expectations of the inhabitants of this viceroyalty, those of the greater part of these americas, and even of the peninsula itself, i hereby order the printing, at full length, in the next government gazette, or at same time in a separate sheet, the enclosed despatch from the intendant governor of tarma, giving the details of the admirable results of the steam-engine fixed in the mineral territory of pasco, for the most important purpose of draining its mines, and for the extraction of its rich ores. this authentic communication must produce the most lively and grateful sensations in those true spaniards, who with grief contemplated as irreparably lost the only spring from which flowed the prosperity of this continent, excite their just acknowledgments to the meritorious co-operators in such an expensive and difficult as well as eminently-advantageous enterprise, and encourage to similar undertakings in other parts those who, with personal aptitudes and patriotic sentiments, have been waiting the final success of the first. "joaquin de la pezuela. "lima, _ th august, _." "_certificate of the deputation._ "we, don domingo gonzales de castañeda and don josé lago y lemus, commissaries and territorial magistrates in this royal mineral territory, and deputed by the united corporation of miners in this district, do hereby certify judicially, and as the law directs, in manner following:-- "though this deputation never doubted the extraordinary power of steam compressed, and consequently the certain operation of engines worked by its influence, it nevertheless entertained some fears respecting the perfect organization of all the mechanical powers of the machines. this uncertainty, rather than any doubt, has been completely dissipated by our personal attendance this day to witness the draining of the first pit, situated in santa rosa. the few instants employed in the same produce a full conviction that a general drainage of the mines will take place, and that their metals will be extracted with the greatest facility from their utmost profundity: as also that the skill of the company's partners and agents will easily overcome whatsoever difficulties nature may oppose, until they shall have completed all the perpendiculars and levels; and consequently that the meritorious undertakers who have risked their property in the enterprise will be rewarded with riches. "we and the whole corporation of miners would do but little were we to erect them a monument, which should transmit down to the remotest posterity the remembrance of an undertaking of such magnitude and heroism; but for the present we will congratulate ourselves that our labours, co-operation, and fidelity, keeping pace in perfect harmony with the exertions of the agents, the company may thus attain the full completion of their utmost wishes, extracting from the bowels of these prolific mountains, not the riches of amilcar's inexhaustible wells, not the treasures of the boasted potosi in its happiest days, but a torrent of silver, which will fill all surrounding nations with admiration, will give energy to commerce, prosperity to this viceroyalty and to the peninsula, and fill the royal treasury of our beloved sovereign. "thus certifies this magisterial deputation of yauricocha, the th of july, . "domingo gonzales de castaÑeda. "josÉ lago y lemus." "_despatch from the intendant governor of the province of tarma to his excellency the viceroy._ "most excellent sir, "pasco, _ th july, _. "having finally conquered the great difficulties consequent on the enterprise, though with immense and incessant labour, and at an enormous expense, the object has been accomplished of purchasing, importing, and erecting the steam-engine in the celebrated rich and royal mineral territory, called 'the mountains of yauricocha,' in this province of tarma, of which i have the honour to be governor, the chief and valuable works of which have ceased to produce ore, in consequence of their bases being completely submerged in water. "the day is arrived when we witness with admiration the advantageous and useful effects of the before-named steam-engine; the completion of the promises made by the generous and undaunted individuals who united themselves to supply the funds sufficient for the realization of an enterprise so important, and the fulfilment of the wishes of these valuable subjects, to render to the state the highest possible service; a service, although at all times of extreme importance, at this crisis is infinite; because the state, being weakened by a series of disastrous events for six years past, requires salutary remedies; and none exist so effectual as the re-establishment of the mines, which the steam-engines are achieving. "after some experiments, which (although they left no doubt of ultimate success in draining the mine) discovered some slight defects, these were corrected on the rd instant; and this day the first of the four pumps which arrived for the use of the royal mines was erected in the particular mine called santa rosa; the result of its operation has been the exhaustion of the water from the well or hollow below the adit. in twenty minutes, by this engine, an aggregate of water is ejected amounting to yards or feet in diameter, yards inches in length, and yard inches in breadth. in the same manner a second engine, accessory to that which drains the water, is worked by the same steam, on the same point, and in the same perpendicular shaft, from the surface of the earth, which extracts the ore, and with advantages hitherto unknown here, on account of the considerable saving of expense and the economy of manual labour. "the steam-engine will continue evacuating the water from the pit until it is reduced to yards below the old adit, whence they must eject the water raised by the engine by a continued elongation of the barrel of the pump gaining depth, until they have completed the number of yards required, or until the progress of the work indicates a proper situation for forming a new line of levels and channels of communication to those mines which are not yet drained. in proportion to the successive acquisition to these subterranean works which are daily advancing, will be the increased operations of the mines, and consequently the increased prosperity of the mining interest, which had most astonishingly fallen from the degree it had attained in former years. "in a short time, similar effects will be seen in the three remaining mineral ridges of yauricocha, caya, and yanacancha, productive of ores of a better quality than that of santa rosa, which has nevertheless obtained the preference for the erection of the first engine upon it from its being more abundant in its peculiar produce, and on account of the greater number of persons interested in this property; as also its contributing immediately to relieve the necessitous, by employing the workmen in the vicinity of the mines. in my opinion, no event so beneficial has occurred as the erection of the steam-engine, since the discovery and addition of these dominions to the crown of castile. from this time, by the help of these machines, immense and incalculable riches will accrue to the nation. "god preserve your excellency many years, "josÉ gonzales de prada." "_the viceroy's answer._ "lima, _ th august, _. "your lordship's official despatch, no. , the th of last month, communicated to me the satisfactory detail of the complete results which you witnessed on the rd and th, produced by the grand steam-engine placed over the mine of santa rosa, one of those situated in the mountains of pasco, for the purpose of draining the mine and extracting the ores. "i desire particularly to distinguish and patronize the chief agent and assistant, don francisco uville; the generous promoters of the undertaking, don pedro abadia and don josé arismendi; their agents and assistants, don luis de landavere and don tomas gallegos; and lastly, mr. bull, and all those associated in this great work, whom you recommend to my notice. your lordship, by having exerted yourself to facilitate, by all the means which your zeal and authority could procure, the happy consummation of so profitable an enterprise, has added a new claim to the many preceding which you possessed, to the high consideration of the king and the public. "joaquin de la pezuela, "viceroy of lima." _extract from the 'lima gazette' of the th of september, ._ "we have the satisfaction of communicating to the public the information that the company for draining the mines of pasco have just received accounts from their agents in that mineral territory; and they promise for our next gazette a description of the state of the works for fixing the remaining three engines.--editor. "cerro, _september th, _. "'after having observed the progress of the machine at the santa rosa mine last saturday, the th instant, at o'clock at night we began to act; at o'clock the pitmen went down to clear the shaft, and have not since ceased working an instant. the clearing of the mud and rubbish which had remained at the bottom of the shaft, and clogged every moment the buckets and suckers of the engine, lasted till wednesday; but this being accomplished, at o'clock at noon they began to break through the level. at half a yard below the shaft we found a lively coppery ore, with its particles of silver. this bronze-coloured ore indicates that the veins of yauricocha and san diego incline to the west, or towards the santa rosa mine. the mines in the vicinity of this pit are all dry. some of them, at the distance of yards, in the ridge of santa rita, have also felt its effects; and even as far as the territory of caya, behind our steam-works, the waters have fallen in several mines. don john vivas has begun to work in san diego mine. they are also going next monday to begin working in several points of the santa rosa mine. the pit is already yards in depth, and we are proceeding with the greatest activity. the workmen are relieved every two hours, and as they go out they give up their tools to those who succeed them, by which means not a minute is lost. continuing thus, in the course of a month we shall be at more than yards depth, and have many mines in full activity. the winding engine raises a basket (which is a load) in two minutes; the draining or steam-engine, with two vibrations per minute, keeps the surface always dry. both work with the greatest ease, certainty, and regularity. "'by dint of searching after a vein of coal, we have at last found one near at hand, of excellent quality and of great richness. the pit we are now at work at is at the distance of a quarter of a league from rancas, and at the same distance from vista alegre which the cerro is from these works. we have likewise found a vein of plumbago, which was an object of search, on the supposition that it was coal. this substance, of which much is consumed, mixed with grease, to soften the friction of the piston, &c., we have now here; and thus the necessity of sending to lima, or perhaps to europe, for it is obviated.'" within six months of the setting to work the pumping engine in santa rosa, another pumping engine was at work at yanacancha mine. the following extracts from the 'lima gazette' were published in the cornish papers by mr. edmonds:-- "_from the government gazette of lima, th feb., ._ "we have had the pleasure of receiving a letter from pasco, dated th instant, containing the following account:-- "the second engine established in the mine called yanacancha, which is far superior in point of beauty, convenience, and size to that called santa rosa, was set to work on friday last, and notwithstanding the great quantity of water which filtered into this mine the engine with only half its power drained the mine completely in nine minutes. this filtration did not happen in santa rosa, on account of the quantity of hard copper ore on which the engine is situated. "by this successful operation, the water in several mines has been lessened considerably, amongst which in particular is that belonging to don juan vivas, situate in the hill called chucarillo, which at present affords ore of marcos per caxon ( cwt.). of this ore about lbs. has been received in this city, with a proof of lbs. made in pasco, showing not only the richness of the ore, but its easy extraction and cleanness for the ready refinement of it. and another proof has also been received from another mine, situate in chucarillo, belonging to the widow mier, in company with don joachin aitola, which yields marcos per caxon of cargas. "to this agreeable news we ought to add that at the arrival of the whaling ship 'asp,' bound from london, having on board a large quantity of machinery for the royal mint, and for the constructing of eight engines more, equal to those in pasco, with the advantage that they are of the last patent and more easy to be worked; but what is of greater importance is the arrival of don ricardo trevithick, an eminent professor of mechanics, the same who directed in england the execution of the machinery now existing in pasco. this professor can, with the assistance of the workmen who accompany him, construct as many engines as are necessary in peru, without any need of sending to england for any part of these vast machines. the excellent character of don r. trevithick, and his ardent desire for promoting the interests of peru, recommend him in the highest degree to public estimation, and make us hope that his arrival in this kingdom will form the epoch of its prosperity, with the enjoyment of the riches enclosed in it, which could not be enjoyed without this class of assistance, or if the british government had not permitted the exportation from england, which appeared doubtful to all those who knew how jealous that nation is in the exclusive possession of all superior inventions in arts or industry." so far everything promised success. two pumping engines had so reduced the water in two of the mines, that the miners were at work, and the people of lima believed that many more such engines would be usefully employed, now that don ricardo trevithick was with them. "dear sir, "lima, _february th, _. "we arrived here last saturday in good health. the (our) mint is at work, and coined five millions last year, and in their way of working does very well; but i trust to make it coin thirty millions per year. "two engines are drawing water, and two drawing ore, at the mines, but in an imperfect state. if i had not arrived, it must have all fallen to the ground, both in their mining and in their engines. i expect we shall go to the mines in about ten days, from where i will write to you every particular. "there are still two engines to put up for lifting water, and two for winding ore, and those at work to be put to rights. they are raising ores from one mine which is immensely rich, and from what i can learn, a much greater quantity will be got up, when the whole are at work, than these people have any idea of. several other mines will also be set to work by engines that we shall make here. we have been received with every mark of respect, and both government and the public are in high spirits on account of our arrival, from which they expect much good to result. "mr. vivian died the th of may. i believe that too much drink was the cause of it. uville, i think, wished him gone, and was in great hope that i should not arrive. his conduct has thrown down his power very much, which he never can again recover. "they all say that the whole concern shall be put entirely under my management, and every obstacle shall be removed out of my road. unless this is done, i shall soon be with you in england. i am very sorry that i did not embark with the first cargo, which would have made a million difference to the company. the first engine was put to work about three months since, the other about two months; but they are as much at a loss in their mining as in their engineering. the mint is the property of our company, and government pays us for coining, which gives us an immense income; the particulars of which, and the shares in the mines, i have not yet gone into. i shall be short in this letter, because i know but little as yet, and that little i expect mr. page will inform you. a full account you shall have by the next ship, which i expect will sail in three weeks. this letter goes by a spanish ship that will sail this afternoon for cadiz. my respects, and good wishes to your family and to mr. day, and hope this will find you all as hearty as we are. "mr. page would not depart this life under the line, as he promised when at penzance; but, on the contrary, has a nose as red as a cherry, and his face very little short of it. his health and spirits far exceed what they were in england. i am glad to have such a companion. with ... think he will have no reason to repent.... he will get a command at pasco ... such as his ingenuity may find out, when on the spot; whether as a miner or an engineer i cannot say, but time will show. "if you have not insured my life i would thank you to do it now, if you can on reasonable terms. i do not wish them to take the risk of the seas in the policy, because the voyage here is over, and on my return i hope i shall not want it, therefore it must be for two years in the country. i will get a certificate of my health, if they wish it, from the most respectable inhabitants, and also from the vice-king, if they wish it. the policy may be drawn accordingly. "be so good as to write me often, with all the news you can collect. if you wish your dividends in this company to be applied to further advantage in any new mines i may engage in, in preference to having it sent to england, i will, as the dividends are made, do everything in my power to improve the talent. on this subject i must have your answer before i can make any new arrangement under this head. i will thank you to send a copy of mr. page's letter to my wife; i mean such parts of it as belong to the business; there may be some things that i have forgotten to mention. "i remain, sir, "your humble servant, "richd. trevithick. "mr. james smith, _limekiln lane, greenwich_." in the early part of four engines were at work in the mines, two pumping water and two raising the ore; while a fifth engine was coining in the mint at lima. trevithick believed that he could much improve the engines and the mining, and that it would be necessary and practicable to arrange for the construction of engines in lima; for though death and dissension had caused difficulty, the authorities were still prepared to give him full power. a strange defect in his character is evidenced in this letter. he wished his life to be insured for the benefit of his wife and family, but never thought of paying the yearly insurance premium, leaving it for his wife to pay, whom he had left, as far as he knew, penniless in england. on his sailing from penzance, he told his wife that he had paid the house-rent for a year in advance, mentioning the sum. at the end of that time a demand was made on mrs. trevithick for a year's rent, being a larger sum than her husband had mentioned as the proper rent. it turned out that trevithick had taken and paid for the house at six-monthly periods, instead of yearly periods. it was in the same street, and but three or four houses from that occupied by the parents of the eminent sir humphry davy. a person pressed him for payment of a bill. trevithick said, "give me your bill," and writing on the bottom of it "received, richard trevithick," handed it back to the claimant with "now, will that do for you?" the payment of the life insurance obliged mrs. trevithick to part with her personal property, on which she had counted for support during her husband's absence. this inability to see the necessity of methodical action, when working with others, and utter disregard for hoarded money, caused him to be a somewhat unmanageable partner, though his genius never allowed him to sink; and in november, , he wrote a letter, of which the following is an extract:-- [illustration: market, jew street, penzance. [w. j. welch.]] "there are also nunneries beyond number, and in those places no male is ever suffered to put his foot. through one of the most noted runs a watercourse, which works the mint; and mr. abadia has repeatedly made all the interest he could to be admitted, for the purpose of inspecting it, but could never get a grant. the mint belongs to our engine concern, and now coins about five millions per year. we have a contract from government for making all the coin, both gold and silver, which gives an immense profit; and as there must now be coined six times as much as before, i must build new water-*wheels to work the rolls which we took with us from england. it was on this account that i wished to examine the watercourse for this purpose, without the knowledge of mr. abadia or anyone but mr. page and the interpreter, who always attends me. i walked up and knocked, in my blunt way, at the nunnery court door, _without knowing there were any objections to admit men_; it was opened by a female slave, to whom the interpreter told my name and business. very shortly three old abbesses made their appearance, who said i could not be admitted. i told them i came from england, for the purpose of making an addition to the mint, and could not do it without measuring the watercourse; upon which a council was held amongst them; very soon we were ordered to walk in, and all further nunnery nonsense was done away. we were taken round the building and were shown their chapel and other places without reserve. "uville knew nothing about the practical part of the engines, and bull very little, therefore you may judge what a wretched state this great undertaking was in before my arrival; no one put any confidence in it, and believed it was all lost, together with five hundred thousand dollars that had been expended on it. the lord warden was sent from pasco to offer me protection and to welcome me to the mines. they have a court over the mines and miners, the same as the vice-warden's court in england, only much more respected and powerful. the viceroy sent orders to the military at pasco to attend to my call, and told me he would send whatever troops i wished with me. the spanish government and the vice-king since my arrival are quite satisfied that the mines will now be fully carried into effect, and will do everything in their power to assist me. as soon as the news of our arrival had reached pasco, the bells rang, and they were all alive down to the lowest labouring miner, and several of the most noted men of property have arrived here-- miles. on this occasion the lord warden has proposed erecting my statue in silver. on my arrival mr. uville wrote me a letter from pasco, expressing the great pleasure he had in hearing of my arrival, and at the same time he wrote to mr. abadia that he thought heaven had sent me to them for the good of the mines. the water in the mines is from four to five strokes per minute. "tell the members of the geological society that mr. abadia is making out a very good collection of specimens for them, which will be sent by the first opportunity; and soon after i arrive at pasco i will write them very fully." after trevithick's death, in , casts were taken from the head, and busts presented to scientific societies were thankfully received, with the single exception of his near neighbours at penzance, who, under the name of the royal geological society of cornwall, refused it. mr. w. j. henwood, who had frequently drawn the attention of cornishmen to trevithick's engines, being about president of the royal institution of cornwall, presented to it a bust of trevithick, which was admitted within its walls. in mr. r. edmonds forwarded to the 'cornwall gazette' news from lima, from which the following is extracted:-- "we have much pleasure in stating that accounts have lately reached england from lima, giving the satisfactory intelligence that our countryman and able engineer, captain trevithick, was in february last in good health, and super-*intending the rich and extensive mines of pasco. "don francisco uville, a spanish gentleman, having, with don pedro abadia and others, formed a company to drain the mines of pasco, unfortunately for captain trevithick, f. uville was anxious to impress his countrymen with an opinion that it was _solely_ owing to him that steam-engines were first introduced into the silver mines of south america; and notwithstanding the obligations he was under to captain trevithick, he sought every opportunity, soon after captain trevithick's arrival at pasco, to oppose him, in claiming to have the direction of the mines. "captain trevithick, knowing but little of the country, and disgusted with the treatment he received from uville and the party he had formed against him, amongst whom was a gent who had lately arrived from england, retired from the concern, and proceeded on other important discoveries on his own account. "things remained in this state until august, , when uville met his death, in consequence of the cold penetrating air of the cordilleras on coming out of the mines in a strong perspiration. mr. abadia and his friends were then under the necessity of soliciting the assistance of captain trevithick. on condition of his having the sole direction of the mines, he was prevailed upon to accept the situation which had been first most faithfully agreed he should have had; and when the accounts last left lima in february, captain trevithick had been five months at the mines as the chief superintendent. the mines are represented as being in the most prosperous state, and likely to realize the sanguine expectations of the share-*holders. mr. bull, an engineer from chacewater, who left england with uville, died at pasco about ten months since." when this was written, trevithick had been two years in the country, and found the immense difficulties of the undertaking increased by jealousies and jobberies. mr. uville was no more, neither were vivian or bull; but one man remained alive out of the four who had sailed from england with the first cargo of machinery. in august, , mr. abadia, who from the first was a leading authority, requested trevithick to take upon himself the sole management of the mines, where he continued until april, , as shown by the following extract from captain hodge's journal, supplied by my friend mr. charles hodge:-- "the first time they met was at lima, on the th april, , at dr. thorne's; your father had just come down from the cerro de pasco mines. on the th may following, i find my father witnessed the hanging of three men for killing two of your father's men, named judson and watson." mr. w. b. stevenson says:[ ]-- [footnote : see 'historical and descriptive narrative of twenty years' residence in south america,' by w. b. stevenson, published .] "the mint was established in lima, in . the machinery was formerly worked by mules, eighty being daily employed till the year , when don pedro abadia, being the contractor for the coinage, mr. trevithick directed the erection of a water-wheel, which caused a great saving of expense. in the year two englishmen, sent from pasco by mr. trevithick (who afterwards followed with the intention of working some of the silver mines in conchucos), were murdered by the guides at a place called puloseco. this horrid act was perpetrated by crushing their heads with two large stones, as they lay asleep on the ground. the murderers were men who had come with them from pasco. "i have heard mr. trevithick say, that on shaking hands with the men who work in those quicksilver evaporating rooms, drops of quicksilver show themselves at the fingers' ends, and that the workmen wearing shoes take them off before leaving the work, to pour out any quicksilver that had oozed through the pores of the skin, which had been respired in the floating state of vapour. the men so employed fell a sacrifice in twelve or eighteen months." trevithick's experience in applying the force of running streams was turned to good account in giving an economical helpmate to the steam-engine then at work in the mint. miers says:[ ]-- [footnote : see miers' 'travels in chili and la plata,' published .] "another instance occurs in the unfortunately ruinous result and lamentable ill-treatment of the persons engaged in the attempt to introduce european improvements and british machinery into the great silver-mining district of pasco (chili), in which was engaged one of our most celebrated engineers, a most able mechanic, to whom the grand improvements in our cornish mines are chiefly indebted--i mean mr. richard trevithick. trevithick was induced to furnish the machinery at an expense of _l._ sterling, upon condition of being admitted a partner in the amount of , dollars in the joint stock of the company, and entitled to a share corresponding to the capital employed. this share was calculated at a fifth. trevithick, before he embarked for peru, divided his interest in the concern into shares, each representing dollars, and these were sold in the market for _l._ sterling each; some few were sold for _l._ cash. the success of the engines gave to some of the persons interested much confidence, who conceived they could now do without the management of the ingenious trevithick. every possible obstacle was therefore thrown in his way by those who, from motives of jealousy, wished to get rid of him. the persons to whom trevithick's and other shares had been sold in london, sent out to lima an agent, whose duty it was to look after their interests in the concern; but as it was found a much larger sum would be necessary for carrying the enterprise into effect than had been calculated, a collision of interests took place; complaints were made on all sides as to the delays and expenses which those who did not comprehend the almost insurmountable difficulties of the undertaking attributed to mismanagement and carelessness. the greatest share of opprobrium fell unjustly upon trevithick, who, being a man of great inventive genius and restless activity, was at length completely disgusted, and retired from the undertaking. he left pasco, although abadia offered him dollars per annum, together with all his expenses, if he would continue to superintend the works; on no conditions would he consent to contend with the jealousies and ill-treatment of the persons with whom he had to deal. he soon after entered into speculations with some of the miners at conchucos, for whom he constructed grinding mills and furnaces, with the view to substitute the process of smelting for that of amalgamation in silver ores, in which vain pursuit he became a considerable loser." "my dear sir, "bodmin, _november rd, _. "forty-seven years are now passed since i had the great pleasure of meeting your father in peru, and i have a vivid remembrance of the gratification afforded to my messmates when he came to dine with us on board h.m.s. 'aurora,' then lying in callao. i was then a lieutenant of that beautiful frigate, and was introduced to your father by mr. hodge, of st. erth, with whom i had become acquainted in chili. i remember your father delighting us all on board the 'aurora' by his striking description of the steam-engine, and his calculation of the 'horse-power' of the mighty wings of the condor in his perpendicular ascent to the summit of the andes. your father's strong cornish dialect seemed to give an additional charm to his very interesting conversation, and my messmates were most anxious to see him on board again, but he left shortly after for the sierra. "the pasco-peruvian mines were those which your father was engaged to superintend before he left england, and he had actually managed, by incredible labour, to transport one or two steam-engines from the coast to the mines, when the war of independence broke out, and the patriots threw most of the machinery down the shafts. this fearful war was a deathblow to your father's sanguine hopes of making a rapid fortune. about a year after this terrible disappointment (i think in ), the 'san martin,' an old russian fir frigate, purchased by the chilian government, sank at her anchors in chorillos bay, ten miles south of callao, and your father entered into an engagement with the government in lima to recover a large number of brass cannon, provided that all the prize tin and copper on board which might be got up should belong to him. this was a very successful speculation, and in a few weeks your father realized about _l._ i remember visiting the spot with your father whilst the operations were carried on, and being astonished at the rude diving bell by which so much property was recovered from the wreck, and at the indomitable energy displayed by him. it was mr. hodge, and not i, who then urged in the strongest manner that at least _l._ should be immediately remitted to your mother. instead of this, he embarked the money in some utopian scheme for pearl fishing at panama, and lost all! "i had the honour of dining with lord dundonald on board the crazy frigate 'esmeralda,' which carried his flag in callao bay, but i never heard of the gallant conduct of your father in swimming off to his ship and advising him of an intended assassination. i fancy that this must have occurred before i came on the station, probably in , or . "believe me, "my dear sir, "very sincerely yours, "james liddell." trevithick's floating caissons for the sunken ship of margate bay in [ ] were similarly applied in in the bay of callao. in lima he became acquainted with lord dundonald, whom he warned of a plot on his life, discovered in his friendly intimacy at the residence of president bolivar. those two remarkable englishmen were alike in their daring inventiveness, and not unlike in face and person. [footnote : in the writer was employed at a marine engine works in london, and made working drawings for a scheme of lord dundonald's, who expressed great pleasure in meeting the son of his old friend.] we have traced trevithick's steps from his landing at lima in to the destruction of the mine machinery by the civil wars, and his departure from there about . but one link in the chain has been nearly lost. during some portion of those five years he visited chili, and set to work mines which are still producing large and profitable quantities of copper. the late mr. waters, an eminent cornish miner, who for many years managed some of these mines in the neighbourhood of valparaiso, said that trevithick's name was better known to the miners there than to the miners in cornwall. this statement was made in the dolcoath account-house at a public meeting, the speaker and the writer being both on the committee of management. simon whitbarn, of st. day, informed the writer that at copiapo and at coquimbo he had seen large heaps of copper ore, apparently unclaimed, which the people said had been raised by don ricardo trevithick. about a miner, returned from south america, made a claim for wages for watching mineral left behind by mr. trevithick. to further illustrate this history, we have a report written by himself:-- "_memoranda regarding the copper and silver mine of * * * *._ "in an arrangement was made between the miners of peru and myself for furnishing them with nine steam-engines and a mint, to be executed in england and erected in the mines of pasco; and in october, , i sailed from england for that country, for the express purpose of taking the management of those mines and erecting the machinery, being myself a large proprietor of the same. the government of peru was at that time subject to old spain, under the immediate superintendence of a viceroy. the machinery having been erected, and its sufficiency for the intended purpose of draining the mines having been proved to the satisfaction of all parties, there was granted to me a special passport by the viceroy, for the purpose of travelling through the country to inspect the general mining system, and to make the native miners acquainted with the english modes of working. in return for which government conceded to me the privilege of taking possession for my own benefit and account of such mining spots as were not previously engaged. in this way i travelled through many of the mining districts, and although i met with several unoccupied spots which would have paid well for working, yet, being a considerable distance inland, and requiring more capital to do them justice than i could then advance, i abandoned for the time all ideas of undertaking them. "to this, indeed, there was but one exception, and that was a copper and silver mine, the ores of which are uniformly united, in the province of caxatambo. "when the patriots arrived in peru, the mine was deserted by all the labourers, in order to avoid being forced into the army. in this state it remained for a considerable time; but on the spaniards retreating into the interior, i recommenced working; and to secure my right to this mine under the new government i at the same time transmitted a memorial and petition to the established authorities, accompanied by a plan and description of the mine, the result of which was the formal grant, as exhibited in the spanish document now in your possession. it was not my good fortune to be allowed to follow up my plans, which almost warranted a certainty of success. i had scarcely commenced a second time when the spaniards returned, and everyone again was obliged to fly. the country, as is well known, continued for a long time in a most distracted state, and i was ultimately compelled to quit that part of peru, robbed of all my money, leaving everything behind me, miners' tools and about _l._ worth of ores on the spot ready to be carried to the shipping port. numerous as my misfortunes had been in peru, and heavy as my disappointments, i felt none so sensibly as this, because it was an enterprise entirely of my own creation, and so open to view that i was enabled to calculate at a certainty the immense value contained within the external circle where the copper vein made its appearance in the cap of the mountain, and to be obtained without risk or capital. however, revolution followed revolution, and the war appeared to me to be interminable. even bolivar's arrival at lima made it still worse, for he forced me into the army, with my property, which is not paid to this day, to the amount of $ , ; and at his urgent solicitations, disgusted as i was with what i had seen and suffered in peru, i determined on quitting it for a time at least, and on visiting colombia. being at guayaquil i first heard the name of costa rica and its recently-discovered mines, and having no doubt of the authenticity of my information, i immediately proceeded thither instead of going to bogota to carry bolivar's orders into execution, not having been paid. this short digression you will excuse, as it points to the causes of my separation from a property of so much value, as i consider the mine of * * * * *. thirty years ago the neighbourhood of * * * * was famous for its silver mines. at the foot of the copper hill, on a fine stream, are two sets of works on a most extensive scale, which were carried on on account of the spanish government. the silver was found in lead veins, which are very large and numerous all around. the soil is very rich, and the climate as good as any in the world, wheat and indian corn both growing round the mountain. provisions and wages are low, the latter _s._ per day, and there are about , inhabitants within three miles. wood for smelting and other purposes is abundant on the spot. "* * * * is * * leagues from lima; the port of * * * * where the ores are to be shipped, is leagues north from lima; and * * * * copper mine * * leagues back in the country east from this port, a good road for mules and plenty of them. the miners contracted with me to break the ores and deliver them at the surface for _l._ per ton, which was double what i ought to have paid them; the farmers likewise contracted to carry the ores to the port at the same rate, which comes to sixpence a league for each mule cargo. but even at present wheel-carriages might travel over a large proportion of the road, and a small outlay would make it a carriage-road the whole distance, and then the expense of carriage would be diminished more than one-half. taking it, however, at what it cost me, the whole expense on the ores delivered on board would not amount to _l._ a ton, and as i conceive the freight to england would not exceed _l._ a ton, the total cost would be _l._, but say _l._ a ton. its value in england would be above _l._ a ton. at the time i worked i intended to have sent tons of ore to england, for in the then disturbed state of the country it would not have been prudent to risk myself on smelting works. i think it will ultimately be found preferable to smelt on the spot, but the course i should recommend in the meantime would be to send out two practical miners to direct and superintend the natives, who ought to be employed by contract to break and raise the ores and deliver them on board. in that case no erections whatever would be wanted; nothing but about _l._ worth of labourers' tools. "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, (signed) "richard trevithick." the foregoing undated report was written after his return to england from south america. the viceroy granted him a special passport through the country, that he might give general instructions to the workers of mines, with the right to claim any mineral spot for his own working not under grant to others. he often spoke of his discovery and working of the great vein of copper ore in caxatambo, estimated to contain copper worth twelve millions sterling, the working of which was prevented by the frequent revolutions and unsettled government of the country; and of residing for months with bolivar, at that time the republican governor of peru. bolivar's cavalry were short of fire-arms. trevithick invented and made a carbine with a short barrel of large bore, having a hollow frame-work stock. the whole was cast of brass, stock and barrel in one piece, with the necessary recess for the lock; the bullet was a flat piece of lead, cut into four quarters, held in their places in a cartridge until fired, when they spread, inflicting jagged wounds. he was obliged to serve in the army, and to prove the efficiency of his own gun. he was never a good shot, nor particularly fond of shooting; and, after a long time, bolivar allowed him to return to his engineering and mining. scarcely had he got to work again when the royal spanish troops, getting the best of it, overran the mines, and drove trevithick away penniless, leaving _l._ worth of ore behind him ready for sale. the tons of ore, valued at , _l._, never reached england; and the writer, who was to have returned to peru in the ship that had been engaged to convey it, lost the chance of being a youthful traveller in foreign lands. trevithick left lima about or , for bogota, in colombia, on a special mission for bolivar. on his way, putting in at guayaquil, he heard of rich mines in costa rica, and thinking they would pay better than bolivar's promises, he threw up his engagement and made for the new venture. it was probably at guayaquil that he met mr. gerard, a scotchman of good family and education, then sailing on the pacific coast as a speculator. since trevithick left the mines of cerro de pasco, more than one english adventurer has attempted to work them. at the present time they are in the hands of a large company, and are thus spoken of in the 'cornish telegraph' of may , :-- "_cerro de pasco and its silver mines._ "this place, in the republic of peru, is situated on the top of the andes, on the eastern side of the western cordillera. it stands about , feet above the sea level, and is said to be one of the highest, if not the highest, inhabited place of importance in the whole world. "from callao to here is a distance of miles, but, in consequence of the rapid ascent in such a comparatively short distance, it is considered a quick journey if mules make it in six days; it more frequently takes them a week, and at times, during the season of snow and rain, the pampas, which are the table-lands of these mountains, are impassable for several days together. "the town of cerro de pasco, which at present numbers , souls, is of no small importance, considering its great altitude and inconvenient distance from the coast, but it lacks order and design in every part. the streets are crooked and uneven; and the houses are stuck about anywhere and everywhere, with the greatest display of uneducated taste that i have ever before witnessed; moreover, it would be difficult to find another such place so equally dirty. "it rains and snows on these heights with not much cessation for about six months in the year, and in what is termed the dry season there are also frequent falls of snow. furthermore, water boils at ° fahr. instead of at °, as with you; consequently it requires six minutes to cook an egg. "the majority of the inhabitants are a low type of indians, who are small in stature and mind, but are large in cunning, and have exceedingly plain features--not possessing the slightest trace of the noble features and bold simplicity of the indians of the north. "any person acquainted with minerals and mining coming up to cerro de pasco would fancy that the whole town was built on the back of one huge lode; go wherever one may, through the streets, or on the outskirts of the town, and even up to the slopes of the hill surrounding it, he finds it to be all lodestuff everywhere; its composition is what we cornish miners generally term an iron gossan. "the greater portion of this mineral spot is parcelled out into setts or grants, which consist of pieces of ground yards in length by in width, giving to the place no less than mines. at present there are no more than seventy-eight of them at work, and only sixty-three of which are producing ore, and the united returns amount to , , oz. of silver per annum. owners or companies have roads leading down to their mines, formed of steps cut out in the rock, dipping at angles varying from ° to °. when you have descended to the depth of the mines, the levels or holes leading to many of them are so small that one has to drag himself along snake fashion until he reaches the main excavation. the miners break down the silver ore with pointed bars of iron, and then shovel it into bags made of hide with the shoulder-bone of some animal; after which the stuff is carried to surface on men's and boys' backs. "when all the mineral has been extracted there remains an immense excavation, and in consequence of the roof not being properly supported with timber, one risks his life in entering it. heavy falls of rock frequently occur, and by which means a vast number of persons are annually killed. one day in the last century, at the mines of 'matagente' (which word means killed people), which are situated in the rising ground on the northern side of the town, while a great number of men and boys were at work, the roof of one of these immense chambers, consisting of many thousands of tons, fell in without giving the least warning, and 'in the twinkling of an eye' the souls of peruvian miners rushed into the presence of their redeemer. their bodies have never been exhumed, and their shattered bones, still remaining, will bear evidence of the catastrophe to future explorers. an adit has been driven through the district, beginning at the lake of quiulacocha on the south-west, and terminating at the mines of ganacaucha on the north. the entire length of the adit, including its branches, is about miles, and its average depth from surface fathoms. three perpendicular shafts, situated at about yards apart, have also been sunk from surface to a short distance below the adit. "the whole of the machinery for the mines in question, which is being made and dispatched by messrs. harvey and co., of hayle, cornwall, consists of four steam pumping engines, six boilers, four iron main beams, four balance ditto, and also a sufficient quantity of -inch pit-work for both shafts. no single piece of all this cumbrous machinery must weigh more than lbs., in consequence of its having to be transported on the backs of mules from the coast to this mountainous region. although the main distance is no more than miles, these beasts with their burdens have to climb an altitude of , feet before they reach their destination. moreover, the passes in ascending the andes and cordillera can only be correctly imagined by experienced travellers. some of the defiles are not much wider than a sheep-path, and with a thousand feet below you a roaring cataract, and thousands of feet above you snow-capped overhanging mountains, looking so dreadful that the awe-struck stranger in the pass fears that the next peal of thunder will cause them to topple." [illustration: mule track from lima to cerro de pasco. [w. j. welch.]] "i observe in a paper which is now before me, entitled 'the introduction of the steam-engine in the peruvian mines, by richard trevithick, in ,' that when captain trevithick arrived at lima on board the ship 'asp,' with sundry small engines for the draining of the mines of cerro de pasco, he was immediately presented to the marquis de concordia, then viceroy of peru, was most graciously received by the most flattering attention of the inhabitants, and subsequently the viceroy ordered the lord warden of the mines to escort the great man with a guard of honour to the mining district. in contrasting the two epochs, that of trevithick in , with this of wyman and harrison in , one is led to exclaim that there were _gentlemen_ in peru in , and they gave unto cæsar that which belonged to cæsar."[ ] [footnote : in 'mining journal,' w. r. rutter.] the same newspaper, on the th november, , stated:-- "the 'bride' sailed from hayle on thursday with a portion of the machinery made by messrs. harvey and co., of hayle, destined for cerro de pasco, in peru. the work comprises four -inch cylinder pumping engines; no part to weigh more than lbs." to enable the parts to be reduced in weight, each steam-cylinder was made of thirty-seven different pieces. the mechanics of trevithick's time could not make a steam-cylinder in parts; therefore his difficulties in designing and conveying the machinery were ten times greater than they would be in the present day, and necessitated the extreme simplicity of his engines. his residence with the peruvians from to taught them the use of high-pressure steam-engines in their mines; and indirectly heralded the advent of the steam-horse, now as familiar to them as to the residents in many english towns. chapter xxiii. costa rica. "my dear sir, "in the month of june, , i disembarked in the port of punta de arenas, in the gulf of nicoya, the only one corresponding to that province at present in use on the pacific side. my object was to dispose of a cargo of cotton which i had brought from realejo, and to purchase sugar in return. circumstances, not necessary to mention, and the loss of the small vessel with which i was trading on the coast, caused me to remain in costa rica. its name implies a very early conviction of its natural opulence; it is certain that gold and silver abounded among the indians at the period of its conquest by the spaniards. it was at one time a favoured and flourishing agricultural colony, but from various causes sank into neglect. such was the apathy, both of the government and of individuals, that the very existence of the precious metals in the country had been almost entirely forgotten. in the end of , a poor man, nicolas castro by name, opened the first gold mine known in costa rica since the conquest, and his success soon induced others to try their fortunes; with fortunate results, in a few months a mining district sprang into being. "a gentleman of the name of alverado constructed at a very considerable expense what is called an ingenio, consisting of various edifices for depositing the ore, machinery driven by water for grinding it and afterwards blending it with quicksilver for amalgamation. [illustration: plate . london: e. & f. n. spon, , charing cross. kell. bro^s lith. london. trevithick's route across the isthmus of costa-rica.] "when i landed in june, , only five or six mines had been discovered, but in january , when i left the country, i cannot pretend to enumerate those in a state of progress and of promise. it is not only in the mining part of the business that the want of skill is prejudicial to the result. it is imperfectly ground, for instance, and consequently cannot be brought into that intimate contact with the quicksilver which is necessary to perfect amalgamation. the machine for grinding is very simple: a large flat stone, like a mill-stone, is made to revolve upon its fellow by an ox or mule power. the poorest people reduce it to powder by manual labour, in the same way as they grind corn preparatory to baking it into cakes. alverado's machine promised to be a great acquisition. the grinding was facilitated by a little water; when the ore is judged to be sufficiently well ground, a portion of quicksilver is thrown in by guess, and the motion of the machine continued until the union of the metals is supposed to be complete; the whole is then removed into large wide-mouthed conical-shaped wooden vessels. in these receptacles it undergoes repeated washings, by stirring occasionally round, and afterwards communicating to the vessel a swinging or half-rotary motion, by which a quantity of the water, having the earthy particles suspended, is driven over the edges; the amalgamated mass naturally sinks to the bottom, and at last remains tolerably clean. "the next step is the recovery of the quicksilver by distillation, after which the gold is melted in a crucible and run into ingots. the coasts are hot, and from the luxuriant vegetation that everywhere abounds, emit, as in all situations of the kind, febrile miasma in abundance when acted on by heat and moisture; but black vomit is unknown, and all the fever cases i have seen have been of the remitting and intermitting, free from character of malignancy. as the ground begins immediately to spring from the coast, and does so indeed very rapidly, a few miles takes us beyond the region of even these slight fevers, and as we continue ascending to the central table-land, a climate is encountered that may vie with any in the world for benignancy and beauty. we there meet with the fruits of the torrid zone, and near them the apple and the peach of europe. the orange tree is in bearing the whole year. as in all situations within the tropics, it has a proper rainy season, but it is less inconvenient and disagreeable than might be expected, for it seldom rains two days in succession, and when it does, is invariably succeeded by an interval of fine weather; for the most part every day presents a few dry hours. the mines are situated on the ridges of the cordillera, which without presenting snow-covered peaks, attain, nevertheless, considerable elevation. the clouds, constantly attracted by those high summits, render the rainy season more severe in the mining district than in the plains. the greatest inconvenience was from the snakes, which in those solitary jungles, now first invaded by man, are very numerous and many of them venomous. provisions are cheap and excellent. in short, there is but one fault i find with the country, and it is a great one, i mean the frequency of earthquakes. "j. m. gerard." mem. in mr. gerard's writing. "_illustrations of the map._ "though the plans and sections explain themselves, a few observations will not be misplaced. the deep adit for the coralillo would be yards, that for quebrada-honda yards, and besides serving as drains would form admirable roads for conveying the ores into the vale where the stamps must be erected. "the veins would be worked upward from the adits, and thus no expense would be incurred for ages to come in lifting either water, ore, or rubbish to the surface. padre arias mine is an exception, requiring a powerful water-wheel, or an hydraulic pressure-engine, for which there is a fine fall of water of feet. the mines in quebrada-honda are those in which an interest has been procured. captain trevithick has an interest in the mine of coralillo; the great watercourse is also his. "it will be seen by the plan that there are fathoms fall to the point where his present mill is situated, and other fathoms to the junction of the rivers of quebrada-honda and machuca. the whole length does not amount to two miles, within which it is estimated that sufficient power may be commanded to stamp , of quintals annually. to bring it up to that pitch, the waters of machuca must be brought to join those of quebrada-honda at trevithick's mill, and then tons of water per minute could be delivered in the dry season." extracts from a report by trevithick and gerard in :-- "this map consists of several distinct parts. the middle part shows the mining district, the present dimensions of which are small, the length being hardly four miles, breadth from two to three, and the superficial extent from eight to ten miles. the upper part of the plan is a section of the north ridge, called quebrada-honda, and shows the line of the proposed adits. the lower part in like manner exhibits the south ridge, called coralillo. the map further shows the inclination or gradual fall of the ground along the valley, and of the streams by which the mills are driven. "the canal is likewise shown yards in length, by which the rivers of machuca would be brought to join that of quebrada-honda. "castro's mine is situated on the southern ridge, and was the first mine worked to any extent. there the veins are very large; in fact, from the manner in which a number of horizontal veins are seen falling into the perpendicular or master vein, the great body of the mountain would appear to consist of lodes. this mass of ore is in general rich. it has been worked open to the surface, somewhat like a quarry, so that it is not difficult to calculate in cubic feet the quantity that has been excavated. the mine is supposed to have yielded in the course of the last six years gold to the value of , _l._, and by measuring the excavations it would appear that this amounts to, on an average, one ounce of fine gold to every ten or twelve quintals of ore. in the existence of silver was only imagined. in it was fully ascertained. ever since it has constituted a small but constant portion of the produce of quebrada-honda, and in it was decidedly evinced in coralillo. the discovery of gold in coralillo led them to work in quebrada-honda, where they found both gold and silver, and the discovery of silver in quebrada-honda, by strengthening the expectation of it in coralillo, led in its turn to the discovery of silver there. in quebrada-honda they only work on the ground in the immediate vicinity of the stream, and that in the most imperfect manner; but great light has been thrown on the value of the ores on this spot and in the district generally by the progress made in working what is called padre arias mine, which takes its name from an ecclesiastic who first worked it. this mine is situated in low ground near the verge of the stream, and was at first only worked for gold. there were soon, however, indications of silver, which increased progressively in sinking, till at the depth of only yards the influx of water exceeded the means of draining, and the works under water-level were necessarily abandoned, at a time when ores were yielding upwards of oz. of silver to the ton, a striking proof of the tendency of silver ore to improve in this district as the depth increases. "mr. richard trevithick, that eminent cornish miner and engineer, so well known for his inventions, and particularly for the high-pressure steam-engine and the drainage of the pasco mines in peru, when unfortunately civil war burst out in peru, and the royalists, considering those engines as the main instrument for supplying money to the independents, rendered them useless by destroying or carrying off some of the most important pieces. "mr. trevithick having heard favourable reports of the mining district we are now describing, soon after repaired thither, and was so fully impressed with its value and importance that he made an extensive contract for different properties, and resided in the country for four years. "he is now in england ready to give explicit answers to any inquiries that may be made as to the mineral wealth of costa rica, and the extraordinary facilities afforded by its position and natural advantages. an estimate has been made for establishing a complete mining concern in costa rica, with houses, iron railroads, stamping mills, &c., so as to raise, stamp, and bring into refined gold the produce contained in , tons of ore per year. "the result of six years' experience shows that the following list of machinery and tools with a few miles of railroad would be sufficient. the communication with the mines being satisfactorily established by the route of the port of san juan de nicaragua and the river serapique, the materials would be sent by the atlantic at very much less cost than by around cape horn. "it is situated within leagues of the pacific ocean and leagues of the atlantic, in a mountainous district intersected by deep valleys or ravines. the mountains are covered with wood fit for fuel, mining, architecture, and machinery. there is a population of , inhabitants within one day's journey of the mines. the climate is perfectly salubrious, provisions of all kinds remarkably cheap, labourers' wages from four to five dollars per month. the mines secured are freehold property, and with one exception are unencumbered by tribute or native partners. the attention of government and of individuals has recently been directed to the discovery of a road from the interior to the river serapique, which, rising in the high lands of costa rica, pursues a northerly course and joins the san juan about leagues above the harbour of that name, being itself navigable for about leagues above the junction. the opening of this road is a matter of much importance to costa rica in a general point of view; the port of matina being always bad and impracticable during the prevalence of northerly winds; that of san juan being, on the contrary, capacious, easy of access, and at all times perfectly secure. the distance is much the same as by the way of matina. several expeditions have been undertaken with a view of exploring an eligible road to the highest navigable point of serapique, and although as yet none fit for mules has been discovered, the results of the experiments justify the expectation of success. individual enterprise is active in the attempt, and government has wisely offered a reward to successful speculators. "captain trevithick and mr. gerard, with a particular view to the enterprise now under consideration, and after considerable risk and labour, succeeded in laying down the navigable head of the serapique and in throwing such light on the intervening tract as will be of great assistance to future adventurers. they ultimately constructed a canoe in which they sailed down to the port of san juan." plate xiv. shows trevithick's route across costa rica. a memorandum in trevithick's writing, apparently a diary, says:-- "from where we returned our mules to the place where we commenced to make our rafts and boat was eleven days' journey, a distance of or miles. the first and second days after parting with the mules we passed some soft ground, with three or four rivulets of water in narrow vales, about miles on the side of the decline of the high ridge on our left. it could easily be made passable for mules, as the bad places where they could not travel did not exceed two or three miles; and had we kept a little more to the left above the soft ground, probably they could have passed. the next bad place was about a mile after the second pass across the san josé river, being a very deep and abrupt vale. had we never passed the san josé river, but left it on our right hand, the road would have been much shorter, and we should have avoided this deep vale, and also the three other vales, and their three rivers of montelegre, juan mora, and ajerbi. they were, however, small, not more than half the leg in water, which is a proof that their source was not above miles off and must have originated in the side of the high ridge on our left. none of the vales were impassable to mules, except that between the second passing of the river san josé and the river montelegre, which was about a mile, and might be made passable for mules by a diagonal road to be made in the side of the hill a little higher up. "only five or six miles of road would require to be made for mules on the whole of the way we came, to where the river serapique is navigable. we observed that we should have avoided those vales by passing a few miles more to the left, where we saw one continued high ridge running from the highest ridge of the continent, commencing at the volcano and terminating in a point near to where the serapique river is navigable. "on a regular decline for perhaps or feet in height, down to near sea-level, which would in that distance have given a fall of about half an inch in a yard, four men in ten days would make, i have no doubt, this ridge passable for mules on a regular descent to where the serapique river is navigable. i have no doubt if we could have spent one week more on our journey we might have passed mules the whole distance with us. to carry machinery from where the serapique is navigable to the mines is about one-third farther than from the port of arenas on the south, on which the carriage is two dollars per mule load; three dollars might therefore be charged per mule from the atlantic side, a much less cost than by way of matina, or by going around cape horn. it would give a speedy communication and a great accommodation to the province of costa rica, which i doubt not would gladly contribute to its making. "the mining district occupies the mountain of aquacate, nearly equidistant from the port of punta de arenas, in the gulf of nicoya, and from san josé, the capital of the state, about leagues from the former and from the latter. the high road passes through the centre of the district. "the chief outlay after paying for the mines would be for erecting stamping mills and making railroads." this broken information barely gives an idea of the importance of the costa rica mines, or of what trevithick did between the time of his landing on the pacific shore, about , and his leaving the mines on his search for a new route over the cordillera to the atlantic shore, about or . judging from the rough map on which trevithick has marked his line of travel across the isthmus, the mines of machucha, quebrada-honda, and coralillo, were inland from the gulf of nicoya, on the pacific, some forty or fifty miles, the latter mine having its water shed into the rio grande, while the two other mines, not far off, opened into the quebrada-honda river. the central high ridge of the cordillera was between the mines and the atlantic; indeed the mines are on high ground at the foot of volcanic mountains. san mateo seems to have been the place of importance near the mines, and probably a well-known mule-track was in use through the mountain ridge to san josé, the capital, once numbering thirty thousand inhabitants; but this line failed to reach a good port on the atlantic coast. the travellers, therefore, abandoned the known track, and turning to the left, made their way between the volcanic peaks of potos and barba, hoping that on the eastern slope of the cordillera navigable rivers would be found either to the atlantic or to the san juan de nicaragua, which joined the atlantic at the port of san juan. it was probably at this volcanic ridge that the precipitous road obliged the mules to be sent back. the track was then due north, towards buona vista, below which the river serapique took its rise, running into the river san juan. where they crossed this river was fifty or sixty miles from where the mules had left them. trevithick marked the river-crossing with a steamboat, indicating its navigability; but the writer infers that it had so much of the mountain torrent about it, that the travellers took a line still through unexplored country towards the port of san juan, on the atlantic, for the track and the description show that the river san josé was crossed, and also another river running to the atlantic. they probably were stopped by swamps on approaching the san juan, and retracing their steps to the serapique, constructed rafts or canoes, and after hairbreadth escapes sailed down it to the junction with the san juan, and down the latter to its junction with the atlantic at port san juan, or greytown. eleven days were passed from the parting with the mules near the crossing of the highest ground, from whence they saw a continuous ridge, commencing at the volcano and terminating near to where the serapique is navigable on a regular decline for perhaps seven or eight thousand feet down to near sea-level, giving a fall for the whole distance of about half an inch in a yard, or in railway parlance in ; for this was what was in trevithick's head, that his steam-horse should carry where the mule could not, and that miners and machinery should be so taken to his mines from the atlantic, giving those who chose an opportunity of continuing their railway journey to the pacific. the writer has heard trevithick describe the excursion as lasting three weeks, through woods, swamps, and over rapids; their food, monkeys and wild fruit; their clothes, at the end of the journey, shreds and scraps, the larger portion having been torn off in the underwood. mr. thomas edmonds also listened to trevithick's narrations, some of which he gives in the following:-- "in i frequently saw trevithick at the house of mr. gittins, at highgate, a schoolmaster, with whom were two boys that had accompanied him from costa rica, called montelegre. before captain trevithick no european had adventured on or explored the passage along the river from the lake nicaragua to the sea. in the adventure he was accompanied by mr. j. m. gerard, a native of scotland; two boys of spanish origin going to england for their education; a half-caste, as servant to mr. gerard; and by six working men of the country, of whom three went back, after helping to remove obstructions in the forest through which the first part of the journey was undertaken. the risks to which the party were exposed on their passage were very great: they all had a narrow escape from starvation, one of the labourers was drowned, and captain trevithick was saved from drowning by mr. gerard. the intended passage was along the banks of the river. to avoid the labour of cutting through the forest, the party determined to construct a raft, on which they placed themselves, their provisions, and utensils; after a passage of no long duration they came to a rapid, which almost overturned their raft, and swept away the principal part of their provisions and utensils. the raft, being unmanageable, was then stopped by a tree lying in the river, with its roots attached to the bank; on this tree three of the passengers, including captain trevithick, landed, and reached the bank; this was no sooner done than the current drove the raft away from the tree, and carried it, with the remaining passengers, to the opposite bank, where they landed in safety, and abandoned the raft as too dangerous for further use. the next object was to unite the party again into one body. the three left on the other side of the river were called upon to swim over: one of the men swam over in safety, the next made the attempt and was drowned, the third and last remaining was captain trevithick, who was either unable to swim or could swim very little. in order to improve his chances of safety, he gathered several sticks, which he tied in a bundle and placed under his arms; with these he plunged into the stream; but the contrivance of the bundle of sticks afforded him very doubtful assistance, for the current appeared to seize the sticks and whirl him round and round. he, however, finally reached within two or three yards of the bank in a state of extreme exhaustion. mr. gerard going into the water himself and holding the branch of a tree, then threw to his assistance the stem of a water-plant, holding one of the extremities in his own hand. it was not until the fourth time of throwing that captain trevithick was able to seize the very extremity of the plant (which was leaf) in his fingers; on the strength of the leaf his life on the occasion was dependent. it was determined to give up any further idea of using a raft on the river, and to continue their journey along the banks of the river. for subsistence for the remainder of their journey they had to depend on the produce of one fowling-piece and a small quantity of gunpowder; after a few days the gunpowder got wet by accident, and in the attempt to dry it, it was lost by explosion. the party finally arrived in a state of great exhaustion at the village, now the considerable port of san juan de nicaragua, or greytown; and shortly after their arrival a small vessel arrived, which conveyed the party to one of the west india islands. "upon one occasion captain trevithick was called upon to act in a novel capacity, that of a surgeon. an accident happened to a native engaged in working an engine erected at a place distant about two hundred miles from lima, by which accident both of his arms were crushed. there was no medical man within the distance of two hundred miles, and captain trevithick, believing that death would ensue if amputation was not immediately performed, offered his services, which were accepted by the patient. the operation, he informed me, was successful; the man rapidly recovered, and showed a pair of stumps which could have hardly been distinguished from the result of an operation by a regular surgeon. it is not improbable that in the warfare in which he had been engaged captain trevithick had been present and assisted at amputations of limbs of wounded soldiers. he thus probably acquired sufficient confidence to undertake and perform the operation himself. "from costa rica captain trevithick came to england, with a design, among others, of forming a company to work a mine which had been granted him (for a term of years) by the costa rica government. mr. gerard came to england with a similar object in view. both failed in their object. mr. gerard was extremely unfortunate with regard to his mine, for he spent a considerable fortune of his own in working his mine to a loss. "the eminence of captain trevithick as an engineer is well known. the public are indebted to him for the invention of the high-pressure steam-engine and the first railway steam-carriage. the latter being dependent on the former, captain trevithick informed me that the idea of the high-pressure engine occurred to him suddenly one day whilst at breakfast, and that before dinner-time he had the drawing complete, on which the first steam-carriage was constructed. captain trevithick informed me that in the original steam railway-engine constructed by him in [ ] at that time was still running in wales." [footnote : probably referring to the welsh locomotive of .] "sir, "stanwik, cumberland, _ th november, _. "i read in the public prints that in a speech made by you in belle vue gardens you referred to the meeting of robert stephenson with trevithick at carthagena, which, if your speech be correctly reported, you attribute to accident. the meeting was not an accident, although an accident led to it, and that accident nearly cost mr. trevithick his life; and he was taken to carthagena by the gentleman that saved him, that he might be restored. when mr. stephenson saw him he was so recovering, and if he looked, as you say, in a sombre and silent mood, it was not surprising, after being, as he said, 'half drowned and half hanged, and the rest devoured by alligators,' which was too near the fact to be pleasant. mr. trevithick had been upset at the mouth of the river magdalena by a black man he had in some way offended, and who capsized the boat in revenge. an officer in the venezuelan and the peruvian services was fortunately nigh the banks of the river, shooting wild pigs. he heard mr. trevithick's cries for help, and seeing a large alligator approaching him, shot him in the eye, and then, as he had no boat, lassoed mr. trevithick, and by his lasso drew him ashore much exhausted and all but dead. after doing all he could to restore him, he took him on to carthagena, and thus it was he fell in with mr. stephenson, who, like most englishmen, was reserved, and took no notice of mr. trevithick, until the officer said to him, meeting mr. stephenson at the door, 'i suppose the old proverb of "two of a trade cannot agree" is true, by the way you keep aloof from your brother chip. it is not thus your father would have treated that worthy man, and it is not creditable to your father's son that he and you should be here day after day like two strange cats in a garret; it would not sound well at home.' 'who is it?' said mr. stephenson. 'the inventor of the locomotive, your father's friend and fellow-worker; his name is trevithick, you may have heard it,' the officer said; and then mr. stephenson went up to trevithick. that mr. trevithick felt the previous neglect was clear. he had sat with robert on his knee many a night while talking to his father, and it was through him robert was made an engineer. my informant states that there was not that cordiality between them he would have wished to see at carthagena. "the officer that rescued mr. trevithick is now living. i am sure he will confirm what i say, if needful. a letter will find him if addressed to no. , earl street, carlisle, cumberland. "there are more details, but i cannot state them in a letter, and you might not wish to hear them if i could. "i am, sir, "your very obedient servant, "james fairbairn, "who writes as well as rheumatic gout will let him. "p.s.--i forgot to say the name of the officer is hall. "to ---- watkin, esq." "dear sir, " , earl street, carlisle, _ th december, _. "on my return from liverpool this day i find your letter of the th. "in reply i have the honour to say that if you will be pleased to state upon what points you require information, i shall be but too happy to furnish it if i can. "i have barely time to add that mr. fairbairn has left for america, which is his home, and has been for many years. he must have been at birkenhead or liverpool at the date of your letter to me. i was not aware that he had written to you. he brought me a paper with your remarks about the meeting of mr. robert stephenson and mr. trevithick, and asked me if it were true that they met at carthagena as stated, as he (mr. fairbairn) thought it was at angostura, and that mr. trevithick was in danger of being drowned at the bocasses, _i. e._ the mouths of the orinoco, the apure, &c, &c. i explained that it was near the mouth of the magdalena. "i will just say that it was quite possible mr. r. stephenson had forgotten mr. trevithick, but they must have seen each other many times. this was shown by mr. trevithick's exclamation, 'is that bobby?' and after a pause he added, 'i've nursed him many a time.' "i know not the cause, but they were not so cordial as i could have wished. it might have been their difference of opinion about the construction of the proposed engine, or it might have been from another cause, which i should not like to refer to at present; indeed, there is not time. "pray address me as before. i hold no rank in the british service, and in england never assume any. "i have the honour to be, dear sir, "faithfully yours, "bruce napier hall. "edward w. watkin, esq., m.p., &c., "_currente calamo_." these notes from mr. hall and mr. fairbairn to mr. (now sir edward) watkin[ ] arose from the latter repeating what mr. robert stephenson had related, of his meeting with trevithick and gerard at the inn at carthagena. stephenson said, "on his way home from colombo, and in the public room at the inn, he was much struck by the appearance and manner of two tall persons speaking english; the taller of them, wearing a large-brimmed straw or whitish hat, paced restlessly from end to end of the room." gerard and stephenson entered into conversation, and trevithick joined them. stephenson said that he had a hundred pounds in his pocket, of which he gave fifty to trevithick to enable him to reach england. it seems that had it not been for mr. hall's quick eye and steady hand rescuing trevithick from the jaws of the blind alligator, he never would have returned to his native country. [footnote : sir edward watkin contemplated writing a life of trevithick.] here was the inventor of the locomotive a beggar in a strange land, helped by the man whom he had nursed in baby-boyhood, then returning to england to become a great railway engineer in making known the use of the locomotive on the level road of the liverpool and manchester, while the real inventor, who looked upon railways and locomotives as things of a quarter of a century before, was about to recommend them as the means of passing across the isthmus of costa rica from the atlantic to the pacific, over the heights of the cordillera, by the river san juan from greytown, and by its tributary the serapique, then by railway towards the high ground of san josé, the capital, and down the western slope, passing, somewhere not far from the mines, forward to the gulf of nicoya in the pacific. the approximate distance would be fifty miles of river navigation, and eighty or a hundred of railway, with perhaps stiffish but still manageable inclines, and no avalanches. a loan by the costa rica government of states,[ ] "for the completion of the railway from the port of limon, in the atlantic ocean, to san josé de costa rica, and on to heredia and alajuela," near to trevithick's mines, as if to carry out his design of forty-six years ago to connect the atlantic and pacific by railway. [footnote : see 'the times,' th may, .] chapter xxiv. return to england. in the early part of october, , the writer, then a boy at bodmin school, was asked by the master if any particular news had come from home. scarcely had the curiosity of the boys subsided, when a tall man with a broad-brimmed leghorn hat on his head entered at the door, and after a quick glance at his whereabouts, marched towards the master's desk at the other end of the room. when about half-way, and opposite the writer's class, he stopped, took his hat off, and asked if his son francis was there. mr. boar, who had watched his approach, rose at the removal of the hat, and replied in the affirmative. for a moment a breathless silence reigned in the school, while all eyes were turned on the gaunt sun-burnt visitor; and the blood, without a defined reason, caused the writer's heart to beat as though the unknown was his father, who eleven years before had carried him on his shoulder to the pier-head steps, and the boat going to the south sea whaler. during the next six months father and son sat together daily, the one drawing new schemes and calculations, the other observing, and learning, and calculating the weight and size and speed of a poor swallow he had shot, that the proportions of wings necessary to carry a man's weight might be known. in these calculations cube roots of quantities were extracted, which did not accurately agree with trevithick's figures, who, asking for explanations, received a rehearsal, word for word, of the school-book rule for such extractions, which threw no more light on his understanding than did his own self-made rule on the writer's comprehension, though both methods produced nearly the same result. within a month of that time he heard of the arrival in england of mr. gerard, his companion in travel, from whom he had separated at carthagena. "my dear good sir, "hayle foundry, _ th november, _. "i cannot express the extreme pleasure that the receipt of your favour of the th inst. from liverpool gave me, as i had almost given up hopes of ever seeing you again, which you will see from the letters that i wrote mr. lowe; and after the severe rubs that we have undergone together, the parting us by shipwreck, as i supposed, at the close of our hardships, i doubly felt, and from your long absence, i supposed you must have encountered some severe gales; but thank god that we are safe landed to meet you and the dear boys again soon. we had a very good passage home, six days from carthagena to jamaica, and thirty-four days from thence for england; and on my return was so fortunate as to join all my family in good health, and also welcomed home by all the neighbourhood by ringing of bells, and entertained at the tables of the county and borough members, and all the first-class of gentlemen in the west of cornwall, with a provision about to be made for me for the past services that this county has received from my inventions just before i left for peru, which they acknowledge to be a saving in the mines since i left of above , _l._, and that the present existence of the deep mines is owing to my inventions. i confess that this reception is gratifying, and have no doubt but that you will also feel a pleasure in it. i should be extremely happy to see you down here; it is but thirty-six hours' ride, and it will prepare you for meeting your london friends, as i would take you through our mines and introduce you to the first mining characters, which will give you new ideas and enable you to make out a prospectus that will show the great advantages in costa rica mines over every other in south america. i think it would not be amiss for you to bring with you a few specimens, and after you have seen the cornish mines and miners i doubt not but we shall be able to state facts in so clear a light that the first blow well aimed will be more than half the battle, and prove a complete knock-down blow, which in my opinion ought to be completed previous to your opening your mining speculation in general in london. i have made a very complete model of the gun, and it is approved of by all who have seen it. be so good as to remember me to the lads and the manilla man, and write me by return of post. i have not as yet made any inquiry about the probability of getting adventurers for this new concern. i hope and trust that i shall see you in cornwall previous to our being together in london, as it is my opinion that the nature of the concern requires it. "i remain, sir, "your humble servant, (signed) "richard trevithick. "mr. jno. gerard, "_no. , st. mary axe, london_." trevithick's hopeful character enabled him to enjoy life in the midst of neglect and poverty. during the eleven years of absence in america his wife and family received no assistance from him. shortly after leaving his quebrada-honda mountains of gold and silver, he was penniless at carthagena. on reaching england he possessed nothing but the clothes he stood in, a gold watch, a drawing compass, a magnetic compass, and a pair of silver spurs. his passage-money being unpaid, a chance friend enabled him to leave the ship. in a month from that time he counted on getting a share of the , _l._ saved in the cornish mines by the improvements he had effected in their steam-engines. the ringing of bells and the talk of the neighbourhood made him forget that he was a poor man, and the costa rica mines were, he believed, soon to be in full working, though not a single adventurer had been found. the two lads montelegre, coming to england to be educated, were sons of a gentleman of influence and authority in costa rica. on their perilous journey an attack of measles increased their discomforts. probably one of those gentlemen has since filled the honourable position in this country of minister representing the republic of costa rica. "my dear sir, "london, _november th, _. "i arrived here from liverpool last night, and this morning had the pleasure of receiving your kind letter of the th. the brig 'bunker's hill,' in which we came from carthagena to new york, was wrecked within a few hours' sail of the port. we were in rather a disagreeable situation for some time, but more afraid than hurt. the cargo was nearly all lost. the ship was got off, but a complete wreck. the cause, however, of my delay in arriving arose from the want of the needful. you recollect mr. stephenson and mr. empson, agents for the colombian mining association, whom we met at carthagena. they kindly offered to supply me, but having determined to visit the celebrated falls of niagara, they insisted on my accompanying them, which i did. "i am truly rejoiced to learn that your countrymen retain so lively a sense of the importance of your services. i think with you that before sounding the public or proceeding further, it might be well we should meet quietly to talk over everything and arrange our ideas, and that cornwall, for the reasons you mention and others, would be the better place. "the boys are well, and desire their respects to you. "your sincere friend, "j. m. gerard. "capt. trevithick." trevithick was friendly with george stephenson when, in , he nursed little bobby. twenty years afterwards, when george had comprehended trevithick's locomotive, and desired his son's return to england to assist him in making it useful, robert stephenson, grown to manhood, met his father's friend in the wilds of central america, both of them having been engaged in mining operations, and both on their return to england. george stephenson's son made for himself a fortune and a name, his friend earned poverty and neglect. these two men, though well known to the engineering world, had no mutual attraction, and in their native land remained strangers to each other. "my dear sir, " , st. mary axe, _january th, _. "i had very unexpectedly a letter from costa rica this morning by the way of jamaica, including two for you, which i have the pleasure of transmitting. mine is from montelegre, begun on the th of august, and finished on the th of september, when don antonio pinto, with some people from the alajuela, was to start by the road of sarapique on his way to jamaica. his intention was to find a better route as far as buona vista, after which he would probably nearly follow our course to the embarcadero of gamboa. "whether he succeeded in finding a less rugged road to buona vista i do not know. that he reached his destination seems clear from our letters having come to hand; but from their old date it would appear that he had either met with difficulties on the road or with considerable detention at san juan. montelegre writes me that don yonge had effected a compromise on your account with the castros. gamboa got back to san josé on the th august, twelve days after he parted from us, to the great joy of our mutual friends. mr. paynter had been unwell after our departure. both he and montelegre desire their kindest recollections to you "yours most sincerely, "j. m. gerard. "capt. trevithick." the newly-discovered track taken by the homeward bound over the cordilleras soon brought don antonio pinto and others into the field in search of passable roads to the atlantic. twelve days required by gamboa to effect his return to san josé, a distance of perhaps sixty miles, indicate the difficulty. mr. gerard passed some weeks with trevithick in cornwall arranging the best means of getting together a company to work on a large scale the costa rica mines. "dear sir, "hayle foundry, _january th, _. "yesterday i saw mr. m. williams, who informed me that he should leave cornwall for london on next thursday week, and requested that i would accompany him. if you think it absolutely necessary that i should be in town at the same time, i would attend to everything that would promote the mining interest. when i met the messrs. williams on the mining concerns some time since, they mentioned the same as you now mention of sending some one out with me to inspect the mines, and that they would pay me my expenses and also satisfy me for my trouble with any sum that i would mention, because such proceedings would be satisfactory to all who might be connected in this concern. i objected to this proposal on the ground that a great deal of time would be lost and that the circumstances of your contracts in san josé would not admit of such a detention; for that reason alone was my objection grounded, and if that objection could have been removed i should have been very glad to have the mines inspected by any able person chosen for that purpose, because it would not only take off the responsibility from us, but also strengthen our reports, as the mining prospects there will bear it out, and that far beyond our report. some time since i informed you that i had drawn on the company for _l._ to pay _l._ passage-money, and would have left _l._ to defray my expenses returning to london. the time for payment is up, but i have not as yet heard anything about it, therefore i expect there must be an omission by the bankers whose hands it was to have passed through for tendering it for payment. perhaps in a day or two i shall hear something about it; i would thank you to inform me should you know anything about it. the unfavourable result of the gun i attribute in a great measure to the change in the ministry and my not being present to explain the practicability of making the machinery about it simple. when lord cochrane has seen it, and a meeting takes place with him, my return to london may again revive its merits. this unfavourable report does not lessen its merits, neither will it deter me from again moving forward to convince the public of its practicability. i shall make immediately a portable model of the iron ship and engine, as they will be applicable to packets, which have been attempted at falmouth, but found that the consumption of coals was so great that the whole of the ships' burthen would not contain sufficient coals to take them to lisbon and return again, and on that account it was discontinued. that insurmountable object will now be totally removed, and i think that lord cochrane will make a very excellent tool to remove many weak objections made by persons not having sufficient ability to judge for themselves. his lordship, being a complete master of science, is capable of appreciating their value from theory and from practice. i should not be surprised to see him down here to inspect it. it will be very agreeable if his lordship comes here at the same time as yourself; he is a remarkably pleasant companion. my hearty thanks for your mother's good wishes towards me. "your humble servant, "rd. trevithick. "mr. jno. gerard, "_no. , st. mary axe, london_." gerard and trevithick believed in the great value of the costa rica mines, and in the feasibility of working them profitably could capital sufficient be obtained. after a year or two passed in fruitless attempts to form a mining company in england, mr. gerard visited holland and france with no better success; and while on this mission died in poverty in paris, though brought up in youth as the expectant inheritor of family estates in scotland. one of his letters says:-- "robert stephenson has given us his experience that it was unwise to take many english miners or workers to such countries. the chief reliance must after all be placed on the native inhabitants, under the direction and training of a small but well-selected party of englishmen. "mining operations in that country are of such recent origin that a mining population can scarcely be said to exist. english workmen are not so manageable even in this country, and much less so in spanish america, where they are apt to be spoiled by the simplicity and excessive indulgence even of the better classes, and where the high salaries they receive place them far above the country people of the same condition. all this tends to presumption and intolerance on their part, and ultimately to disputes and irreconcilable disgusts between them and the natives." mr. michael williams, mr. gibson, mr. macqueen, and others, were anxious to take up the mining scheme. the former proposed to send a person to examine the mines. this was a safe course, but not convenient to those who had made engagements to return without loss of time with miners and material to costa rica. mr. m. williams informed the writer's brother that at a meeting of several gentlemen in london, a cheque for _l._ was offered to trevithick for his mining grant of the copper mountain in south america. words waxed warm, and the proffered money was refused. the next day mr. williams said to him, "why did you not pocket the cheque before you quarrelled with them?" trevithick replied, "i would rather kick them down stairs!" in the end trevithick got nothing for either his south american mines or those in costa rica. chapter xxv. gun-carriage--iron ships--hydraulic crane--ice making--drainage of holland--chain-pump--open-top cylinder--hayle harbour--patent rights--petition to parliament. "richard trevithick, of the parish of saint erth, in the county of cornwall, civil engineer, maketh oath and saith that he hath invented new methods for centering ordnance on pivots, facilitating the discharge of the same, and reducing manual labour in time of action. that he is the true inventor thereof, and that the same hath not been practised by any other person or persons whomsoever to his knowledge or belief. "sworn, th november, , before me, rd. edmonds." "this gun is worked by machinery balanced on pivots giving it universal motion, by one man, with the facility of a soldier's musket. on one side a man puts in a copper charge of powder; on the opposite side a man drops a ball in a bag down the gun, as it stands muzzle up. the gunner, who sits on the seat behind the gun, points it and pulls the trigger. the firing causes it to run up an inclined plane at an angle of ° for the purpose of breaking the recoil; it runs down again with its muzzle at the port, requiring no wadding, swabbing, cartridge, or ramming, but runs in, out, primes, cocks, shuts the pan, and breaks the recoil of itself; and by three men can be fired three times in a minute with accuracy. the gun-carriage is a tube feet long and feet diameter, made of wrought-iron plate / of an inch thick, centered on a pivot to the deck, with the gunner's seat attached, from which he looks through the case. as the gun requires no tackle, and but a man on each side to work it, only a space of feet inches is required from centre to centre of ports, therefore a single-deck ship will carry a greater number of guns than are now carried on a double-deck ship, be worked with one-third of the hands, and be fired five times as fast as at present. a frigate would mount fifty -pound guns on one deck, with men, and would discharge in the same time a greater weight of ball with greater precision than five -gun ships."[ ] [footnote : description in trevithick's handwriting.] [illustration: trevithick's gun-carriage and friction slides, .] "hayle, cornwall, _ st february, _. "my lord cochrane,[ ] "with great pleasure i read in the papers the announcement of your arrival again in england, and am much gratified to find a person of your superior natural and practical talents, so rare to be obtained, to whom i may communicate my views. "i have proposed to government to build an iron ship, and a gun on a new principle, which are to undergo an investigation, and have lodged a drawing of the ship and a model of the gun with my friend mr. gerard, a gentleman who returned with me from america, and who will present to you this letter with the above-mentioned drawing and model. "i have had an iron boat made for the purpose of sending it to london, to show the method of constructing ships on this plan, roomy, strong, and cheap. also a wrought-iron ship with a steam-engine on an improved principle, which in a few days will be laid on the stocks at the hayle foundry iron manufactory." [footnote : rough draft, by trevithick, of unfinished letter.] though lord cochrane was just the person to be interested in such schemes, it does not appear that he took any part in them. at that time he was at work on his own particular ideas for marine propulsion. "my dear sir, "london, _february, _. "immediately after the receipt of your last, which i only received after twelve o'clock on the th, i went to the ordnance office, where, though colonel gossett was no longer an official personage, i had the good luck to meet him. he told me that the model of the gun was at woolwich, and could not be got at in time to stop the progress of the other patent, and which he considered of but little moment, as he thought it very unlikely there could be any collision between the two inventions. he likewise said that from the official changes that had taken place in the office, much loss of time might be incurred by recalling the model, which was in train of being examined. to-day i have received a letter addressed to you from the ordnance, by which it appears that your model has passed through an unsuccessful ordeal before the special committee. "'sir, "'office of ordnance, _ st february, _. "'i am directed by the master general to acquaint you that the select committee of artillery officers, to whom your model of a -pounder carronade and carriage on a new principle were referred, have reported that on examination of the invention, they consider it to be wholly inapplicable to practical purposes. your model is at the ordnance office, and will be delivered on your sending for it. "'i am, sir, "'your most obedient humble servant, "'lowndes. "'r. trevithick, esq.' "my poor mother, who i regret to say has been very delicate ever since your departure, and is now again confined to bed, desires me to say that she is very sorry she is not master general of the ordnance, to give it a fair _practical_ trial, as she thinks captain trevithick's opinions, though she cannot pronounce his name, may be fairly placed in opposition to that of the special committee of artillery officers. "ever faithfully yours, "j. m. gerard." the recoil gun-carriage was his first occupation after twelve years of travel in countries where mechanical appliances were less thought of than weapons of war. he commenced this, his second era of inventions, with what he called a new thing, though it was but an extension of his schemes of , when he patented iron vessels, hollow sliding masts and yards, self-reefing sails, and sliding keels. the model gun was of brass, resting on a railway formed of two inclined bars of iron, up which the recoil propelled it into a convenient position for cleaning and loading. its own gravity caused it to fall into the required place for being again fired. the slides also served as friction-bars to regulate the recoil. the gun and the slides carrying it were enclosed in a wrought-iron box, having openings in the front and rear for the passage of the muzzle and the breech. the muzzle front of the box was pivoted to the deck by a strong bolt as a centre of motion, whilst its rear was supported on two small wheels resting on the deck, allowing the gun to change its line of horizontal fire by sweeping from the centre pivot. the gunner's seat moved with the carriage, from which he could elevate or depress the muzzle by a lever. the gun was self-priming and self-cocking; the powder charge was enclosed in a copper case. captain moncrieff's patent gun-carriage of the present day is described in words somewhat like those used by trevithick forty years before. "the recoil lifted a weight smoothly and without friction; the gun and the weight were held in the position arrived at by a catch until the gun was loaded and ready to fire again."[ ] [footnote : see 'the times,' august th, .] the iron boat mentioned in his note to lord cochrane as being made at hayle, was "for the purpose of sending to london to show the method of constructing ships on this plan, roomy, strong, and cheap," and was thus spoken of in a newspaper of the th april, . "the 'scotsman' alludes to the intended construction of iron steamboats at glasgow by mr. neilson:--"for fear of the public being misled on this subject, we beg to state that so far back as last christmas twelvemonths we saw trevithick, of cornwall, superintending the construction of an iron man-of-war launch, with the avowed intention of applying a similar principle of construction to the building of fast-sailing iron steamboats." this intimation, in , to the since famous glasgow iron-ship builders, that they could not claim the invention because trevithick had made such a boat in , was probably in ignorance of trevithick's patent and models of ,[ ] explaining the advantages of ships of iron, either under sail or under steam, for commerce or for fighting-ships. the improved high-pressure steam-engine then in hand for iron ships was but the perfecting of his plans of twenty years before.[ ] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] "lauderdale house, highgate, _april th, _. "mr. gilbert, "sir,--i find by looking into the 'art of gunnery' that a -lb. shot discharged at the rate of feet a second in vacuum would send it to the height of , feet, which multiplied by the weight of the shot would be , , lbs., with lbs. of powder; and as guns, after being heated to about the heat of boiling water, will recoil their usual distance with half their first charge of powder, it proves that one-half the powder at first is lost in heating the gun to about °, which is a great deal under the heat of fired powder, therefore only lbs. of powder effective force is applied to the ball. now suppose this lbs. of powder to be one quarter part carbon, - / lb. is all the heat that can possibly be applied to perform this duty; then lb. of carbon would be equal to , , lbs. of duty actually performed; but if you take into calculation the great loss of power by the powder not being instantly all set on fire, with the gun so much below the heat of fired powder, the windage by the sides of the shot, the ball flying from the powder, and the immense power remaining in the gun at the time of the ball leaving its muzzle; if this was applied expansively, as in a cylinder, it may fairly be said to have double this power, or , , lbs. for lb. of carbon consumed, which, multiplied by , being the pounds in bushel of carbon, gives millions of duty. if it was applied to the best advantage, say on a piston, calling powder one thousand atmospheres, it would far exceed that duty. a gun feet long and -inch bore has feet of cold sides, and condenses at first one-half of its force by its cold sides and loses millions in a th part of a second, while the ball passes from the breech to the muzzle. this gives , lbs. condensed by each foot of surface sides in so short a time. binner downs cylinder was taken as condensing lbs. for each surface foot in six seconds; therefore, without taking into account the great difference in time, there is eighty-eight times as much power lost by each foot of cold sides of the gun as by the cylinder sides. this shows what a considerable power is lost by cold sides where the vapour is so rare. boulton and watt's engine, doing twenty millions, performs with lb. of coal a duty of , lbs., or about / th part of what is done by lb. of carbon in powder. the water evaporated by the boiler is lbs. thrown into steam by lb. of coal, and a duty of , lbs. for each pound of water evaporated. "suppose lb. of powder to contain oz. of nitre and oz. of carbon, and / th part of the nitre to be a fixed water, which would be half an ounce of water in every pound of powder, making the carbon eight times as much as the water; from this data lb. of water in powder would perform a duty of , , lbs. lbs. lb. of carbon in powder , , } times the consumption lb. of coal in boulton and watt's } engine , } by the engine. foot of cold sides of the gun , { times as much loss " " of the cylinder , { by the cold sides of { the gun lb. of coal for lbs. of water in { times as much coal steam { for water into steam lb. of carbon for oz. of water in powder { as for water in powder { powder. "by this it appears that heat is loaded with fourteen times as much water in steam-engines as in powder, and does only / th part of the duty of the water in powder. it is possible to heat steam independent of water, because if we work with steam of ten atmospheres, it would have ten times the capacity for heat, being in proportion to its gravity. the boiler standing on its end, with the fire in the bottom, and the water foot thick above it, with a great number of small tubes from bottom to top, having great surface sides to heat the steam above the water, by working with a low chimney and slow fire, the tubes in the steam part of the boiler would not exceed ° or ° of heat, which would not injure them; as less water would be generated into steam, a very small part of the boiler would be sufficient for it; and as the coal required would be less, the boiler required would be very small. i state the foregoing to remind you that but little is yet known of what heat may be capable of performing; as this data so far exceeds whatever has been calculated on the power of heat before, when compared with steam in an engine. "the power is sure, if we can find how to conduct it. "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, "richard trevithick. "if you can spare time please to write to me." the foregoing may be classed either under cannon or steam-engine; trevithick combined them under the general laws of expansion by heat. three years had passed since the committee of artillery officers sitting on his gun had given a verdict of no go; yet the subject was not forgotten, and his calculations enabled him to discover the explosive force, and the speed of the projectile in different parts of the gun, things which are now ascertained by mechanical tests and measures. if a -inch cannon feet long loses by absorption of heat during the time of the passage of the shot to the muzzle one-half of the expansive force of the powder, it is time to wrap our guns as well as our steam-engines in non-conductors. the greater heat of exploded powder than of steam caused eighty-eight times the amount of loss from abstracted heat, and yet the force from a pound of carbon in powder, was fourteen times as much as the watt engine gave from a pound of coal. "mr. giddy, "london, no. , st. mary axe, _june th, _. "sir,--a few days since a mr. linthorn called on me and requested me to accompany him to cable street, near the brunswick theatre, to see a crane worked by the atmosphere, in a double-acting engine attached to it. he has a patent, and has entered into a contract with the st. katharine's dock company to work their cranes, in number, by a steam-engine of sufficient power to command the whole of them, by placing air-pipes around the docks, with a branch to each crane. to each crane is fixed a -inch cylinder, -inch stroke, double-acting. the atmosphere pressing on the piston like steam, the air is drawn from the pipes by a large air-pump and steam-engine. "on being requested to give my opinion on this plan, after seeing one crane worked, i informed them of the disappointment that the ironmaster, mr. wilkinson, in shropshire, several years since experienced, on the resistance of air in passing through long pipes from his blast-engine to his furnaces. he said he was aware of that circumstance, and it had since been further proved in london by one of the gas companies attempting to force gas a considerable distance, and who also failed. "he thought that forcing an elastic fluid, and drawing it by a vacuum, were very different things, and that the error was removed by drawing in place of forcing. for my part i am not convinced on this head; but am still of opinion that the result on trial will be found nearly the same. however, let that be as it may, the expense and complication of the machine, having a double engine, with its gear attached to every separate crane, together with the immense quantity of air thrown into the air-pump from double engines of inches diameter, -inch stroke, eighty strokes per minute, and considering the numerous air leaks in such an extent of pipes and machines, must reduce the effect of the pressure of the atmosphere on each piston to a comparatively small power, unless the air-pump and steam-engine are beyond all reasonable bounds. "those objections i made them acquainted with, and said that, before they went to such an expense, it would be a safer plan to first make further inquiry, so that their first experiment might be on a sure plan, for the other dock companies were looking for the results of this experiment. "at the time i was informed of this plan, a thought struck me that it might be accomplished by another mode preferable to this: by a steam-engine to force water in pipes round the dock, to say or lbs. to the inch, more or less, and to have a worm-shaft, working in a worm-wheel, the same as a common roasting-jack, and apply to the worm-shaft a spouting arm like barker's mill; the worm-shaft standing perpendicular would work the worm-wheel fixed in the chain-barrel shaft of the crane. "this would make a very simple and cheap machine, and produce a circular motion at once, instead of a piston alternating motion to drive a rotary motion. my report had some weight with them; inquiry is to be made into the plan proposed by me, so as to remunerate me, provided my plan is considered good. mr. linthorn wishes an investigation before scientific and able judges, and requested me to name some one. i must again make free in asking the favour of your advice (which you have so ably given me for thirty years) on this plan. mr. linthorn intends to request dr. wollaston to accompany you, any day convenient to you. in the meantime, should you see him, it might not be amiss to mention it to him; and should you be able to attend for an hour or two to this business, i would thank you to drop me a note, saying when it may be convenient. there is a memorandum of an agreement between mr. linthorn and me; but the plan i suggest is only at present made public to him and yourself. "your most obedient servant, "richard trevithick." the reduction of friction by the use of an air-vacuum engine for working cranes, as designed by mr. linthorn, in lieu of an air-pressure engine, was doubted by trevithick. the mont cenis pneumatic-pressure machines which the writer saw at work lost much power by friction before experience had taught remedies. the pneumatic vacuum tubes which propelled the trains on the south devon railway, failed to give the power that was expected. sir william armstrong's hydraulic cranes, brought into use not many years after the date of trevithick's letter, have been found effective. the writer, not knowing that trevithick had before recommended hydraulic cranes for warehouses, accompanied sir william over his works, then being erected near newcastle-on-tyne, and talked with him on the detail of his crane designs. trevithick thought of giving circular motion to the crane chain-barrel by the attachment of a screw-propeller, acted on by the force of a current of water at a pressure of or lbs. to the inch. sir william armstrong's arrangement was quite different; the merit due to trevithick was for having pointed out the suitability of water as a means of conveying power through warehouses where fire was inadmissible. "mr. gilbert, "london, , st. mary axe, _june th, _. "sir,--fancy and whim still prompt me to trouble you, and perhaps may continue to do until i exhaust your patience. a few days since i was in company where a person said that , _l._ a year was paid for ice, the greatest part of which was brought by ships sent on purpose to the greenland seas. a thought struck me at the moment that artificial cold might be made very cheap by the power of steam-engines; by compressing air in a condenser surrounded by water, and an injection to the same, so as to instantly cool down the highly-compressed air to the temperature of the surrounding air, and then admitting it to escape into liquid. this would reduce the temperature to any state of cold required. "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, "richard trevithick." trevithick's ideas for making ice have since been patented and made useful, though the detail of the operation has been improved by experience. the dutch, extending the use of steam on the rhine and also in sea-going ships, wished trevithick to see what was going on in holland, where his nephew, mr. nicholas harvey, was actively engaged in engineering. he had not money enough for the journey, and borrowed _l._ from a neighbour and relative, mr. john tyack. during his walk home a begging man said to him, "please your honour, my pig is dead; help a poor man." trevithick gave him _s._ out of the _s._ he had just begged for himself. how he managed to reach holland his family never knew; but on his return he related the honour done him by the king at sundry interviews, and the kindness of men of influence in friendly communion and feasting. "mr. gilbert, "london, _july st, _. "sir,--the night before last i arrived from holland, where i spent ten days. i found my relative there, mr. nicholas harvey, the son of john and nancy harvey. he is the engineer to the steam navigation company at rotterdam. they have a ship feet long, tons burthen, with three -inch cylinders double, also two other vessels feet long, each with two -inch cylinders double, ready to take troops to batavia. the large ship with three engines cost , _l._ the steam navigation company built them, and many others of different sizes. this company has been anxious to get me to holland, having heard of the duty performed by the cornish engines. they were anxious to know what might be done towards draining and relieving holland from its ruinous state. "immediately on arrival i joined the dutch company, and entered into bonds with them. "i give you, as near as i can, the present state of the country. about years since, a strong wind threw a bank of sand across the mouth of the river rhine, which made it overflow its banks; , lives were lost, and about , acres of land, which remain to this time under feet of water. "about years since the head and surface of the river rhine was feet below what it now is. the under floors of houses in holland are nearly useless, and in another century must be totally lost, unless something is done to prevent it. the river at present is nearly overflowing its banks. in consequence of the rise of water, the windmill engines cannot lift it out. to erect steam-engines, they never could believe would repay the expense. nearly one-half of holland is at present under water, either totally or partially, because the ground kept dry in winter is flooded in summer. "about six years since it was in contemplation to recover the , acres before mentioned, and a company was formed of the king and the principal men in holland, to drain this by windmills, which they estimated would cost , _l._, and making the banks and canals , _l._ more, when made by men's labour, and seven years to accomplish it. "this seven years was a great objection, because of the unhealthy state of the country while draining. the water is about inches every year, to be lifted on an average feet high. i have been furnished with correct calculations and drawings from this company. "they expected to have drained , acres in seven years, at a cost of , _l._, which, when drained, would have sold at _l._ per acre, about two millions. "i find, from the statement given me, of inches of water to be lifted feet high, it would require about one bushel of coal to lift the water from one acre of ground for one year, and that a -inch cylinder double would perform the work of , acres, when working with high steam and condensing, at an expense of less than _l._ per year. engines in boats would cut and make the embankments and canals, without the help of men. i proposed six cylinders of inches diameter, double power, which would drain the water in one year; and also four others for cutting the canals and making embankments. the expense would not exceed , _l._ and one year, instead of , _l._ and seven years. above , acres more are to be drained. "it was also proposed by government to cut open the river rhine to yards wide and feet deep for or miles in length; they supposed it would cost them ten millions sterling. i proposed to make iron ships of tons burthen, with an engine in each, which would load them, propel, and also empty them for about _d._ per ton. each ton will be about a square yard, and the cutting the river rhine yards wide, feet deep, or miles in length, will not cost one and a half million, and be accomplished in a short time. i further proposed that all this rubbish be carried into the sea of the zuyder zee, which would make dry, by embanking with the rubbish, nearly , , acres of good land, capable of paying ten times the sum of cutting open the river rhine. "all this would add per cent. more to the surface of holland, and at this time it is much wanted, because their settlements abroad are free almost of the mother-country, and they have too many inhabitants for the land at present. i made them plans for carrying the whole into effect, and have closed my agreement with them. "in a few days i shall go to cornwall, and promised to return again to holland within a month. i saw mr. hall and the engineer of the dock company to-day. they are satisfied that the plan for working the cranes is a good one. i am to see them again on monday next; after which i shall return home, where i hope to see you, to consult you on the best plan for constructing the machines for lifting the water, cutting the canals, and making the dykes. "i remain, sir, "your very obedient servant, "richard trevithick." in this mere outline of a life it is impossible to go fully into the merit of trevithick's plans for doubling the land surface of holland. a drainage company was formed in london with a board of directors, some of whom thought that a new kind of engine should be invented and patented as a means of excluding others from carrying on similar but competing operations. trevithick, always ready to invent new things, though never forgetting his experience with old things, instinctively returned to the dolcoath engines, and recommended them as suitable for the pumping work; but finally a new design was determined on, and harvey and co., of hayle, received orders for the construction, with the greatest possible dispatch, of a pumping engine for holland. this happening shortly after the writer had been taken from the bodmin school, he was desired to help in the erection of this engine, and after working-hours made a drawing of its original form. plate xv. _a_, iron barge; _b_, wood frame supporting pump; _c_, open-top steam-cylinder feet diameter, -feet stroke; _d_, piston guide-wheel; _e_, connecting rod; _f_, fly-wheel; _g_, cranked axle working air-pump bucket; _h_, connecting rod for air-pump bucket; _i_, air-pump; _j_, condenser; _k_, steam and exhaust nozzles; _l_, eccentrics working steam and exhaust valves; _m_, steam-pipe; _n_, cylindrical boiler, with internal fire-tube; _o_, external brick flues; _p_, chimney; _q_, feed-pump; _r_, feed-pipe; _s_, cup or rag-wheel; _t_, rag-chain, with iron balls; _u_, pump-barrel, feet diameter; _v_, wheel guiding balls into bottom of pump-barrel; _w_, launder. [illustration: plate trevithick's chain and ball pump. london: e. & f. n. spon, , charing cross kell bro^s. lith london ] after a few successful though noisy trials, an alteration was made in the endless chain and in the guide-roller near the pump bottom. an amount of slack in the chain caused the balls to knock on passing this roller before entering the pump bottom. a chain having long links or bars of iron of uniform length, from ball to ball, jointed together by cross-pins, was substituted for the short link chain, and passed over a revolving hollow square frame at the bottom of the pump, in place of the curved roller-guide in the drawing. each of the four sides of this square hollow frame was of the same length as the jointed link, and the balls lay in the hollow of the frame without touching it, contact being only on the links. the balls were thus guided directly into the bottom of the pump on their upward course with a rigid chain, and the swing and knocking was avoided. this pump was in principle the traditional rag-and-chain pump of a hundred years before; yet no trace of its use is met with during trevithick's life in cornwall. the early pump had rag balls, in keeping with the mechanical ignorance of the time, and suitable to man's power. trevithick's pump with iron balls raised " gallons of water feet high in a minute with - / lb. of coal,"[ ] retaining all the original simplicity of the earlier rag-pump, having uniform circular motion and constant stream, without the use of a single valve. the engine and pump are thus described by him:-- [footnote : see letter, vol. ii., p. .] "the first engine that will be finished here for holland will be a -inch cylinder and a -inch water-pump, to lift water about feet high. on the crank-shaft there is a rag-head of feet diameter, going feet per second, with balls of feet diameter passing through the water-pump, which will lift about tons of water per minute. it is in an iron boat, feet wide, feet long, feet high, so as to be portable and pass from one spot to another without loss of time. this will drain inches deep of water (the annual produce on the surface of each acre of land) in about twenty minutes; to drain each acre with about a bushel of coal costing _d._ per year. the engine is high pressure and condensing."[ ] [footnote : see trevithick's letter, vol. ii., p. .] it was something like the newcomen open-topped cylinder of a hundred years before, but with a heavy piston, on the top of which a guide-wheel equal in diameter to the cylinder turned on a pin, to which the main connecting rod was jointed. the guide-wheel prevented any tendency to twist the piston from the angular positions of the connecting rod, and allowed the crank-shaft to be brought comparatively near to the cylinder top. the boiler was cylindrical, of wrought iron, with internal fire-tube and external brick flues; and gave steam of about lbs. on the inch above the atmosphere, which, acting under the piston, caused the up-stroke, an expansive valve reducing the average pressure in the cylinder by one-half. the down-stroke was made by the atmospheric pressure of lbs. on the inch, on the piston, its lower side being in vacuum, together with the weight of the thick piston and connecting rod, and the momentum of the revolving parts. my readers must not suppose that this was an attempt to revive the discarded newcomen engine; the likeness was only apparent; its power was mainly from the use of strong expansive steam, giving motion in the up-stroke through a rigid connecting rod, with controlling and equalizing crank and fly-wheel. it was not, as the newcomen,[ ] dependent for its power on the atmospheric pressure; and having no cylinder cover, or parallel motion, or beam, was not a watt engine, though it had the watt air-pump and condenser. [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] the dolcoath engines continued to work with open-topped cylinders a quarter of a century after the watt patent; and when they had passed away, many of trevithick's high-pressure steam-engines retained the same form of outline, but had neither cylinder covers, parallel motion, air-pump, nor vacuum. the agricultural engines of [ ] and the south american engines of [ ] had neither cylinder cover nor any other part of the watt engine, yet they successfully competed with it in power, economy, and usefulness. [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] this design reveals a stumbling-block that superficial people fall over. the boiler in the boat was surrounded by brick flues, while a life-long claim of trevithick's is that before his tubular boiler with internal fire, there could not be a successful steamboat, because brick flues were dangerous in sea-going vessels, but in an iron boat in smooth water it answered its purpose without in any respect falsifying trevithick's former claims or plans. the chain pumping machine was in an iron barge, the -inch diameter pump fixed just outside the bow, its lower end a foot in the water; its height of or feet enabled the water from the pump-head to flow through launders over the banks of the lakes to be drained. some of the directors came to hayle to see it work, and were well pleased at the constant stream of water rushing from the foaming pump-head into the launders. the large size of the rag-wheel gave the rapidly revolving chain and balls a great speed. in passing through the pump each ball forced upwards the water above it, and drew up after it the following water; before any ball had passed out at the top of the pump the following ball had entered its bottom. the directors having desired the writer to take the engine to holland and set it to work with the least possible delay, adjourned for refreshment before starting for london. in those few minutes differences arose, resulting in the engine remaining for months in the barge, and then going to the scrap heap. years afterwards others acted on trevithick's drainage ideas, and harvey and co. built cornish pumping engines with steam-cylinders inches in diameter, similar in principle to the dolcoath engine[ ] of , which effectually drained the haarlem lake. [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] the rhine during years, in its passage through the low flat lands, had by deposit raised the level of its waters feet, threatening to overflow the embankments and drown the surrounding country, that to a large extent was at a lower level than the river. all drainage from such land had to be pumped over the river bank, in many places feet above the cultivated surface. windmills had been used as pumping power, and a company had contemplated laying out , _l._ in windmills and canals for drainage. if the surface water averaged inches in depth yearly, trevithick could by steam-engines drain an acre of land by the consumption of a bushel of coal yearly. four engines with cylinder of inches in diameter would drain , acres, and four smaller engines in barges with suitable apparatus were to cut canals and construct embankments. the deposit of a hundred years was also to be removed, and the rhine deepened feet for a breadth of yards, and a length of or miles, by steam-dredgers, as used twenty years before in deepening the thames,[ ] to be fixed in iron ships of a thousand tons burthen. the cost of dredging from the bed of the river into a barge would be _d._ per ton; but this would be more than repaid by making with it an embankment, enclosing the zuyder zee, which would then in its turn be drained and made pasture land. [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] before leaving for america he had reported on the best means of improving st. ives bay.[ ] hayle harbour was a branch of it, and he now suggested to mr. henry harvey methods for deepening and improving it. a rival company of merchants and engineers, known then as sandys, carne, and vivian, after many fights had recourse to law on the question of the course of a stream which had been changed by alterations during the making of wharfs and channels for ships. [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] trevithick made a model in wood, movable layers of which indicated changes of level caused by workmen at different periods, giving a different course to the river bed. mr. harvey's counsel, since known as lord abinger and sir william follett, complimented trevithick on the facility of understanding the case by reference to the model. the writer having carried the surveying chain, was present at the trial at the bodmin assizes in . "mr. gilbert, "hayle foundry, _september th, ._ "sir,--i expected to have seen you before this, but am detained by mr. harvey's attorney to settle the foundry quay. as i made the drawing and model of the disputed ground, and was examined in evidence in court, it was thought proper that i should be present at the time that mr. peters came to determine the boundary line between the two companies. this cannot be concluded for ten days. "as i have been so long detained i wish to await your arrival in cornwall for the purpose of trying the new engine while you are down, and will thank you to inform me when you intend to be with us. "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, "richard trevithick." erskine, who had expressed the opinion favourable to trevithick's engine more than twenty years before,[ ] was in this trial the counsel for the opposing side. the verdict was in favour of mr. harvey, or trevithick's side. [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] a former chapter[ ] speaks of promises to pay certain savings by the use of trevithick's inventions prior to his leaving for america. the united mines refused to continue the payment, and on mrs. trevithick's application to mr. davies gilbert for advice he kindly wrote to the williamses, who managed those mines, and received the following reply:-- [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] "dear sir, "scorrier house, _november th, _. "... with regard to mrs. trevithick's claims for savings on engines at the united mines, there is much to be said. "before mr. trevithick went abroad he sold half the patent right to william sims, our engineer, who very strongly recommended that two of the engines at the united mines should be altered to what he considered his patent principle, but the alterations proved very inferior to his expectations, and to this circumstance i attribute much of the objections in question. mr. henry harvey has perhaps told you who the partners are in the patent, and when you next come into this county i shall be much pleased to wait on you at tredrea that you may hear the whole of the case; and though the united mines adventurers are far from being a united body, i am very sure my sons, who are their managers, are desirous to recommend what appears to them right, and they will with myself be obliged for your opinion after you have heard the whole matter on both sides. "dear sir, "yours very sincerely, "jno. williams. "davies gilbert, esq., m.p." the opinion of mr. williams' elder son, michael, has been given.[ ] some of the family were quakers. no further money payment for the saving of fuel followed this carefully civil note, until trevithick, on his return from america, called at scorrier house in a very threatening attitude on st october, , when mr. williams, sen., said his reason for not continuing the payment was from his belief that the term of the patent had expired. then came the following lawyer's letter:-- [footnote : see letter from mr. michael williams, vol. ii., p. .] "sir, "penzance, _ th november, _. "i was at captain trevithick's yesterday, who observed to me he saw you at scorrier a few days ago, and requested you would be good enough to settle the arrears on the savings on some of the engines in the mines for which you acted, none having been paid for a year or two, when you stated that the payment had been discontinued on account of the patent having expired. i find on a reference to the patent that it will not expire till may, . "i am, sir, "your obedient servant, "rd. edmonds. "john williams, esq., _scorrier_." "sir, "hayle, _january th, _. "yesterday i called on mr. williams, and after a long dispute brought the old man to agree to pay me _l._ on giving him an indemnification in full from all demands on treskerby and wheal chance mines in future. he requested that you should make out this indemnification. i could not possibly get them to pay more, and thought it most prudent to accept their offer rather than risk a lawsuit with them. "i remain, sir, "your obedient servant, "richard trevithick. "rd. edmonds, esq. "treskerby and wheal chance were, i believe, the only mines that paid for the use of the pole patent. mr. john williams, sen., of scorrier, was purser of those mines. the agreement was that patentees should have one-fourth part of the savings of coal above twenty-six millions. the one-half of this fourth part from these two mines for some years was about _l._ per annum. this did not relate to the boilers; trevithick unfortunately did not take out a patent for that improvement. the adventurers of two or three mines only had the honesty to pay _l._ for each mine; others made use of it without acknowledgment. "rd. edmonds. "penzance, _ th january, _." such were the recollections of the family solicitor many years after the events had passed. the cylindrical high-pressure steam boiler and engine was really included in the patent of ; but frequent detail changes, consequent on size and position and local requirements, were made up to , when a perfected form was arrived at, which is still in use. in principle it was unaltered and not materially different in form, but being used for larger engines, looked different. the inventor saw nothing in this difference, but the public did, and in the absence of the only man who could prove their error refused to pay on the plea of its not being patented. on his return from america he demanded _l._ from each of the large cornish mines, as a settlement in full for all benefits derived from the use of the trevithick high-pressure steam-boiler. he had proved the weakness of the law years before, when three eminent counsel had given opinions on the patent, one of them believing the patent good, because the principle contained was new; two of them feared that similarity of details might invalidate it:[ ] so he determined to apply to the government for remuneration for benefits that might be called national. [footnote : see vol. ii, p. .] "mr. rd. edmonds, "hayle, _december th, _. "sir,--i send the principal heads of what you will have to put in form to lay before the house. it is very defective; but you will be assisted by captain andrew vivian, who can give dates and particulars, having been engaged with mr. gilbert and captain matthew moyle in making out the duty performed at that time by boulton and watt and hornblower's engines. he can also give you the results of the late improvements, with much more information than i can give. i saw him yesterday for this purpose; he will assist you with all his power, and will call on you at penzance on friday or saturday. as i shall with pleasure pay him for his trouble, you need not fear calling on him for what assistance you need. "mr. gerard and i propose to leave this for london on saturday. if you think it necessary to see me, let captain vivian know it, and all meet at my house. i have sent you one of the monthly reports, in which you will see john lean's report of dolcoath engines, from which i have given you in my statement the average results and savings. "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, "richard trevithick. "p.s.--i was at dolcoath account on monday, and made known to them my intention of applying to government, and not to individuals, for remuneration. they are ready to put their signatures to the petition, and so will all the county. i fear that it is as much as we shall do to get it before the house in time." the following petition was drawn up and put into the hands of his old friend davies gilbert, then a member of parliament:-- "to the honourable the commons of the kingdom of great britain and ireland in parliament assembled. "the humble petition of richard trevithick, of the parish of saint erth, in the county of cornwall, civil engineer, th february, , "sheweth: "that this kingdom is indebted to your petitioner for some of the most important improvements that have been made in the steam-engine, for which your petitioner has not hitherto been remunerated, and for which he has no prospect of being ever remunerated except through the assistance of your honourable house. "that the duty performed by messrs. boulton and watt's improved steam-engines in , as appears by a statement made by davies gilbert, esq., and other gentlemen associated for that purpose, averaged only fourteen millions and half (pounds of water lifted foot high by bushel of coals), although a chosen engine of theirs, under the most favourable circumstances, at herland mine lifted twenty-seven millions,[ ] which was the greatest duty ever performed till your petitioner's improvements were adopted, since which the greatest duty has been sixty-seven millions, being more than double the former duty. that prior to the invention of your petitioner's boiler the most striking defect observable in every steam-engine was in the form of the boiler, which in shape resembled a tilted waggon, the fire applied under it, and the whole surrounded with mason-work. that such shaped boilers were incapable of supporting steam of a high pressure, and did not admit so much of the water to the action of the fire as your petitioner's boiler does, and were also in other respects attended with many disadvantages. [footnote : see mr. taylor's report on herland engine, vol. ii. p. .] "that your petitioner, who had been for many years employed in making steam-engines on the principle of boulton and watt, and had made considerable improvements in their machinery, directed his attention principally to the invention of a boiler which should be free from these disadvantages; and after having devoted much of his time and spent nearly all his property in the attainment of this object, he at length succeeded in inventing and perfecting that which has since been generally adopted throughout the kingdom. "that your petitioner's invention consists principally in introducing the fire into the midst of the boiler, and in making the boiler of a cylindrical form, which is the form best adapted for sustaining the pressure of high steam. "that the following very important advantages are derived from this, your petitioner's, invention. this boiler does not require half of the materials, nor does it occupy half the space required for any other boiler. no mason-work is necessary to encircle the boiler. accidents by fire can never occur, as the fire is entirely surrounded by water, and greater duty can be performed by an engine with this boiler, with less than half the fuel, than has ever been accomplished by any engine without it. these great advantages render this small and portable boiler not only superior to all others used in mining and manufacturing, but likewise is the only one which can be used with success in steam-vessels or steam-engine carriages. the boilers in use prior to your petitioner's invention could never with any degree of safety or convenience be used for steam navigation, because they required a protection of brick and mason work around them, to confine the fire by which they were encircled, and it would have been impossible, independent of the great additional bulk and weight, that boilers thus constructed could withstand the rolling of vessels in heavy seas; and notwithstanding every precaution the danger of the fire bursting through the brick and mason work could never be effectually guarded against. "that had it not been for this, your petitioner's, invention, those vast improvements which have been made in the use of steam could not have taken place, inasmuch as none of the old boilers could have withstood a pressure of above lbs. to the inch, much less a pressure of lbs. to the inch, or even of above lbs. to the inch when necessary. "that as soon as your petitioner had brought his invention into general use in cornwall, and had proved to the public its immense utility, he was obliged in to leave england for south america to superintend extensive silver mines in peru, from whence he did not return until october last. that at the time of your petitioner's departure the old boilers were falling rapidly into disuse, and when he returned he found they had been generally replaced by those of his invention, and that the saving of coals occasioned thereby during that period amounted in cornwall alone to above , _l._[ ] [footnote : see lean's report, vol. ii., p. .] "that the engines in cornwall, in which county the steam-engines used are more powerful than those used in any other part of the kingdom, have now your petitioner's improved boilers, and it appears from the monthly reports that these engines, which in averaged only fourteen and half millions now average three times that duty with the same quantity of coals, making a saving to cornwall alone of , , bushels of coals, or about , _l._ per annum. and the engines at the consolidated mines in november, , performed sixty-seven millions, being forty millions more than had been performed by boulton and watt's chosen engine at herland, as before stated. "that had it not been for your petitioner's invention, the greater number of the cornish mines, which produce nearly , , _l._ per annum, must have been abandoned in consequence of the enormous expense attendant on the engines previously in use. "that your petitioner has also invented the iron stowage water-tanks and iron buoys now in general use in his majesty's navy, and with merchant's ships. "that twenty years ago your petitioner likewise invented the steam-carriage, and carried it into general use on iron railroads. "that your petitioner is the inventor of high-pressure steam-engines, and also of water-pressure engines now in general use. "that his high-pressure steam-engines work without condensing water, an improvement essentially necessary to portable steam-engines, and where condensing water cannot be procured. "that all the inventions above alluded to have proved of immense national utility, but your petitioner has not been reimbursed the money he has expended in perfecting his inventions. that your petitioner has a wife and large family who are not provided for. "that parliament granted to messrs. boulton and watt, after the expiration of their patent for fourteen years, an extension of their privileges as patentees for an additional period, whereby they gained, as your petitioner has been informed, above , _l._ "that your petitioner therefore trusts that these his own important inventions and improvements will not be suffered to go unrewarded by the english nation, particularly as he has hitherto received no compensation for the loss himself and his family have sustained by his having thus consumed his property for the public benefit. "your petitioner therefore most humbly prays that your honourable house will be pleased to take his case into consideration, and to grant him such remuneration or relief as to your honourable house shall seem meet. "and your petitioner, as in duty bound, will ever pray, &c. "rd. edmonds, "_solicitor, penzance_." from the patent office to the house of commons was, for a petitioner, as bad as out of the frying-pan into the fire. trevithick solicited the support of members of parliament until tired of running after friends, and the petition became a dead letter, though the mining interests of cornwall had in twelve years saved , _l._ by his unrewarded inventions. "lauderdale house, highgate, _december th, _. "mr. gilbert, "sir,--i find that mr. spring rice cannot get the lords of the treasury to agree to remunerate or assist me in any way. he appeared to be much disappointed, and said that he would write to the admiralty board on thursday last, recommending them to adopt this engine. as yet i have heard nothing respecting it, nor do i expect to during the holy days; but in the interim i wish to look out for some moneyed man to join in it, otherwise i fear i shall lose the whole. can you assist in recommending anyone you know? i wish mr. thompson would come into it, he would be a good man. can you furnish me with a copy of your report to mr. spring rice, or something relating thereto? it would be a great assistance in getting some one to join. "the sum required is small, and the risk is less; but the prospect is great, beyond anything i ever knew offered on such easy terms. waiting your reply, "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, "richard trevithick." "dear trevithick, "eastbourne, _december th, _. "i am sorry to find that you have not any prospect of assistance from government. i have not any copy or memorandum of my letter to mr. spring rice; but it was to the effect of first bearing testimony to the large share that you have had in almost all the improvements on mr. watt's engine, which have altogether about trebled its power; to your having made a travelling engine twenty-eight years ago; of your having invented the iron-tanks for carrying water on board ships, &c. "i then went on to state that the great defect in all steam-engines seemed to be the loss, by condensation, of all the heat rendered latent in the conversion of water into steam; that high-pressure engines owed their advantages mainly to a reduction of the relative temperatures of this latent heat; that i had long wished to see the plan of a differential engine tried, in which the temperatures and consequently elasticities of the fluid might be varied on the opposite sides of the piston, without condensation; that the engine you have now constructed promised to effect that object; and that, in the event of its succeeding at all, although it might not be applicable to the drawing water out of mines, yet that for steam-vessels and for steam-carriages its obvious advantages would be of the greatest importance; and i ended by saying that although it was clearly impossible for me to ensure the success of any plan till it had been actually proved by experiment, yet judging theoretically, and also from the imperfect trial exhibited on the thames, i thought it well worthy of being pursued. your plan unquestionably must be to associate some one with you (as mr. watt did mr. boulton), and i certainly think it a very fair speculation for any such person as mr. boulton to undertake. "it is impossible for me to point out any individual, as never having had the slightest connection with trade or with manufacture in any part of my life, i am entirely unacquainted with mercantile concerns. i cannot, however, but conjecture that you should make a fair and full estimate of what would be the expense of making a decisive experiment on a scale sufficiently large to remove all doubt; and that your proposal should be, that anyone willing to incur that expense should, in the event of success, be entitled to a certain share of your patent. on such conditions some man of property may perhaps be found who would undertake the risk; and if the experiment proves successful, he will be sure to use every exertion afterwards for his own sake. with every wish for your success, "believe me, "yours very sincerely and faithfully, "davies gilbert." the petition to parliament for a national payment for national gains, so hopefully taken up on his return from america, when experience had proved the value of his inventions, after four weary years of deferred expectation, was consigned to the tomb of forgetfulness. compare the petition of with a modern report. "prior to the invention of your petitioner's boiler, the most striking defect observable in every steam-engine was in the form of the boiler which in shape resembled a tilted wagon; your petitioner's invention consists principally in introducing the fire into the midst of the boiler, and in making the boiler of a cylindrical form, which is the form best adapted for sustaining the pressure of high steam, and does not require half of the materials, nor does it occupy half the space required for any other boiler, and greater duty can be performed by an engine with this boiler with less than half the fuel, than by any engine without it, and is the only one that can be used with success in steam-vessels, as none of the old boilers could have withstood a pressure of above lbs. on the inch, much less a pressure of lbs. or even of lbs. when necessary." a report of the royal mail steam packet company in states, "by placing compound engines in the 'tasmania,' they had reduced the consumption of coal to one-half the former quantity, doubled her capacity for freight, and increased her speed."[ ] presuming that the compound engines of the 'tasmania' are like other engines known by that name, having high-pressure steam in a comparatively small cylinder from which it expands in a larger one, tubular boilers, surface condensers, and screw-propeller, the saving admitted in the 'tasmania' is just what trevithick's petition pointed out forty-three years ago--to lessen by one-half the weight, space, and fuel in marine steam-engines--his opinion being founded on the experience of a lifetime, for as early as he wrote on the question of compound engines, "i think one cylinder partly filled with steam would do equally as well as two cylinders;"[ ] and again in , describing expansion, "the engine is now working with lbs. of steam, three-quarters of the stroke expansive, and ends with the steam rather under atmosphere strong;"[ ] and in the same year worked the expansive compound engine at treskerby.[ ] [footnote : see 'the times,' october th, , half-yearly report of the chairman.] [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] chapter xxvi. tubular boiler, superheating steam, and surface condenser. "mr. gilbert, "hayle foundry, _december th, _. "sir,--on my return from london five weeks since i was disappointed at not finding you in cornwall. i have made inquiry into the duty performed by the best engines, and the circumstances they are under, from which it appears to me there is something which as yet has not been accounted for, particularly in binner downs engines. a statement was given to me by captain gregor, the chief agent and engineer of the mine, which appears so plain that i cannot doubt the facts, though they differ very widely from all former opinions. there are two engines, one of inches diameter, the other of inches diameter, -feet stroke. "formerly those engines worked without cylinder cases, when the -inch cylinder burnt - / wey of coal, and performed a regular duty of forty-one millions; since that time brickwork has been placed round the cylinder and steam-pipes, leaving a narrow flue, which is heated by separate fires. these flues consume about bushels of coal in twenty-four hours; the heat is not so great as to injure the packing, which stands good for thirteen weeks; the saving for several months past has increased the duty to sixty-three millions. "before the use of this flue bushels of coal were consumed under the boiler, now only bushels are needed, which with the bushels in the flue gives bushels. the coal burnt under the boiler gives a duty of sixty-six millions, or an expansion of per cent. by the heat of bushels of coal in the flues, and a duty of millions gained in twenty-four hours by bushels of coal, which amounts to millions gained by each of these bushels. the -inch cylinder is as near as possible under the same circumstances, no other alterations have been made; and to prove this they left out the fires in the flues, and the engines fell back to their former duty, and the condensing water increased in the same proportion. "the surface sides heated by this bushels of coal is about surface feet, the saving effected is millions, which is six millions saving for each foot of surface on the castings in the flues. in wheal towan engine that did eighty-seven millions, the surface sides of the boiler was feet of fire-sides for every bushel of coal burnt in an hour, and the duty performed per minute from each foot of boiler fire-sides was lbs. foot high. now it appears that the heating of binner downs surface feet gave a saving of lbs. per minute per surface foot; whereas the boiler sides only gave lbs. of duty per minute for each foot of boiler fire-sides. therefore the saving by heating the sides of the cylinder is equal to four times the duty done by each square foot of boiler sides; and further, it appears that the feet, when not heated, though clothed round with brickwork, condensed or prevented from expanding the steam of bushels of coals, which was eight times as much steam condensed as the bushels of coal would raise. now if this be a report of facts, which i have no reason to doubt (but still i will be an eye-witness to it next week), there must be an unknown propensity in steam above atmosphere strong to a very sudden condensation, and _vice versâ_, to also a sudden expansion, by a small heat applied to the steam-sides; and if by heating steam, independent of water, such a rapid expansion takes place, certainly a rapid condensation must take place in the same ratio, which might be done at sea by cold sides to a great advantage, always working with fresh water. "i shall have a small portable engine finished here next week, and will try to heat steam, independent of water, in small tubes of iron, on its passage from the boiler to the cylinder, and also try cold sides for condensing. "if the above statement prove to be correct, almost anything might be done by steam, because then additional water would not be wanted for portable engines, but partially condensed and again returned into the boiler, without any fresh supply or the incumbrance of a great quantity; and boilers might be made with extensive fire-sides, both to heat water and steam, and yet be very light. "it appears that this engine, when working without the heated flues round the cylinder and pipes, evaporated , gallons of water into steam, in twenty-four hours, more than when the flues were heated, and the increase of condensing water was in the same proportion. it is so unaccountable to me that i shall not be satisfied until i prove the fact, the result of which i will inform you, and shall be very glad to receive your remarks on the foregoing statement. "the first engine that will be finished here for holland will be a -inch cylinder, and a -inch water-pump, to lift water about feet high; on the crank-shaft there is a rag-head of feet diameter, going feet per second, with balls of feet diameter passing through the water-pump, which will lift about tons of water per minute. it is in a boat of iron, feet wide, feet long, feet high, so as to be portable, and pass from one spot to another, without loss of time. it will drain inches deep of water (the annual produce on the surface of each acre of land) in about twenty minutes for the drainage of each acre, with one bushel or sixpennyworth of coal per year. the engine is high pressure and condensing. "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, "richard trevithick. "p.s.-woolf is making an apparatus to throw back from the bottom of the cylinder on to the top of the piston a fluid metal every stroke. he says he proved by an indicator that he raised , inches of steam from inch of water, of lbs. to the inch pressure on a vacuum, and that the reason why this engine did not do millions, was because the steam passed by the sides of the piston. that an engine at the consolidated mines working feet inch stroke, going / ths expansive, beginning with steam of lbs. to the inch above the atmosphere, and ending with lbs. on a vacuum. i doubt this statement; however, there is some hidden theory as yet, because some engines perform double as much as others, under the same known circumstances, and i believe that nothing but practice will discover where this defect is, for, in my opinion, no statement of theory yet given is satisfactory why high-pressure engines so far exceed low-pressure engines. it is facts that prove it to be so, therefore all theory yet laid down must be defective." [illustration: mount's bay. [w. j. welch.]] at the date of this letter trevithick had been rather more than a year in england, residing generally at hayle, within half-a-dozen miles of mount's bay, from which he had sailed for america; and after eleven years of wandering in countries where steam-engines were unknown, except those that he himself had constructed, was again on his return giving his whole thoughts to the idol of his life. during that period scientific men in europe thought and wrote much on the question of relative temperature, pressure, economy, and manageability of steam. newcomen's great discovery a century before was the avoidance of the loss of heat by the cooling at each stroke of the exterior of the steam-vessel of savery's engine by injecting cold water into the steam in the cylinder. after fifty years came the watt improvement, still reducing the loss of heat by removing the cold injection-water from the steam-cylinder to a separate condenser. the high-pressure steam-engine was perfect without injection-water, though when convenient its use was equally applicable as in the low-pressure engine. trevithick, on his return to civilized life, read the views of watt on steam, as given in 'farey on the steam-engine.' on informing davies gilbert of his doubts of the accuracy of those views, and of his intention of testing them by comparison with the work performed by cornish pumping engines, his friend, who had just published his 'observations on the steam-engine,'[ ] forwarded a copy, from which the following is an extract:-- [footnote : 'observations on the steam-engine,' by davies gilbert, v.p.r.s., january th, . see 'philosophical transactions.'] "one bushel of coal, weighing lbs., has been found to perform a duty of thirty, forty, and even fifty millions, augmenting with improvements, chiefly in the fire-place, which produce a more rapid combustion with consequently increased temperature, and a more complete absorption of the generated heat; in addition to expansive working, and to the use of steam raised considerably above atmospheric pressure." those words gave the result of trevithick's experience made known to his friend during twenty years of labour,[ ] and yet by a seeming fatality his name is not found in his friend's book. [footnote : see letter, vol. ii., p. .] sir john rennie, who in youth had been employed under boulton and watt at soho, and had risen to be a member of the royal society, came about that time into cornwall, at the request of the admiralty, to make examination into the work performed by cornish pumping engines, and selected wheal towan engine on which to make special experiments.[ ] the subject of trevithick's note was therefore at that period, and still is, a matter of importance; and his practical treatment of the question is more instructive to young engineers than complex rules. arthur woolf was at the same time experimenting on steam at the consolidated mines, and finding the want of agreement between the rules of low-pressure and the practice of high-pressure engines, imputed the error to the escape of steam by the sides of the piston. trevithick disbelieved this, "because some engines perform double as much as others, under the same known circumstances," and advocated the observance of general practice to prove why high-pressure engines were more economical than those of low-pressure. captain gregor had placed fire-flues around the steam cylinder and pipes, hoping thereby to exceed the duty of the wheal towan engine, whose boiler, cylinder, and steam-pipes were carefully clothed with a thick coating of sawdust or other non-conductor of heat, and lifted eighty-seven millions of pounds of water foot high by the heat from a bushel of coal weighing lbs. this was the greatest duty that had ever been recorded from a steam-engine. the trevithick or cornish boilers, similar to those in dolcoath,[ ] measured at the rate of superficial feet of heating surface for each bushel of coal burnt in an hour, and in round numbers gave a duty of lbs. lifted a foot high to each foot of boiler surface. in words not technical, the heat from lb. of coal gave steam that raised tons weight of water foot high. [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] [footnote : see drawing, vol. ii., p. .] the cylinder of this engine used the watt steam-jacket. the binner downs engine was doing not one-half this duty, namely, forty-one millions; when brick flues were built around the cylinder, cylinder cover, and steam-pipes, and one or two fire-places, fixed near the bottom of the cylinder, of a size to conveniently burn bushels of coal in twenty-four hours, the heat from which circulated through those flues on its way to the chimney, and increased the duty of the engine by one-half, raising it to sixty-three millions; in other words, during twenty-four hours of working, bushels of coal in the boiler, and bushels in the cylinder flues, did the same work as bushels in the boiler without the cylinder flues, causing a saving of fifty per cent. by their use. another startling fact was the greater effect for each foot of heating surface in the steam-cylinder flues than in the boiler flues; the latter gave a power of lbs. raised foot high by a bushel of coal, while the former gave lbs. of power from the same amount of coal and heating surface. here was a mystery that trevithick would not believe until he had seen it with his own eyes: he searched for it for a year or two, and overlooking the fact that the more simply arranged engine of his once pupil, captain samuel grose, was doing more duty than the superheating steam-engine at binner downs, he worked at what seemed to be new facts, and converted them into a new engine. we have traced how succeeding engineers tried to prevent loss of heat. trevithick took the first bold step, and aiming at the same object, made the boiler the steam-jacket for the cylinder, and in his patent of went still further and protected the boiler from external cold, and thus describes it:--"the steam which escapes in this engine is made to circulate in the case round the boiler, where it prevents the external atmosphere from affecting the temperature of the included water, and affords by its partial condensation a supply for the boiler itself."[ ] so that a quarter of a century before the date of those binner downs experiments he had patented an engine having neither cylinder nor boiler exposed to the cooling atmosphere. the flues around the binner downs cylinder were difficult of control. trevithick says the piston packing had not been injured, showing that observers thought it would be, and even the cylinder was endangered, for the writer, who stoked those heating flues, recollects the fires burning very brightly in them. the ready transmission of heat through thin metal, used by trevithick in for heating feed-water, and in the cellular bottom of the iron ship of , serving as a surface condenser,[ ] and his experience in , that "the cold sides of the condenser are sufficient to work an engine a great many strokes without any injection,"[ ] still followed up in by condensing steam without the use of injection-water, led to what is since known as hall's surface condenser. [footnote : see patent specification, vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see trevithick's letter, th december, , vol. ii., p. .] the following letter is in the handwriting of the present writer; it is the only one of trevithick's numerous letters not written by himself:-- "mr. gilbert, "hayle, _december th, _. "sir,--on the th inst. i received your printed report on steam, and have examined farey's publication on sundry experiments made by mr. watt, which are very far from agreeing with the actual performance of the engines at binner downs. mr. watt says that steam at one atmosphere pressure expands times its own bulk as water at °, and that large engines ought to perform eighteen millions when loaded with lbs. to the inch of actual work, the amount of condensing water being one-fortieth part of the content of the steam in the cylinder at one atmosphere strength, the cold condensing water at °, and when heated °. this would give for the binner downs engine, with a -inch cylinder, -inch stroke, lbs. effective work on the inch (this load being one-tenth more than in watt's table, by farey, for an engine of this size and stroke), gallons of injection-water for each stroke, and when working eight strokes per minute, to do eighteen millions would consume - / bushels of coal per hour. "now the actual fact at binner downs, at the rate of working and power above mentioned, is that bushels of coal per hour were burnt, using gallons of injection-water at each stroke at ° of heat, which was raised by its use to °, or an increase of °, which, multiplied by gallons, gives . mr. watt's table for this engine and work gives gallons of condensing water at °, heated by use to °. this ° raised, multiplied by the gallons of water, amounts to , or six and a half times the quantity really used in the binner downs engine, and nearly four times the coal actually used at present. mr. watt further says that steam of lbs. to the inch, or one atmosphere, from inch of water at ° occupies inches, and that steam of four atmospheres, or lbs. to the inch, gives only inches at a heat of °. now deducting ° from ° leaves ° of heat raised by the fire. multiply lbs. to the inch by inches of steam, and divide it by °, gives °, whereas if you deduct ° from °, it leaves the increase of heat by the fire °. steam of lbs. to the inch multiplied by , being the inches of steam made by inch of water divided by °, the degrees of heat raised by the coal, gives a product of ; therefore, by mr. watt's view it appears that low steam would do one-fifth more duty than high steam, and yet binner downs engine in actual work performs about four times the duty given by mr. watt's theory and practice, with only one-sixth part of the amount of heat carried off by the condensing water, proving that high steam has much less heat, in proportion to its effective force; and this is further proved by the small quantity of condensing water required to extract its heat. "yesterday i proved this -inch cylinder while working with the fire-flues round it, which flues only consumed bushels of coal in twenty-four hours. the engine worked eight strokes a minute, -feet stroke, lbs. to the inch effective force on the piston; steam in the boiler lbs. above the atmosphere, consuming bushels of coal in four hours, using gallons of condensing water at each stroke, which was heated from ° to °; but when the fires round the cylinder were not kept up, though still having the casing of hot brickwork around it, and performing the same work, burnt bushels of coal in the same time of four hours, and required - / gallons of condensing water, which was heated from ° to °. you will find that the increased consumption of coal, by removing the fire from around the cylinder, was nearly in the same proportion as the increase and temperature of the condensing water, showing the experiment to be nearly correct. "from the general reports of the working of the engines it appears that when the surface sides of the castings are heated, either by hot air or high steam, the duty increases nearly fifty per cent. from this circumstance alone. "a further proof of the more easy condensation of high steam was in the binner downs -inch cylinder engine, -feet stroke, six strokes per minute, lbs. effective power on each inch, burning - / bushel of coal an hour. in this engine the proportion of saving by the heating flues was the same as in the large engine. i tried to condense the steam by the cold sides of the condenser, without using injection-water. the water in the condenser cistern was at °. after working for twenty-five minutes the small quantity of hot water discharged at the top of the air-pump reached ° of heat, but then would rise no higher, the cold sides of the condenser being equal to the condensation of all the steam. the eduction-pipe and air-pump, with its bottom and top, gave feet of surface sides of thick cast iron, and about feet more of surface sides of a thin copper condenser; altogether, feet of surface cold sides, surrounded by cold water. about half a pound on the inch was lost in the vacuum, the discharged water being ° of heat instead of °. the vacuum was made imperfect by about - / lb. to the inch. "it is my opinion that high steam will expand and contract with a much less degree of heat or cold in proportion to its effect, than what steam of atmosphere strong will do. i intend to try steam of five or six atmospheres strong, and partially condense it down to nearly one atmosphere strong, and then by an air-pump of more content than is usual to return the steam, air, and water, from the top of the air-pump, all back into the boiler again, above the water-level in the boiler, and by a great number of small tubes, with greatly heated surface sides, to reheat the returned steam; though by this plan i shall lose the power of the vacuum, and also the power required on the air-bucket to force the steam and water back again into the boiler, yet by returning so much heat i shall over-balance the loss of power, besides having a continued supply of water, which in portable engines, either on the road or on the sea, will be of great value. "i shall esteem it a very great favour if you will be so good as to turn over in your mind the probable theory of those statements, and give me your opinion. if mr. watt's reports of his experiments are correct, how is it possible that the high-pressure engine that i built at the herland thirteen years ago, which discharged the steam in open air, did more than twenty-eight millions? if you wish, i will send a copy of the certificate of the duty done by this engine, which states very minutely every circumstance. now that cylinder, with every part of the engine, was exposed to the cold; had it been heated around those surfaces, as on the present plan, it would have done above forty millions. "suppose the binner downs -inch cylinder engine, -feet stroke, working with full steam to the bottom of the stroke, when, by the experiment, the heated flues were again laid on would have worked one-third expansive, by the heat of bushels of coal around the cylinder. now one-third of the power would make a feet inch stroke, lbs. to the inch effective power, eight strokes a minute, during twenty-four hours, by the consumption of bushels of coal applied on the surface sides of the cylinder, performing a duty of millions with a bushel of coal. now suppose the cylinder without the heating flues had the steam cut off at two-thirds of the stroke, and that it is possible in a moment to heat the cylinder by the flues; in that case the steam would, by its expansion from the hot sides, fill the last third of the cylinder to the bottom of the stroke; then if that steam could be suddenly cooled, so as to contract it one-third, the piston would ascend one-third its stroke in the cylinder; and it appears in theory by this plan, that a cylinder once filled two-thirds full of steam, by receiving the heat on its surface sides from bushels of coal, and again suddenly cooling down, would continue to work for ever, without removing the steam from the cylinder, and would perform a duty of millions. this never can be accomplished in practice in this way, but the effect may be obtained by partially condensing in a suitable condenser, and again heating by hot sides. "this mystery ought to be laid open by experiment, for what i have stated are plain facts from actual proofs, and i have no doubt that time will show that the theory of mr. watt is incorrect. though there were feet of cold sides, yet feet were not condensing steam, because on the return of the piston, what was condensed below, and while the engine was resting, did not make against it more than what was condensed above the piston on its descent; therefore you may count on feet of cold external sides constantly condensing, that made this third-part difference against the expansion of the steam. "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, "richd. trevithick." the writer's note-book used during those experiments is in his possession, as well as trevithick's note-book giving particulars of experiments at several mines, from which the following extracts are taken:-- "cornwall, _august, _.--wheal towan -inch cylinder, -feet stroke, · strokes per minute, loaded to · lbs. on the inch of the piston, with three of trevithick's boilers, each feet long, feet inches diameter, with fire-tube feet inches diameter, fire-place feet long, evaporated square feet of water with bushel of coal,[ ] duty millions. the heat in the stack was just the same as the heat of the steam in the boiler. another engine of the same size on the same mine, with similar boilers, but working only · strokes per minute, loaded to · lbs. on each inch of the piston, did · millions. [footnote : lbs.] "wheal vor -inch cylinder, -feet stroke, · strokes per minute, loaded to · lbs. on each square inch of the piston, did · millions. "wheal damsel -inch cylinder, feet inch stroke, · strokes per minute, loaded to · lbs. on the inch of the piston, did millions. "it would appear, therefore, that about lbs. to the inch on the piston allows of the best duty, and that a -feet stroke exceeds in duty a feet inch stroke. "the wheal towan engine, doing millions, had feet of tube fire-surface, and a similar amount of external boiler surface in the flues. - / bushels of coal were consumed each hour, giving about feet of fire-sides for each bushel of coal consumed per hour, and feet of fire-bars. those boilers were intended to supply steam for working the engine at ten strokes a minute; a bushel of coal an hour would in that case have had feet of boiler fire-surface. "binner downs -inch cylinder, -feet stroke, did millions. a fire was then put around the cylinder and steam-pipes, which burnt bushels of coal in twenty-four hours, by which the duty was increased to millions. the surface sides of the cylinder, cylinder-top, and steam-pipes heated by flues was feet, and caused a saving of bushels of coal in twenty-four hours. another engine in the same mine was tried, having a -inch cylinder; when the fire was around the cylinder, she worked strokes without injection-water; the expansion-valve was closed at half-stroke, the steam in the boiler lbs. on the inch above the atmosphere." it is not easy to deal with the important reasonings flowing from those facts, and influencing the form and economy of the steam-engine, nor to show if trevithick was right in discrediting the laws laid down by watt. newcomen's engine had the interior, as well as the exterior of the steam-cylinder exposed to the cooling atmosphere. watt, by putting a cover on the cylinder, reduced the loss of the heat from the interior, and by his steam-case hoped to reduce the loss from the exterior, though by it he increased the amount of surface exposed to the cold. in trevithick's early engines the boiler alone exposed heat-losing surface, and this was further reduced by its own comparatively small size, the engine and boiler complete not exposing one-quarter of the surface of a watt low-pressure engine of equal power. one object of the binner downs experiment was to further curtail this loss of power by increasing the heat of the steam while in operation in the cylinder, since called superheating steam. this principle of giving increased heat to steam, after it had left its state as water, was made practical by trevithick's boiler at wheal prosper in , where the flues having first been carried around the water portion of the boiler, then passed over the steam portion;[ ] and again in the upright boiler of , having the upper end of the fire-tube surrounded by steam above the water line.[ ] those early beginnings of superheating steam and surface condensation culminated in the binner downs experiments of , one immediate practical result of which was the tubular surface condenser, enabling steamboat boilers to avoid, in a great measure, the use of salt water, facilitating in a marked degree the application of marine boilers and engines with steam of an increased pressure. [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] [footnote : see vol. i., p .] the binner downs engine, with a cylinder of inches in diameter, and a stroke of feet when working with steam in the boilers of lbs. to the square inch above the atmosphere, and using the heating flues around the cylinder, required gallons of injection-water at each stroke, and consumed at the rate of bushels of coal an hour, to produce a duty equal to eighteen millions; by removing the cylinder superheating flues, the quantity of injection-water for the same amount of work increased to - / gallons, and the coal to - / bushels. watt's rule for his low-pressure steam vacuum engine doing a duty of eighteen millions, gave gallons of injection-water, and - / bushels of coal. on the question of coal, this statement agrees very nearly with trevithick's letters of sixteen years before, when he used the high-pressure boilers in the dolcoath pumping engine,[ ] promising that his high-pressure expansive engine would do the work with one-third of the coal required in the low-pressure vacuum engine. [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] the high-pressure steam required a less amount of injection-water to condense it than the low-pressure steam, in proportion to the work done, showing the watt rule and the watt experience to be inapplicable to high-pressure engines; for instead of gallons of injection-water the binner downs engine with steam of lbs. to the inch required but - / gallons of injection-water, and this amount was further reduced to gallons by superheating the steam; this roughly agrees with the coal consumed, or in other words, with the amount of heat to be carried off by injection-water: the watt rule giving - / bushels as the fair allowance for low-pressure steam vacuum engines, while the high-pressure steam vacuum engine burnt but - / bushels. this was further reduced to bushels by superheating. those facts led to the idea that if the steam pressure was sufficiently increased, condensation might be carried out without any injection-water, by the transmission of the heat in the steam through the metal sides of the condenser. an experiment was at once made by removing the watt condenser and injection-water, as he had done seventeen years before,[ ] using in their stead a thin copper surface-condenser immersed in cold water, producing, within / lb. on the inch, as good a vacuum as when injection-water was used, leading to the conclusion,-- [footnote : see query rd, vol. ii., p. .] "it is my opinion that high steam will expand and contract with a much less degree of heat or cold, in proportion to its effect, than what steam of atmosphere strong will do. i intend to try steam of five or six atmospheres strong, and partially condense it down to nearly one atmosphere strong, and then by an air-pump of more content than is usual to return the steam, air, and water back into the boiler again, and by a great number of small tubes, with greatly heated surface sides, to reheat the returned steam." this, in practical words, is the surface condenser by which the used steam is returned to the boiler in the form of water. the more general use of high-pressure steam of or lbs. to the inch, increasing its expansive force on one side of the piston by superheating it on its passage through numbers of small tubes, and decreasing its expansive force on the other side of the piston by cooling it in passage through similar tubes exposed to cold, is partly effected in steamboats, but has not yet been attempted in engines on the road. after a month's further consideration he wrote:-- "wheal towan engine is working with three boilers, all of the same size, and the strong steam from the boilers going to the cylinder-case; the boilers are so low as to admit the condensed water to run back from the case again into the boiler: they find that this water is sufficient to feed one of these boilers without any other feed-water, therefore one-third of the steam generated must be condensed by the cold sides of the cylinder-case, and this agrees with the experiments i sent to you from binner downs. wheal towan engine has an -inch cylinder, and requires bushels of coal in twenty-four hours, therefore, the cylinder-case must, in condensing high-pressure steam, use bushels of coal in twenty-four hours. boulton and watt's case for a -inch cylinder working with low-pressure steam, condensed only - / bushels of coal in equal time, the proportions of surface being as to in wheal towan. nearly five times the quantity was condensed of high steam than of low steam, proving that there is a theory yet unaccounted for."[ ] [footnote : see trevithick's letter, january th, , vol. ii., p. .] these apparent facts are, in the case of steamboats, more culpably overlooked now than when he wrote forty-two years ago; engines have been examined and reported on by eminent scientific men, but it was left for trevithick to point out that cold on the surface of the steam-case of a watt low-pressure steam vacuum engine condensed about one-fifteenth of the steam given from the boilers, and that the loss from exposure to cold was nearly five times more from high-pressure steam than from low-pressure. within a few more months he determined on constructing an engine for the purpose of more accurately testing those views. "mr. gilbert, "hayle foundry, _july th, _. "sir,--below you have a sketch of the engine that i am making here for the express purpose of experimenting on the working the same steam and water over and over again, heating the returned steam by passing it in small streams up through the hot water from the bottom of the boiler. the boiler is feet in diameter, standing perpendicular; the interior fire-tube is feet in diameter; there is a steam-case round the outside of the boiler with a - / -inch space. this keeps the boiler hot and partially condenses the steam before it is again forced into the boiler. [illustration] "the boiler is feet high; the cylinder inches diameter, with a -feet stroke, single power. the pump for forcing the steam and water back again is inches in diameter, with a feet inch stroke, about one-quarter part of the content of the steam-cylinder. the bottom of the boiler will have a great number of small holes, about / th of an inch in diameter, through which the steam delivered into the boiler will pass up through the hot water, by which i should think it will heat those small streams of steam again to their usual temperature. "the pump for lifting water to prove the duty of the engine is inches in diameter, with a -feet stroke, but this may be lengthened to a -feet lift, as the trial or load in the experiments may require, giving from to lbs. to the inch in the piston. this machine will be ready before your return to cornwall, and i intend to prove it effectually before i go to holland. "the holland engine lifted on the trial, when they came down to see it, gallons of water a minute feet high with bushel of coal an hour; exceedingly good duty for a small engine of -inch cylinder, being , , of duty. "on the th august the trial comes on between the two companies about the quays. they are as desperate as possible on both sides, and castings and every other article are thrown down to per cent. below cost price; iron pumps for _s._ _d._ per cwt., and coal sold to the mines for _s._ _d._ per wey, when _s._ per wey on board ship was paid for it. several thousands lost per year by each party. this never can last long. if you can think of any improvement i shall be very glad to hear in time, before it may be too late to adopt it. at all events, if it is not too much trouble to write, i shall be very glad to hear from you. what effect do you think the water will have in heating the steam on its passage to the top of the water from the false bottom of the boiler? "i have a cistern of cold water, with a proper condenser in it, connected between the bottom of the boiler-case and the force-pump to the bottom of the boiler, therefore i can partially condense by cold water sides, or by cold air sides just as i please, by rising or sinking the water in the cistern. "the boiler is made very strong to try different temperatures, and an additional length to the water-pump makes all very suitable for a great number of experiments, and if there is any good in the thing i will bring it out. "i shall have indicators at different places to prove what advantages can be gained. i hope to have the pleasure of your company during those experiments, which i think will throw more light on this subject than ever has yet been done. some trials since i last wrote to you make me very confident that much good will arise from these experiments, but to what extent is uncertain. "i remain, sir, "your most obedient servant, "richard trevithick." trevithick did not use letters to illustrate his sketch, knowing that davies gilbert would comprehend it; but the reader of to-day may not find it so easy, therefore the writer has added them with a slight detail description, he having been trevithick's daily companion when those drawings and experiments were made. _a_, top of boiler; _b_, water line; _c_, centre of wheel; _d_, cast-iron wheel and chain; _e_, chimney, in. in diameter; _f_, fire-tube, ft. diameter; _g_, outer boiler-*case, ft. diameter, ft. long; _h_, water space of in.; _i_, boiler steam-case, ft. in. diameter; _j_, small holes through which steam and water are forced into the boiler; _k_, force-pump, in. diameter, ft. in. stroke; _l_, steam-cylinder, in. diameter, -ft. stroke; _m_, piston-rod; _n_, fire-door; _o_, fire-bars; _p_, pump for testing the power of the engine. there is a natural tendency in men of genius to unwittingly return, under new forms, to old ideas. the ideas are similar, though in combination with new forms and new acquirements; even the outline of this boiler, with the exception of its outer steam-casing, is very like that in a letter to davies gilbert fourteen years before,[ ] of which trevithick had kept no copy. when in the foregoing letter he wrote, "there is a steam-case round the outside with a - / -inch space; this keeps the boiler hot and partially condenses the steam before it is again forced into the boiler," he had forgotten that twenty-seven years before, when constructing his first high-pressure steam-engines, he thus specified his invention:--"the steam which escapes in this engine is made to circulate in the case round the boiler, where it prevents the external atmosphere from affecting the temperature of the included water, and affords by its partial condensation a supply for the boiler itself."[ ] [footnote : see trevithick's letter, th may, , vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see patent specification of , vol. i., p. .] not one of his numerous patent specifications has been found among his papers, neither do his letters refer to them; probably he never read them after the first necessary examinations. "mr. gilbert, "hayle foundry, _november th, _. "sir,--the engine has been worked. the result is ten strokes per minute, -feet stroke, with half a bushel of coal per hour, lifting six thousand pounds weight. this was done with water in the cistern round the condenser, which water came up to degrees of heat, and remained so. the water sides of the condenser covered with this hot water was surface feet. i tried it to work with the cold air sides, but i found that the cold air sides of feet would only work it four strokes per minute. i should have worked the steam much higher than lbs. to the inch, but being an old boiler i thought it a risk. i am now placing an old boiler of feet of cold sides more to the condenser, to give a fair trial to condensing with cold sides alone. the steam below the piston was about or lbs. to the inch above the atmosphere. the force-pump to the boiler was about one-fifth part of the content of the cylinder, and the valve close to the boiler lifted when the force-piston was down about two-thirds of its stroke, at which time the returned steam entered the boiler again. i have no doubt of doing near ten times the duty that is now done on board ships, without using salt water in the boiler, as at present. our boiler has been working three days and the water has not sunk inch per day. i am quite satisfied the trial will be a great success. "mr. praed and sir john st. aubyn are anxious to get a high bank carried out from chapel angel to feet below low-water mark on the bar, to make hayle a floating harbour. "i have proposed to make a sand-lifting engine. when i built that engine for deepening woolwich harbour, we lifted tons per hour through feet of water, and feet above water, feet above the bottom. this was done with two bushels of coal per hour, therefore it will not cost above one penny per square fathom to lift the sand over this embankment. it is intended to get down mr. telford to give his opinion on it. your remarks on it would be of service. "i remain, sir, "your humble servant, "richard trevithick." the writer having worked at these experiments, knows that their object was to employ high-pressure steam in the boiler, using it very expansively in the cylinder, and by cold surface sides reducing its bulk either to low-pressure steam or boiling water, and then force it again into the boiler. "mr. gilbert, "hayle foundry, _november th, _. "sir,--i have both of your letters and sketches, which shall be put in hand. i understand it perfectly well. since i wrote to you last i have made several satisfactory trials of the engine, and think it unnecessary to make any further experiments. the statement below may be depended on for a future data. the load of the engine was lbs., being lbs. to the inch for a -inch cylinder with a -feet stroke, strokes per minute, with three-quarters of a bushel of coals per hour, giving a duty of , , for bushel of coal, a duty far beyond anything done in the county by so small an engine. the cold water sides round the condenser was feet, and the water at degrees temperature, not having a sufficient stream of cold water to supply the cistern. each foot of cold water sides did lbs. per minute, about three times the work done in the county per foot of hot boiler sides; therefore the condenser need not be more than one-third of the boiler sides. by making the condenser of -inch copper tubes and of an inch thick, it would stand in one-twentieth part of the space of the boiler. "i put a boiler naked to try cold air sides; it was very rusty, and did not condense as fast as i expected. the engine worked exceedingly well, but slow. the duty performed for each foot of cold air sides was lbs. per minute, about one-thirteenth part of the condensing of cold water sides. we never wanted to get the steam above lbs. to the inch. i have no doubt but that copper pipes of / nd of an inch thick, clean and small, would do considerably more, because the hot water that came out of the boiler from the condensed steam was but decrees, and the external sides the same heat when the steam was lbs. above the atmosphere in the condensing boiler. this boiler was feet inches diameter, and i think that towards the external sides of the boiler there was a colder atmosphere, if i may call it so, than what it was in the middle of this large condensing boiler, because i found by trying a small tin tube, that it would condense lbs. for each foot of cold air sides. "however, as it is, it will do exceedingly well for portable purposes. "the duty, i doubt not, will be, both for water and air sides condensing, at least per cent. above our cornish engines, which will be above four times what is now done with ships' engines, especially when you take into consideration their getting steam from salt water, and letting out so much water from the boiler to prevent the salt from accumulating in the boiler, which will make per cent. more in its favour. "if strong boilers to stand lbs. to the inch are made with small tubes, i have no doubt but that the duty would be considerably more, and my engines will not be one-quarter part of the weight, price, or space of others; and when every advantage is taken it will be per cent. superior in saving of coal to those now at work on board. this engine works well, and returns the steam very regularly every stroke into the boiler. "i am extremely sorry you were not present to see these experiments. please make your remarks on these statements, with any further information you may judge useful. "i shall now make drawings agreeable to my experiments for actual performance on board ships. in hope of hearing from you soon, "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, "richd. trevithick." the large old boilers used as surface condensers, in which the steam was partially condensed by the transmission of heat to the external atmosphere, together with its further condensation in a smaller condenser with cold water around it, so reduced its expansiveness, that a large feed-pump drew the hot water and steam from the small condenser, and forced it back into the boiler without any reduction of quantity; those temporary contrivances, almost immediately resolved themselves into a condenser made of copper tubes surrounded by cold water. having proved by six months' experiment on a working scale the practicability of the plan which in reality he had invented twenty years before in the iron steamship,[ ] he wrote in june, :-- [footnote : drawing of iron steamship, vol. i., p. .] "to the right honourable the lords commissioners of the admiralty, &c., &c., &c. "my lords, "about one year since i had the honour of attending your honourable board with proposed plans for the improvement of steam navigation, and as you expressed a wish to see it accomplished, i immediately made an engine of considerable power for the express purpose of proving by practice what i then advanced in theory. i humbly request your lordships will grant me the loan of a vessel of about or tons burthen, in which i will fix at my own expense and risk an engine of suitable power to propel the same at the speed required: no alterations whatever in the vessel will be necessary. when under sail the propelling apparatus can be removed, and when propelled by steam alone, the apparatus outside the ship will scarcely receive any shock from a heavy sea. this new invention entirely removes the great objection of feeding the boiler with salt water." this petition was backed by mr. gilbert and mr. george rennie. his old friend mr. mills took an interest in it, and wrote, "i am going to meet captain symonds at woolwich again to-morrow, and hope to be able to persuade him to use his influence with sir t. hardy," "lauderdale house, highgate, "mr. gilbert, "_august th, _. "sir,--the boiler with the fire-place, cold air tubes outside the boiler but within the steam-case, fire-tubes in the boiler from the top of the fire-place to the top of the boiler, the ash-pit close, except a small door to clear out the ashes. [illustration: fig. .--plan section.] [illustration: fig. .--elevation section.[ ]] [footnote : _a_, steam-case; _b_, boiler-case; _c_, space for condensation of steam; _d_, water and steam space; _e_, fire-tubes; _f_, fire-box; _g_, fire-door; _h_, fire-bars; _i_, ash-box; _j_, ash-box door; _k_, air-tubes in condenser; _l_, chimney; _m_, water level; a smoke-jack fan draught.] "the design is for the cold air to pass down from the top of the boiler through the air-tubes within the steam-case surrounding the boilers, becoming heated in its passage by condensing the steam in the case, and then to pass up through the fire-bars in, the hot state, nearly as hot as the steam in the case; because this air, heated to nearly degrees by condensing the steam in its passage without any of its oxygen being burnt, it will not carry off so much heat from the fire as cold air would, and still have the same oxygen as cold air to consume the coal. "the cold air will be passing down the steam-case in the air-tubes, and up through the fire and fire-tubes in the boiler. i find by experiments i have made here, by placing a tin tube - / inches in diameter, feet long, inside a -inch tube of the same length, having boiling water and steam between the tubes, kept hot by a fire round the outer tube, with a smith's bellows blowing in at the bottom of the inside tube, having - / rds surface feet of condensing sides, measuring the inside, where the air is passing up from the bellows, heats from to degrees square feet of cold air per minute. when you compare the effective heat of degrees given to cubic feet of air every minute from - / rds surface feet of tin plate, and the heat contained in cubic feet of air charged with degrees of effective heat, compared with steam of atmosphere strong, you will find that the condensing power of surface sides is very great, and for locomotive purposes might be carried still further, by forcing the air more quickly through the tubes. if the statements on air given in some books that i have read are correct, that there is about three times as much heat in gallon of steam of atmosphere strong as there is in gallon of air of degrees of heat, in that case surface foot of tin-plate sides of this pipe, by sending off the hot air before described, would take out the heat of - / cubic foot of steam per minute of atmosphere strong, which in the common condensing engine would be equal to a duty of lbs. lifted foot high per minute; but in the high-pressure expansive engine, the heat of - / cubic foot of steam would give a duty of , lbs., or four times the duty of the boulton and watt engine. "if you calculate on the air being heated to nearly degrees before it enters the fire, together with the heat given to the sides of the boiler, the fuel saved will be above one-half on what has been done by the high-pressure engines in cornwall, because at present the coal must pay for heating the cold air, therefore a less proportion goes through the sides of the boiler, and is lost through the chimney; whereas if the heat of the steam, by passing into the cold air, on its way through the condenser tubes, is carried into the fire-place, one-half of the coal must be saved; and you will find by calculation that the quantity of air required to burn the coal, and also to condense the steam, goes exactly in proper proportion for each other, and for locomotive engines with a blast will go hand-in-hand almost to any extent, and the size of an engine, for its power, is a mere nothing. "a smoke-jack fan in the ash-pit under the fire-bars, worked by the engine, would draw air down the condensing tubes, and force it up through the fire and fire-tubes always with the speed required, as the steam and the condensation would increase in the same ratio. "as it is possible to blow so much cold air into a fire as to put it out, by first heating the air it would burn all the stronger, and whatever heat is taken out of the condenser into the fire-place from the steam that has been made use of, half this extra heat will go into the boiler again, or in other words, but half the quantity of cold will be put into the fire, being the same in effect as saving fuel. taking heat from the condenser through the boiler sides is an additional new principle in this engine. i find by blowing through tubes that the condensation of a surface foot of air-tube against a surface foot of boiler fire-tube is greater than the fire that passes through the boiler sides, where the common chimney draught is used, by nearly double; but i expect when both air and fire tubes are forced by a strong current of air it will be nearly equal, and the increase of steam and of condensation can be increased by an increased current of air, so as to cause a surface foot of fire and of air sides to do perhaps five times as much; and of course the machine will be lighter in proportion. i think air sides condensation preferable to water sides, as so small a space does the work, and is always convenient, and its power uniformly increasing with its speed, by the increased quantity of air, without the weight of water vessels. this kind of engine can be made to suit every place and purpose, and i think such an engine of the weight of a boulton and watt engine will perform twenty times the duty. "air sides condensation will be advantageous on board ship, because there are holes for the passage of water through the bottom and sides of the ship. "i am anxious to have your opinion on this plan of returning the hot air from the condenser to the fire-place, and what you think the effect will be. "the comptroller of the navy has not yet returned from plymouth, therefore no answer has been given to me. "you will see by the sketch how very small and compact an engine is now brought without complication or difficulty; each surface foot of boiler and condenser is equal to one-third of a horse-power, weighing lbs., or lbs. weight for each horse-power. the consumption of fuel is so small when working a differential engine, that i expect it will not exceed lb. of coal per hour for each horse-power. "the cost of erection and required room are so small from its simplicity that it will be generally used. as i am very anxious that every possible improvement should be considered prior to making a specification for a patent, i must beg that you will have the goodness to consider and calculate on the data i have given you. i am sorry to trouble you, but i am satisfied this will be to you rather a pleasing amusement than a trouble. the warming machines will take a very extensive run, and i believe will pay exceedingly well. "i am almost in the mind to take a ride down to see you in a few days, but am now detained here about the american mining concerns. "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, "rd. trevithick." the letters and foot-note are the only changes made by the writer in trevithick's original sketch so descriptive of a wonderful application of varied and improved principles of long-known difficulty and importance; the beautifully compact tubular boiler for giving high-pressure superheated steam, surface condensation, absence of feed and condensing water, and return of the heat, in other engines wasted in condensation, to the fire-place; though there is little or no mention of the mechanical or moving parts of the steam-engine, yet its vital principles are grasped with the hand of a master. the sketch in the letter hastily made forty years ago is more ingenious than any portable engine since constructed, though there may be no sufficient proof of its practical success. the propeller to be worked by this novel engine was of course his long-idle screw. _steam engines, st february, ._ "now know ye, that in compliance with the said proviso, i, the said richard trevithick, do declare that the essential points in my improved steam-engine, for which i claim to be the first and true inventor, are:-- "firstly, the placing of the boiler within the condenser, in order to obtain the additional security of the strength of the condenser to prevent mischief in case the boiler should burst, and also by the same arrangement to conveniently make the condenser, with a very extensive surface, enabling me to condense the steam without injecting water into it. "secondly, the enclosing of the condenser in an air or water vessel, by which the intention of safety from explosion is further provided for, and my engine really rendered what i denominate it, a high-pressure safety engine. "thirdly, the condensing of the steam in the condenser by means of a current of cold air or cold water forced against the outsides of the condenser. "fourthly, the returning of the condensed steam from the condenser back again into the boiler, to the end that sediment and concretion in the boiler may be prevented; and, "fifthly, the blowing of the fire with the air after it has been heated by condensing the steam. "in forming my improved steam-engine i employ several or all of these points according to convenience, in combination with the other necessary parts of steam-engines in common use. "these, my essential points, will admit of various modifications as to form and proportions such as must be and are quite familiar to every competent steam-engine manufacturer, and therefore it will be sufficient for the perfect description of my improved steam-engine that i explain some of the modes of forming and combining the essential points of my invention with the other parts of steam-engines in common use. in my most favourite form of engine in which i condense by a current of cold air, the fire-place and flue, the boiler, the condenser, and the air-vessel, are made of six concentric tubes, standing in an upright position. the inner or first tube forms the fire-place and flue, and at the same time the inner side of the boiler. this tube is conical, having its small end upwards. the next or second tube is cylindrical, about inches larger in diameter than the lower end of the first tube, and forms the outside of the boiler, leaving a space all round of about inches at the bottom, and so much more at the top, as the flue is taper for holding water and steam between the two tubes. the third tube is about inches larger in diameter than the second, in order to allow a space of about an inch for powdered charcoal or some other slow conductor of heat. this tube also constitutes the inner side of the air-vessel. the fourth tube is about inches larger than the third, and forms the inner side of the condenser. the fifth tube, about inches larger than the fourth, forms the outside of the condenser; and the sixth tube, about inches larger than the fifth, forms the outside of the air-vessel, and at the same time the outside of the whole of the generating and condensing apparatus, consisting of fire-place, flue, boiler, condenser, and air-vessel. these tubes are made of wrought-iron plates riveted together, and are all cylindrical, except the first, which is conical, the bottom or fire end being the largest. the first or inner tube is closed at bottom, but has an opening on one side near the bottom, through which the fire-bars are introduced, and the ashes and clinkers taken away. to this opening a neck-piece about inches long is riveted, having a flange to fit against the inside of the second tube, when the two tubes are concentric, through, the side of which second tube is an opening corresponding with that in the first tube, and the flanch is screwed to the second tube so as to make one opening through the sides of the two tubes. the second tube extends downwards about inches below the first tube, and has a flanch turning inwards, to which a second round plate of iron is screwed, forming the bottom of the boiler. the first tube has an external flanch at the top, and the second tube an internal flanch, both of the same height, and screwed to a cast-iron circular plate or cap-piece, which extends wide enough around the boiler to form also the cover for the air-vessel. this plate has a hole in the middle as large as the flue. the sides of the condenser and air-vessel are formed of four concentric tubes, each about inches larger than the one within it. the inner and outer of these tubes constitute the sides of the air-vessel, and are each furnished with an external flanch at the top by which they are screwed to the cap-piece. the two intermediate tubes constituting the sides of the condenser are riveted together at the top, leaving a space of about an inch between their upper ends and the cap-piece, so as to allow of a free communication over them between the outer and inner parts of the air-vessel. the inner tube of the air-vessel extends downwards about an inch below the boiler, and is closed by a flat plate screwed on to a flanch projecting inwards from the tube; the two tubes of the condenser descend about inches lower than the boiler. the inner tube has an internal flanch, to which a flat circular plate is screwed to close up the tube. the outer tube of the condenser is of the same length with the inner, and is provided with an external flanch about inches broad. the outer tube of the air-vessel has an external flanch inches broad, and is just long enough to come down upon the broad flanch of the condenser last described, and these two flanches are together bolted upon a bottom piece of cast iron, which is a dish of inches deep, and equal in diameter with the diameter of the outer tube, and having a flanch the same breadth as the flanch of the outer tube, and the bottom piece is secured to the air-vessel and outer tube of the condenser by bolts going through all the three flanches. an opening is made through the sides of all the four tubes of the condenser and air-vessel opposite to and as wide as the fire-place opening through the sides of the boiler. the upper part of both openings to be of the same height, but the outer opening is made as low as the bottom of the boiler, in order to allow room for a pipe to enter that part of the boiler for forcing the water into it, and also another pipe and cock for drawing off the water or sediment, in case foul water be used by accident or carelessness. these two openings through the condenser and air-vessel, and through the boiler, constitute one fire doorway through all the six tubes for access to the fire-place; a ring is placed between the two tubes of the condenser around the fire doorway, so as to cut off all communication of the steam in the condenser with the air in the doorway; another similar ring is placed between the condenser and the outer tube to prevent the escape of air into the fire doorway, and a half ring is placed in the lower part of the fire doorway between the condenser and the inner tube of the air-vessel, to prevent ashes from falling into the air-vessel, and yet allow a free passage for the air from the inner part of the air-vessel into the upper part of the fire doorway. these two rings and the half ring are secured in their places by rivets passing through all of them and through the tubes, and uniting all firmly together, the interstices being filled with iron cement. a ring is also placed between the boiler and the air-vessel around the fire doorway, against the outside of which ring the charcoal powder is tightly rammed, and will hold the ring in its place without the necessity of either rivets or screws. that part of the fire doorway which is above the fire-bars is supplied with an inner door, to shut the fire-place even with the outside of the boiler, and exclude all access of air to the fire, except through the grating. the whole of the fire doorway is enclosed by an outer door even with the outside of the air-vessel, to exclude all air, except that which comes through the air-vessel; a pipe is fixed in the bottom or dish-piece leading to a forcing pump to draw the water out of the condenser and force it into the bottom of the boiler through the pipe before described. a blowing cylinder of about ten times the content of the main cylinder is screwed against the outside of the air-vessel, and opposite to the two outlet valves of the blowing cylinder two apertures are made in the air-vessel, through which the air is forced in. the main cylinder of the engine, of the usual dimensions according to power wanted, is also screwed against the outside of the air-vessel high enough above the blowing cylinder to allow room for the main-crank shaft to work between them. the forcing pump before mentioned is also screwed to the outside of the air-vessel, and thus my improved steam-engine becomes more compact and convenient than any preceding steam-engine. for the purpose of supplying the boiler with distilled water, in case there should be a deficiency in it, a small vessel made of two upright tubes, one within the other, is placed on the cap-piece. the inner tube is of the same diameter as the flue, and forms a continuation of it. the outer tube is about inches larger than the inner, and the space at the top and bottom between the two tubes is closed by two ring-shaped pieces. this vessel may be about inches high; a cock is fixed in the top of this vessel, to which a bent pipe is fastened, leading to and united with a pipe which arises from the top of the condenser and passes through a hole in the cap-piece, and thus a communication between the supplying vessel and the condenser may be opened or shut at pleasure; another pipe, also furnished with a stop-cock, arises from the vessel, and communicates with a water-cistern to receive its supply of water when required; a third pipe, having a cock in it, opens into the vessel near the bottom to let out the sediment; a small cock to let the air out is also fixed in the top of the vessel, which cock may also be used for letting air out of the condenser. in order to supply the boiler with water by means of this vessel, the stop-cock leading to the condenser is shut, and that leading to the cistern is opened, and at the same time the air-cock is opened to allow the air to escape that the water may fill the vessel. when the vessel is nearly full of water, the air-cock and the cock from the cistern are shut, and that in the pipe leading to the condenser is opened. the water being then heated by the flue is converted into steam, which, passing into the condenser, is there reduced to water again, leaving the sediment or salt in the supplying vessel, which sediment or salt may be occasionally blown out through the bottom pipe by filling the vessel with, water, shutting the water, steam, and air cocks, and opening the cock of the outlet pipe at a time when the steam in the vessel is strong. but the supply of water from the condenser being always equal to that converted into steam and used in the engine, there is no tendency to a variation in the height of the water in the boiler, except there be leakage or waste of steam in some part of the engine. an upright glass tube, having an iron tube of communication with the lower part of the boiler and another iron tube of communication to the upper part of the boiler, is conveniently placed against the outside of the air-vessel to indicate at all times the height of the water in the boiler; as is usual in steam-boilers, a valve is placed on the top of the air-vessel to allow of the escape of a portion of the air in case that the quality of the fuel should not require so much air for perfect combustion as the steam requires for good condensation. the degree of the condensation of the steam may be increased at pleasure, by increasing the velocity of the air passing into and through the air-vessel. the other parts of my improved steam-engine, such as the steam-pipes, the throttle-valve, the safety-valve, the vacuum-valve, the working valves, crank, connecting rods, cross-heads, pistons, piston-rods, and various other minor parts common to engines in general use may be made in the usual forms, and placed in the most convenient situations; they cannot, therefore, need any description. when it is intended to use water for condensing instead of air, my improved steam-engine must be made as before directed, except that the communication between the air-vessel and the fire-place must be closed, which may be done by a perfect ring of iron surrounding the opening leading to the fire-place, instead of the half ring before described, and a forcing pump must be employed to draw water from a reservoir, and force it into the vessel which i have hereinbefore denominated the air-vessel, but which in this mode of working would more properly bear the name of water-vessel. in this case a blowing cylinder, the dimensions of which must be calculated according to the quality of the fuel to be used, may be worked to blow the fire through a pipe leading into the ash-pit. this, however, will not be necessary where there is a chimney high enough to create a strong draught. in respect to proportions, my improved steam-engine admits of considerable latitude, and it will be sufficient direction to any practical engineer to say that for engines working with steam of lbs. to the inch, used expansively till it be nearly reduced to atmospheric strength and then condensed, a -horse engine may have a fire-place of inches diameter, the flue at the top inches diameter, and a boiler of feet high; a -horse engine, a fire-place of inches diameter, a flue of inches diameter, and a boiler of feet high. in boat-engines, and in other cases where height cannot be allowed, the diameter must be increased. the thickness of the two tubes constituting the boiler sides of a -horse engine may be / th of an inch, that of a -horse a quarter of an inch, and so in proportion for engines of other power. the tubes constituting the condenser and inner tube of the air-vessel may in all cases be / th of an inch thick. the outer tube may be / ths of an inch thick, to afford stability to the working cylinder, the blowing cylinder, and the forcing pump fastened to this tube, and as an ultimate perfect barrier against explosion. the respective distances of the other tubes constituting the outside of the boiler, the condenser, and air-vessel, will be the same as hereinbefore given, and therefore their diameters will depend upon the diameter of the fire-place. the cap-piece in small engines may be half an inch thick, and in large engines an inch. the bottom of the ash-pit and bottom of the boiler must have about half an inch of thickness for every foot diameter, or they may be cast with ribs to afford equivalent strength. the fuel is supplied through a door in the flue, at the top of the boiler, consisting of coke or coals the least liable to swell with heat. the flue may be filled to about one-third of the height of the boiler, and the water fill about three-fourths of the boiler, leaving one-fourth for steam. "having clearly explained my improved steam-engine so that any person competent to make a steam-engine can from this description understand my invention and carry the same into effect in as beneficial a manner as myself, i proceed to observe that the extreme safety of my improved steam-engine will be seen, from considering that in case the boiler should explode inwards into the flue, the power of the steam would be first reduced by filling the flue and fire-place, and could not escape through the chimney and fire doorway faster than it would diffuse itself and be condensed by mixing with the surrounding air, and thus lose all its force. but should the outside of the boiler burst, part of the force of the steam would be spent in filling up the interstices between the particles of the charcoal, and would then probably be too weak to effect a breach through the inner tube of the air-vessel; and should such a second breach be effected, the space within the air-vessel would allow the steam to expand and partly condense, and a portion to escape into and through the fire doorway, where it would divide itself, and proceed harmlessly up the flue, and out at the doorway; so that the outer case being a reserve of strength, would to a certainty withstand the force remaining in the steam after the before-mentioned successive reductions of power." the patent of february, , perfects the sketch in his letter of july th, , which in its turn made more perfect the plans put into practice in , just before leaving england for america.[ ] the prejudice against the use of his high-pressure steam-engine he tried to meet by calling it "a high-pressure safety engine." the boiler was of six wrought-iron upright tubes, one within the other. the inner one was the fire-tube, surrounded by a tube of larger diameter, forming the water and steam space. this was again surrounded by another tube, inches larger in diameter, the space being filled with charcoal or other non-conductor of heat; another tube, inches more in diameter, formed the inner circle of the condenser, having an inch space for the passage of cold air from the blowing cylinder, carrying the heat from the condensing steam back to the fire-place. still another tube, inches more in diameter, giving a space into which the used steam from the cylinder passed to be condensed. then came the outside tube, inches more in diameter, forming a second space for the passage of air, taking heat from the condenser into the fire. the steam-boiler had its heat retained by a coating of charcoal; next to it came a current of cold air an inch thick, carrying back to the fire any heat that had passed through the charcoal coat, and also the heat from the inner surface of the condenser. then came the inch-thick circle of steam, on its exit from the cylinder, to be condensed; and finally an outside circle of cold air, performing the same functions as the inner circle in condensing the steam and carrying its heat back again to the fire. [footnote : see trevithick's letters, july th, , vol. ii., p. , and th, vol. i., p. ; and th may, vol. i., p. ; and patent of , vol. i., p. .] the object or principle of this engine was to avoid the loss of heat, and the necessity for either condensing water or feed-water, as described in the letter and drawing of august th, , but the detail was changed, mainly to facilitate construction. as in practice it might be impossible to fully attain those objects, preparation was made to get rid of the salt from such water as might be required as feed-water to make good the loss from leakage or other defects in the working of marine steam-engines. the specification states: "for the purpose of supplying the boiler with distilled water, in case there should be a deficiency in it, a small vessel made of two upright tubes, one within the other, is placed on the cap-piece. the inner tube is of the same diameter as the flue, and forms a continuation of it. the water being heated by the flue is converted into steam, which, passing into the condenser, is there reduced to water again, leaving the sediment or salt in the supplying vessel." where water condensation was preferred the surface-air condenser could be converted into a surface-water condenser by a current of cold water in place of the air; in which case the air from the blowing cylinder was taken direct in to the fire-place or other means used for giving the necessary draught. steam of about lbs. to the inch was to be so expansively worked as at the finish of the stroke, on its escape to the condenser, to be no more than atmospheric pressure, or lbs. to the inch--just the strength with which watt preferred to commence his work in the cylinder. the most prominent feature in trevithick's numerous modifications of the steam-engine was the boiler. in the 'life of watt,' though his commentators have been numerous and eminent, little or nothing is said about the boiler or the steam pressure. he left that all-important part of the steam-engine just as he found it, resisting the increase of steam pressure, which was the mainspring of trevithick's engine. the boiler of the high-pressure engines of [ ] sheltered the steam-cylinder from cold; and the used steam from the cylinder circulated around the exterior of the boiler, on its way to the blast-pipe, while the condensed portion was returned as feed-water in the patent engine of .[ ] in he proposed to force air into the fire-place, hoping thereby to reduce the amount of heat lost by the chimney.[ ] his various forms of tubular boilers, as at the herland mine,[ ] and at dolcoath,[ ] and the upright multitubular boilers patented in .[ ] followed up in . "i shall have a small portable engine finished here next week, and will try to heat steam independent of water, in small tubes of iron, on its passage from the boiler to the cylinder, and also try cold sides for condensing." in a simple boiler and condenser composed of three tubes was made, the inner or fire-tube being feet in diameter and feet long, "for the express purpose of experimenting on the working the same steam and water over and over again;"[ ] and on the same subject, "by making the condenser of -inch copper tubes / nd of an inch thick, it would stand in one-twentieth part of the space of the boiler:"[ ] and finally the sketch of the tubular boiler and tubular condenser of , in its boiler portion similar to the best portable boilers of the present day, and the patent specification of . surely therefore to him belongs the credit of having invented and perfected the tubular boiler and surface condenser. [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see patent specification, vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see trevithick's letter, th jan., , vol. ii., p. .] [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] [footnote : see chap. xx.] [footnote : see trevithick's letters, th july, , vol. ii., p. ; and th and th may, vol. i., pp. , .] [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] smiles has written:[ ]-- [footnote : see 'life of george stephenson,' by smiles, p. ; published .] "for many years previous to this period ( ), ingenious mechanics had been engaged in attempting to solve the problem of the best and most economical boiler for the production of high-pressure steam. various improvements had been suggested and made in the trevithick boiler, as it was called, from the supposition that mr. trevithick was its inventor. but mr. oliver evans, of pennsylvania, many years before employed the same kind of boiler, and as he did not claim the invention, the probability is that it was in use before his time. the boiler in question was provided with an internal flue, through which the heated air and flames passed, after traversing the length of the under side of the boiler, before entering the chimney. "this was the form of boiler adopted by mr. stephenson in his killingworth engine, to which he added the steam-blast with such effect. we cannot do better than here quote the words of mr. robert stephenson on the construction of the 'rocket' engine:--'after the opening of the stockton and darlington, and before that of the liverpool and manchester railway, my father directed his attention to various methods of increasing the evaporative power of the boiler of the locomotive engine. amongst other attempts, he introduced tubes (as had before been done in other engines)--small tubes containing water, by which the heating surface was materially increased. two engines with such tubes were constructed for the st. etienne railway, in france, which was in progress of construction in the year ; but the expedient was not successful; the tubes became furred with deposit, and burned out. "'other engines, with boilers of a variety of construction, were made, all having in view the increase of the heating surface, as it then became obvious to my father that the speed of the engine could not be increased without increasing the evaporative power of the boiler. increase of surface was in some cases obtained by inserting two tubes, each containing a separate fire, into the boiler; in other cases the same result was obtained by returning the same tube through the boiler; but it was not until he was engaged in making some experiments, during the progress of the liverpool and manchester railway, in conjunction with mr. henry booth, the well-known secretary of the company, that any decided movement in this direction was effected, and that the present multitubular boiler assumed a practicable shape. it was in conjunction with mr. booth that my father constructed the 'rocket' engine. "'in this instance, as in every other important step in science or art, various claimants have arisen for the merit of having suggested the multitubular boiler as a means of obtaining the necessary heating surface. whatever may be the value of their respective claims, the public, useful, and extensive application of the invention must certainly date from the experiments made at rainhill. m. seguin, for whom engines had been made by my father some few years previously, states that he patented a similar multitubular boiler in france several years before. a still prior claim is made by mr. stevens, of new york, who was all but a rival to mr. fulton in the introduction of steamboats on the american rivers. it is stated that as early as he used the multitubular boiler. "'these claimants may all be entitled to great and independent merit; but certain it is, that the perfect establishment of the success of the multitubular boiler is more immediately due to the suggestion of mr. henry booth, and to my father's practical knowledge in carrying it out.' "we may here briefly state that the boiler of the 'rocket' was cylindrical, with flat ends, feet in length, and feet inches in diameter. the upper half of the boiler was used as a reservoir for the steam, the lower half being filled with water. through the lower part twenty-five copper tubes of inches diameter extended, which were open to the fire-box at one end and to the chimney at the other. the fire-box, or furnace, feet wide and feet high, was attached immediately behind the boiler, and was also surrounded with water." stephenson knew of trevithick's patent of ,[ ] in which a three-tubed boiler is shown; and it was after that time that oliver evans and fulton tried their experiments, and also the numerous engines with single or return double tube, at work in the principal towns of england prior to ,[ ] and near his residence in childhood and in manhood.[ ] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see trevithick's letter, sept. rd, , vol. ii., p. .] [footnote : mr. armstrong's note, vol. i., p. .] george stephenson's killingworth boiler, "to which he added the steam-blast with such effect," was a copy of trevithick's boiler and blast, working since in newcastle-on-tyne, and was precisely the boiler described by stephenson; "in other cases the same result was obtained by returning the same tube through the boiler." this is an admission from stephenson that trevithick's patent boiler was the best in use up to about . a further proof of the indirect public gain from the use of trevithick's return-tube boiler over a period of thirty years is their having supplied high-pressure expansive steam in the first experiments made with such steam by the admiralty, at whose request mr. rennie and others examined the duty of the cornish high-pressure expansive engine, and captain king, r.n., in charge of the admiralty department at falmouth in , gave an order to harvey and co. to construct high-pressure steam-boilers for the government vessel 'echo'; in the machinery was put on board the 'echo' in the government dockyard at plymouth, and included three of trevithick's return-tube boilers, made of wrought iron, each feet inches in diameter and feet long, with internal return fire-tube feet inches in diameter. the fire-place end of the boiler was feet inches deep by feet inches wide, to give room for the fire-place and ash-pit. the steam pressure was lbs. on the inch above the atmosphere, worked by double-beat valves, inches in diameter, with expansive gear. this new machinery was fixed under the superintendence of the writer, after which the government engineers took charge of the vessel, and the writer who had, as the mechanic in charge, worked like a slave, though receiving but _s._ _d._ a day and expenses, was not invited to take any part in the experimental trials, nor ever heard of the result except in the ordinary rumours of admiralty bungling on board the 'echo.' those boilers were similar to the trevithick boiler that had served the locomotive in newcastle and elsewhere from to , the first steamboat experiments in england, in scotland, and in america, and the numerous high-pressure engines then at work. [illustration: bottle-neck boiler.] the enlarging the fire-place end of boilers or fire-tubes has led to many forms. trevithick's model of [ ] had an oval tube giving a greater spread of fire-*bars; the same is seen in the steamboat;[ ] the dolcoath boilers of [ ] show the oval and also the bottle-neck fire-tube; the welsh locomotive of [ ] had the fire-tube contracted at its bend or return portion; the tredegar puddling-mill fire-tube of [ ] tapered gradually from the fire-bridge to the chimney end; in the london locomotive of [ ] the fire-tube took the bottle-neck shape close to the fire-bridge. the accompanying sketch shows the bottle-neck contraction, only on the top and sides of the fire-tube was to give breadth to the fire-bars _d_, and thickness to the fire at bridge _c_, after which the flue portion of the fire-tube was contracted: this boiler was for many years a favourite in cornwall. the bottle-neck contraction of the 'echo' boiler was similar to the above, except that the enlargement of the fire-place was downwards instead of upwards, and the fire-tube, instead of going through the end of the boiler, returned to near the enlarged fire-place, when it passed out through the side of the boiler to the chimney, just as in the tredegar puddling-mill boiler; all those variations were with the object of increasing the fire-grate, and at the same time keeping down the gross size and weight of boiler and its water. [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] in , lord melville failed to keep his appointment with trevithick, on his proposal to construct a high-pressure steamboat.[ ] rennie, a pupil and friend of watt, and familiar with trevithick's high-pressure steam-dredgers on the thames, was employed by lord melville and the admiralty on the plymouth breakwater, where in trevithick proposed the use of his high-pressure steam locomotive and boring engine.[ ] in rennie wrote to watt, that the admiralty had at last decided upon having a steamer; at that time fifteen years had passed since trevithick's offer to propel the admiralty by steam-puffers, and ten years more were to pass before they could make up their minds to venture on high-pressure steam from his boilers. the steam users' association are equally hesitating, judging from words just spoken by an engineer, the son of an engineer:-- [footnote : see trevithick's letter, th jan., , vol. i., p. .] [footnote : ibid., vol. ii., p. .] "sir william fairbairn said he had come to the conclusion, after many years' experience, that it was in their power to economize the present expenditure of fuel by a system which might not be altogether in accordance with the views of the members of the association or the public at large, and that was to increase the pressure of steam. he would have great pleasure in stating a few facts which might some day tend to bring about a change, if not a new era, in the use of steam. from the result of a series of experimental researches in which he had been engaged for several years on the density, force, and temperature of steam, he had become convinced that in case we were ever to attain a large economy of fuel in the use of steam, it must be at greatly-increased pressure, and at a rate of expansion greatly enlarged from what it was at present. already steam users had effected a saving of one-half the coal consumed by raising the pressure from lbs. and lbs.--the pressure at which engines were worked forty years ago--to lbs., or in some cases as high as lbs. on the square inch."[ ] [footnote : 'the engineer,' march th, : remarks by the chairman at a meeting of the manchester steam users' association.] dear me! would have been trevithick's exclamation had he read this; did i devote my whole life to the making known the advantages of high-pressure steam, and did i, seventy years ago,[ ] really work expansive steam of lbs. on the inch in the presence of many of the leading engineers of the day! of course this short extract of a speech made by a member of a practical society, may not be taken as conveying fully the speaker's views, but it illustrates the immense difficulty trevithick encountered in making his numerous plans acceptable to the public. [footnote : see trevithick's letter, august th, , vol. i., p. .] another modern statement bearing on inventions originating with trevithick, but wearing new garbs with new names, shows the same tendency to ignore old friends, or, to say the least of it, to pass them by:-- "the trial of no. steam-pinnace was made at portsmouth yesterday. her peculiarity consists in the arrangement of her propelling machinery, in the adaptation of the outside surface condenser, and a vertical boiler, both patented by mr. alexander crichton. the condenser is simply a copper pipe passing out from the boat on one quarter at the garboard strake, and along the side of the keel, returning along the keel on the opposite side, and re-entering the boat on that quarter. the boiler is designed for boats fitted with condensing engines, and which, therefore, are without the acceleration of draught given by the exhausted steam being discharged into the funnel. it is of the vertical kind, and stands on a shallow square tank, which forms the hot well. the tubes are horizontal over the fire, the water circulating through them. the condensed steam is pumped into the well at a temperature of °, and being there subjected to the heat radiating from the furnace, is pumped back into the boilers at nearly boiling point. it is estimated that, under these conditions, the pinnace would run for nearly hours without having to 'blow off' or carry a supply of fresh water, the waste water being made good by sea water."[ ] [footnote : 'the times,' november th, .] the peculiarity of this steam-pinnace of , on which a patent was granted, is stated to be a metal surface condenser exposed to the cold water at the bottom of the boat, returning the condensed steam at about boiling temperature to the boiler, and a vertical boiler with horizontal tubes through which the water circulates, both of which in principle, if not in detail, are seen in the surface condenser of trevithick's iron-bottom ship of , and his vertical boiler of ,[ ] and further illustrated in the inventions spoken of in this and the following chapter; and yet on so all-important a subject, dealt with in various ways by trevithick from to , his plans are reproduced as discoveries in . [footnote : see vol. i., pp. , , .] about , mr. rennie, mr. henwood, and others, reported on the advantages of high-pressure expansive steam in wheal towan engine,[ ] on the north cliffs of cornwall, near wheal seal-hole mine on st. agnes head, where in trevithick had worked his first high-pressure steam-puffer engine in competition with the watt low-pressure steam-vacuum engine. captain andrew vivian was then his companion, and the cow and calf, two rocks of unequal size, a mile from the land, were from that time called captain dick and captain andrew, or the man and his man, and there they still remain in the atlantic waves, fit emblems of their namesakes and their still living inventions. the stir made by those expansive trials led to the experiment in the 'echo,' of which mr. henwood[ ] thus speaks:-- [footnote : see mr. henwood's report, vol. ii., p. .] [footnote : residing at penzance, .] "captain william king, r.n., superintendent of the packet station at falmouth, attempted to impress on viscount melville, then first lord of the admiralty, the advantage of using high-pressure steam expansively in the royal navy, to whom lord melville replied that he had been taught by his friend, the late mr. rennie, that the danger attending such a course was very great, and that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to persuade him to the contrary." [illustration: captain dick and captain andrew, or the man and his man. [w. j. welch.]] twenty-five years of precept and example caused the admiralty to follow suit, and to request mr. ward, a cornish engineer, to construct boilers and expansive valves for the government steamboat 'echo.' the writer was entrusted with fixing the machinery in the vessel at the plymouth dockyard, and before starting with it from harvey and co.'s foundry, waited on captain king, r.n., at falmouth, for his instructions, in happy ignorance of the fear of the lords of the admiralty to tread on cornish high-pressure. after eying the applicant as captains in her majesty's service are apt to do when dealing with boys in the civil service, he vouchsafed to say, "mind, young man, what you are about, for if there is a blow up, by ---- you'll swing at the yard-arm." chapter xxvii. heating apparatus--marine steam-engines--reform column. "lauderdale house, highgate, "mr. gilbert, "_march st, _. "sir,--i have to apologize for my neglect in not calling on you, but ill-health prevented it. i left home on the th february, arrived in town on the th, and remained there until the th, when i was compelled to leave for this place, having a free good air. i am now taking, twice a day, the flowers of zinc, from which i hope to be soon right again. i am much better, but afraid to enter the city. i hope to be able to call on you before the end of this week, being very anxious to see you, having a great deal to communicate respecting the experiments i have been making, which will bear out to the full our expectations. "your hot-house apparatus has been finished nearly three months, all but two or three days' work to fit the parts together; i expect that before this they are in penzance, waiting a ship for london. while making a sketch of your work for the founder, a thought struck me that rooms might be better heated by hot water than by either steam or fire, and i send to you my thoughts on it, with a sketch for your consideration. i find that steam-pipes applied to heat cotton factories, with surface foot of steam-pipe, heat cubic feet of space to degrees. i also found in germany, where all the rooms are heated by cast-iron pipes about the heat of steam, that foot of external flue heated cubic feet of space to degrees. "i find also that about surface feet of steam-engine cylinder-case will condense about as much steam as will produce gallons of water per hour, and will consume about bushels in twenty-four hours to keep the temperature of degrees. one bushel of coal will raise the temperature of lbs. of water from to degrees. "a boiler, as the drawing, will contain lbs. of water, and consume one-third of a bushel of coal to raise the water from to degrees. it has surface feet of hot sides giving out its heat. the -inch fire-tube in the boiler would raise the temperature to degrees in about forty minutes. by these proofs it appears that feet of surface steam sides will require bushel of coal every twenty-four hours to keep up the boiling heat; therefore this boiler, having surface feet, would give out the heat from one-third of a bushel of coal in twelve hours. "now suppose this charge of heat required to be thrown off in either more or less than twelve hours, the circular curtain would adjust the heat and time for extracting it. [illustration: hot-water room-warmer.] "by the foregoing this coal and surface sides would heat to degrees for twelve hours a space of cubic feet, equal to a room of feet square and feet high. if this boiler was placed in a room with a chimney, its water could be heated by having a small shifting wrought-iron chimney-tube of inches diameter and or feet long attached to the end of the boiler while it was getting up steam, after which it might be removed, and the doors at both ends of the boiler closed; and as the boiler contains and retains its heat for twelve hours, more or less, it might be run on its wheels to any fire-place or chimney to get charged with heat, and then run into any room, where there was no chimney, or into bed-rooms, offices, or public buildings; it would be free from risk, not having either steam or loose fire. the circular curtain, being fast to a wood table, would by being drawn up or down adjust the required heat and hide the boiler, and would be warm and comfortable to sit at. i think this plan would save three-quarters of the coal at present consumed; the expense of the boiler will not exceed l. when you have taken it into consideration, please to write me your opinion. "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, "rd. trevithick. "p.s.--boiler, feet diameter, feet long; fire-tube, inches diameter, placed in the boiler, the same as my old boilers, made of iron plates / th of an inch thick, weighing about cwt. "i had a summons to attend at guildhall last saturday on the coal trade, and was requested to attend a committee at westminster for the same purpose, in consequence of my applying small engines to discharge ships. "i attended, but with difficulty, from my ill-health." trevithick was not above scheming for his friend's hot-house, warming it by a boiler on wheels, in form like his high-pressure steam-boiler. rooms had before been heated by steam or hot air in pipes; but he thought a more simple and economical plan was to heat a certain quantity of water to boiling heat at any convenient place having a chimney, or in the open air, and then wheel the apparatus into the room to be warmed. if the room had a chimney, the fire could be kept up, or the temporary iron connecting chimney be removed and the apparatus wheeled into the middle of the room and used as a table. the scheme promised to be successful, for in a letter nine months after the former he wrote that he had taken a patent for france, where it had made a great bustle among the scientific class, for coal in paris was _s._ a hundredweight; some hot-water room-heaters were the following day to be forwarded from london to paris; while the numerous orders were more than he could execute. one in use at the 'george and vulture' tavern, of a gothic shape, handsomely ornamented with brass, about two-thirds the size of the one in mr. gilbert's hot-house, burns lbs. of coal a day, keeping the room at degrees of heat during fifteen hours. the rage amongst the ladies was to have them handsomely ornamented. believing that they would be remunerative, he applied for the following english patent in february, . [illustration: plate . heating apparatus. london: e & f.n. spon, . charing gross. kell bros. lith. london.] _apparatus for heating apartments. st february, ._ "now know ye, that in compliance with the said proviso, i, the said richard trevithick, do hereby declare that the nature of my said invention of a method or apparatus for heating apartments, and the manner in which the same is to be carried into effect, is shown by the following drawings and description, where fig. , plate xvi., represents a longitudinal vertical section through the middle of a metallic vessel capable of containing a considerable quantity of water, with a fire-place in the inside, surrounded with water in all parts except at the doorway and at an opening where the smoke may pass off into a common chimney. fig. , a vertical section near the fire-door, at right angles to the section shown at fig. ; with the sections are also shown wheels and handles, which lie out of the planes of the sections. the letters of reference indicate the same parts in both figures, _a_, the vessel; _b_, the space for containing the water; _c_, the fire-place; _d_, the fire-bars, or grating; _e_, the ash-pit; _f_, an inner door, to prevent the air from entering over the fire, yet allow it to pass into the ash-pit, and thence up to the fire through the grating; _g_, an outer door, to be shut when the fire is to be extinguished; _h_, a chimney or flue, to convey the smoke into a common chimney: this flue may be removed when the water boils, and then the opening of the flue may be shut, to keep in the heat, either by a door or by a plug fitting the opening; _k_, the cover of the vessel, having a rim all round, within which iron cement is to be driven to make the vessel steam-tight; _l_, a hole in the middle of the cover, into which a plug is dropped having a fluted stem and a flat head ground steam-tight upon the cover; this plug or valve is for the purpose of allowing the escape of steam if it should be raised above boiling point, and the valve is taken out when it may be necessary to pour water into the vessel; _m_, four wheels, on which the vessel may be easily removed from one room to another; _n_, two handles, to facilitate the removal. to use this apparatus for the warming of an apartment, the vessel is nearly filled with water, and placed so near to a chimney in another room, if more convenient, that the flue-piece _h_ may convey away the smoke; a fire is then lighted upon the grating _d_, and continued till the water boils, when the flue-piece is taken away, and the flue opening stopped with the plug or door, and also the outer fire-door closed. in this state the apparatus is drawn into the apartment to be warmed, where it will continue for many hours to give off a most agreeable heat without any of that offensive odour usually experienced from stoves heated by an enclosed fire. figs. , , , and represent another form of my apparatus for heating churches or other large buildings. fig. , a vertical section, from a to b, of figs. and , with a representation of the flue and its flanch, which lie beyond that section and the fire doorway and its flanch, which lie nearer, and also the four wheels, two of which are on each side of the section. fig. , a horizontal section, from e to f, of figs. and . fig. , a horizontal section, from g to h, of figs. and , with a view of the four handles situated at a higher level than the section, and of the fire-bars at a lower level; the same letters of reference signify the same parts in all the four figures, _a_, the outer case of the water-vessel; _b_, the cover; _c_, the space for water; _d_, the fire-place and flue; _e_, the fire-bars, made in two pieces, to be introduced through the fire doorway; _f_, the ash-pit; _g_, the fire-door; _h_, pipes open at top and bottom, cemented into holes in the bottom, and in the cover of the water-vessel; these pipes are to admit a current of air up through them, in order the more speedily to carry the heat into the building; _k_, the aperture in the cover, to supply the vessel with water, and the plug to keep in the steam; _l_, four wheels, on which the whole is moved, each wheel revolving in a recess cast in the bottom of the outer case, as represented by dotted lines in figs. and ; _m_, four handles; _n_, the flanches of the fire doorway and of the flue, represented in fig. by dotted lines. a pipe to communicate with a chimney while the water is being heated must be made to suit locality, and therefore cannot require any description. this apparatus can be heated in a vestry room, and the fire-door and flue closed and then wheeled into the church, where it will soon diffuse a most comfortable warmth; or the heat may be kept up while standing in its place by having a constant communication with a chimney, and thus diffuse a much more salubrious heat than can be obtained by metallic or earthen stoves heated immediately by the fire." it is doubtful if the profits he received from the heating apparatus covered the cost of the patent. the first stove was not unlike his first locomotive boiler. the more highly-finished stove resembled the marine tubular boiler, also of former years, in the further application of which we now follow him. "mr. gilbert, "hayle, _january th, _. "sir,--since i have been down i have made a small portable engine, and set it to work on board a coal-ship for discharging the cargo; it is very manageable, and discharges tons with bushel of coal, without any person to attend it, there being a string that the man in the hold draws when the coal-basket is hooked, which is again drawn by the man who lands the basket on the deck; the string turns and re-turns the engine. it is near a ton weight, but as i find it double the power required, i am now making a smaller one, - / feet high and - / feet diameter, about cwt. "i intend this engine to warp the ship, pump it, cook the victuals, take in and out the cargo, and do all the hard work. the captains are very anxious to get them on board every ship. i think that an engine of cwt. would propel their ships four miles an hour over and above the other work of the ship, and would neither be so heavy or take so much room as their present cooking house and furnace. i think that two iron paddles, one on each side of the rudder, under the stern, would do this very well; they would be in dead water, and out of the swell of the sea, and by being deep in the water would have a good resistance. two paddles, each about feet deep and feet wide, would do this, without their rising out of the water; therefore their stroke would be nearly horizontal. the return stroke would be in the water. thus, let the paddle stand perpendicular in the water, two-fifths of its width on one side, and three-fifths on the other side, the centre, which would turn its edge to the water on its back stroke, and its flat to the water on the forward stroke; it would be light, and out of the way of anything. i have a patent now going through the office for all this, which will also cover the new principle of returning the heat back again, as already described to you. the engine for drawing in holland will be ready about the end of february, and by that time i shall have a complete portable engine ready for london for discharging, when i shall be in town. [illustration: boat and propeller.] "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, "rd. trevithick. "p.s.--wheal towan engine is working with three boilers, all of the same size, and the strong steam from the boilers to the cylinder-case; the boilers are so low as to admit the condensed water to run back from the case again into the boiler. they find that this water is sufficient to feed one of these boilers without any other feed-water; therefore one-third of the steam generated must be condensed by the cold sides of the cylinder-case, and this agrees with the experiments i sent to you from binner downs. wheal towan engine has an -inch cylinder, and requires bushels of coal in twenty-four hours; therefore the cylinder-case must in condensing high-pressure steam use bushels of coal in twenty-four hours. boulton and watt's case for a -inch cylinder, working with low-pressure steam, condensed only - / bushels of coal in equal time, the proportions of surface being as to in wheal towan. nearly five times the quantity was condensed of high steam than of low steam, proving that there is a theory yet unaccounted for." trevithick's portable high-pressure steam-puffer engine, when it discharged the first cargo of coal from a vessel at hayle, was worked by the writer; it stood on the wharf near the ship, and on a signal from the hold, steam was turned on, raising rapidly the basket of coal the required height. in trying how quickly the work could be done the hook missed the basket-rope, and caught the man under the chin, swinging him high in the air, much to the engineman's discomfiture. fortunately the suspended man had the good sense to lay hold of the rope above his head, and so supporting his weight, no great harm was done. the object and the means were the revival of the nautical labourer of twenty years before.[ ] the boiler was a wrought-iron barrel on its end, on small wheels, with internal fire-tube, in shape like the boiler of the recoil engine of ;[ ] but less high in proportion to its diameter. the cylinder was let down into the top of the boiler, and like newcomen's atmospheric engine had no cylinder cover. the piston-rod was a rack giving motion to a small pinion fixed on a shaft on the top of the boiler, and to a large grooved wheel, around which was wound the whip-rope from the vessel's hold; a brake-lever enabled the engineman either to stop or to reduce the speed. four months prior to the date of this letter he had sent a written offer to the common council of the city of london, offering to provide engines to discharge all coal-ships for the saving he would effect in six months, or he would supply an engine and boxes complete for guineas. he at the same time suggested that in place of the baskets holding bushel, iron boxes on wheels, holding bushels, with a spring steelyard attached, should be used with his steam-engine, giving the exact weight without delay. he seems to have forgotten his nautical labourer patented twenty years before;[ ] but yet reproduced something very similar. [footnote : see chapters xiv. and xv.] [footnote : see trevithick's letter, th may, , vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see vol. i., p. , and patent, , vol. i., p. .] every trading vessel was recommended to carry at least a -cwt. high-pressure steam-puffer engine, suitable for warping, pumping, and discharging cargo; but a -cwt. engine, not occupying more room than a caboose, would in addition cook for the crew, and propel the vessel at three or four miles an hour. two iron paddles, like the duck's feet described to his binner downs friends many years before,[ ] were to be fixed on an iron shaft across the stern of the vessel, receiving from the engine a motion like a pendulum. each duck's foot was an iron plate feet deep and feet wide, turning partly round on its iron leg, to which it was attached as a vane, about foot of its width on one side of its leg, and feet on the other side; when the leg and foot were drawn toward the vessel, the foot, turning on its leg as a centre, exposed its edge only to the water; on the reverse movement, the longer side like a vane turned round until its flat was opposed to the water, in which position it was kept by a catch until the return movement, so that when it propelled, its whole surface pressed against the water, and when moving in a contrary sense, only its edge offered resistance to the water. [footnote : see mr. newton's letter, vol. i., p. .] the writer has no record of the practical application of the duck's foot as a steamboat propeller; but the portable puffer-engine now pulls on board the fisherman's heavy nets, and the magnificent steamer 'adriatic' hoists her sails on iron yards and masts by six of those steam helps.[ ] [footnote : see 'illustrated news,' th april, .] twenty years before he had solicited the navy board to try his iron ships propelled by high-pressure steam-engines, and had shown their applicability as steam-dredgers; and again, shortly after his return from america, he pressed on their attention the same subject under new forms, followed by communications with their engineer, mr. rennie, and a proposal to place an engine in a boat at his own cost. the writer has attempted in this and the preceding chapter to classify trevithick's schemes, crowded together in those last years of his life, but the subjects so run into one another that the acts of twenty years before must be borne in mind to enable the more modern plans to be understood. the letter introducing the surface condenser, in , at the commencement of the former chapter, was in a month followed by that recommending a particular kind of paddle to be used as auxiliary steam-power, and after six months of experiments, by the patent of , and the following correspondence:-- "mr. gilbert, "lauderdale house, highgate, _june th, _. "sir,--yesterday i saw mr. george rennie, and he requested me to write to the admiralty, a copy of which i send both to you and to him, for your inspection. mr. rennie said there was a great deal contained in what i had stated to him, and that he would with pleasure forward my views, as far as he could with consistency. "i remain, sir, "your very humble servant, "richard trevithick." "to the right honourable the lords commissioners of the admiralty, &c., &c., &c. "my lords, "about one year since i had the honour of attending your honourable board, with proposed plans for the improvement of steam navigation; and as you expressed a wish to see it accomplished, i immediately made an engine of considerable power, for the express purpose of proving by practice what i then advanced in theory. the result has fully answered my expectations; therefore i now make the following propositions to your honourable board, that this entirely new principle and new mode may be fully demonstrated, on a sufficient scale for the use of the public. "i humbly request that your lordships will grant me the loan of a vessel of about two or three hundred tons burthen, in which i will fix, at my own expense and risk, an engine of suitable power to propel the same at the speed required. no alteration in the vessel will be necessary, and the whole apparatus required to receive its propelling force from the water can be removed and again replaced with the same facility as the sails, thus leaving the ship without any apparatus beyond its sides when propelled by wind alone, and when propelled by steam alone the apparatus outside the ship will receive scarcely any shock from the sea. "this new invention entirely removes the great objection of feeding the boiler with salt and foul water, and not one-sixth part of the room for fuel, or of weight of machinery now used, will be required; it is also much more simple and safe, not only for navigation, but for all other purposes where locomotive power is required, and will supersede all animal power, as the objections of weight, room, and difficulty of getting and of carrying water in locomotive engines is entirely removed. it will therefore prove an investigation of greater utility to the public than anything yet introduced. "i have to beg the great favour of your lordships appointing not only scientific but practical engineers to inspect my plans, that you may be perfectly satisfied of their utility, not only in theory, but also as to the practicability of carrying the same into full effect." the petition in june, , for the loan of a government hulk, hung fire up to january , when an attempt was made to move the lords commissioners of the admiralty by the force of numbers. "we, whose names are hereunto subscribed, have known mr. richard trevithick, of hale, in the county of cornwall, for a period of years, and during which time his conduct has merited our unqualified approbation. as an engineer of experience and eminence few, if any, can surpass him, and his present improvement of the steam-engine seems to outvie all others. we therefore, in justice to his talent, strongly recommend to the lords commissioners of the admiralty that he may be permitted, at his own costs and charges, to fit and make trial of his engine in one of his majesty's vessels. "dated in london this th day of january, ." this was sent to mr. davies gilbert, who on the same date suggested the following:-- "recommendation of mr. rd. trevithick, january , . "we have not any doubt or hesitation in recommending mr. richard trevithick as a man of extraordinary powers of mind, and of fertility of invention. "cornwall owes to him much of the improvements that have been made on mr. watt's engine--improvements that have reduced the consumption of coal to a third; nor have his exertions been confined to steam-engines alone. he now proposes to make the same water act over and over again by alternate expansion and contraction, which plan, if it succeeds, will be found of immense importance to vessels and locomotive engines. "understanding that mr. trevithick is desirous of making the experiment at his own expense, we clearly recommend that facilities may be afforded him."[ ] [footnote : in the handwriting of mr. davies gilbert.] this paltry question with the admiralty indirectly produced more trustworthy evidence of the great importance of trevithick's inventions than all that has been written of him under the professional terms engineers, and engineering. the names are not given of those who believed that he had, as an established fact, reduced the consumption of coal in the watt engine to one-third; they were not cornishmen, or they would not have misspelt the word hayle, but they understood the great value of using the same fresh water over and over again in marine steam-engines. mr. mills, who had taken an active part in the screw-propeller experiments in , was again interested in the proposed trial in a government ship, and wrote, "i have just left captain johnstone; he has communicated with faucett and co., barnes and miller, and with the firm of maudslay. he has had his mind disturbed again by maudslay about the greater quantity of water required to condense steam at higher temperatures; i repeated the same as yourself, about the cylinder full of steam, atmosphere strong; however, he appears quite different to what he was on friday." such a clique of professional friends would sink a stronger man than trevithick. a year or two from that time the writer designed a high-pressure steam-engine suitable for a steamboat, and on presenting it to the eminent marine-engine builders whom he served, was told that the lightness of the engine would cause less profit to the makers. their bills were based on the pounds weight delivered, and new designs necessitated new patterns and new troubles. it was unreasonable to expect those makers of marine steam-engines to report that trevithick knew better than they did. they knew of his screw-propeller experiments fifteen years before, but they in no way benefited him, and the admiralty captain was either a tool in their hands, or powerless without them. the primary object, when the loan of the ship was asked, was the using for marine purposes a high-pressure steam tubular boiler, combined with tubular condenser, supplying or returning its water as feed, thereby avoiding the use of salt water in the boiler; and this steam-engine, as shown in his patent of , was to be applied either to his screw, or his duck's foot, or other propeller; but during the year or two of suspense, other schemes for propelling ships had occupied his thoughts, resulting in the patent of . _steam-engines, ._ "now know ye, that in compliance with the said proviso, i, the said richard trevithick, do hereby declare the nature of my said invention, as regards the improvement or improvements on the steam-engine, to consist in interposing between the boiler and the working cylinder, in a situation to be strongly heated, a long pipe formed of a compact series of curved or bent pipes, which i denominate the dry pipes, or steam-expanding apparatus, through which dry pipes i cause the steam, after it has been generated in the boiler in contact and consequently saturated with water, to pass with very great velocity, in order that it may imbibe a copious supply of additional heat without any addition of water, and by this additional heat to be expanded into a greater bulk of steam, of about the same expansive force that it had acquired in the boiler, by which means i obtain a greater volume of steam for use in the working cylinder than the boiler alone would supply; and in order still further to augment this volume of steam, i place the working cylinder within a case constituting a part of the flue or chimney, that the cylinder may be kept considerably hotter than the steam employed in it by absorbing a great portion of the heat remaining in the flue after having heated the boiler and the dry pipes, which heat would otherwise pass away out of the top of the chimney and be wasted, but by this arrangement is converted into a useful power by further expanding the steam in the cylinder. "and i do further declare, that in carrying this part of my said improvement into effect, i do not find it necessary to confine myself to any particular form of boiler, or arrangement of pipes, in which the steam is to be heated; but by preference, as being very compact in form, and economical of fuel in using, i make my boiler of a number of upright pipes, standing upon and communicating with a tubular ring placed around and a little below the fire-grate; these pipes all surround the fire-place, except two or three, the lower ends of which are elevated above the fire-door, but connected at the bottom by a branch pipe united to one of the adjoining upright pipes, thereby leaving an opening or place of access to the fire. these pipes all extend upwards to the height of several feet, according to the quantity of steam required to be raised, combined with local convenience, for it is obvious that the power of this boiler to raise steam may be increased either by increase of the length of the pipes, of their diameters, or of their numbers. and i do lay upon the upper ends of the pipes hereinbefore described and connect with them a tubular ring similar to that upon which the pipes stand, the two rings and the upright pipes forming together a vessel in which water has free communication by means of the bottom ring to stand at the same level in all the pipes, and the steam has free communication to pass from all the pipes into the upper ring; and i do, for the sake of obtaining great heat, place my system of dry pipes over the fire, and within the circular row of upright pipes of the boiler hereinbefore described; and i form my dry pipes in pairs, each pair constituting the figure that is well understood by the term inverted syphon; and i unite several of these syphons together by short bent pipes at the top, so as to constitute one long zigzag pipe, through which the steam must successively pass down and up the alternate legs of each syphon with great velocity, necessary for the rapid absorption of heat in its passage from the boiler to the working cylinder of the engine, the working cock, valves, or slide of which being united by a pipe of communication with that leg which is last in the succession of syphons; and i unite the first in succession of these inverted syphons with the upper tubular ring of the boiler by means of a bent pipe, in which a throttle-valve or cock is placed in order to limit the supply of steam, that it may have space in the dry pipes and working cylinder to expand in proportion as it receives additional heat; and i fix a safety-valve in communication with the boiler, and another in communication with the dry pipes; and i place around outside the boiler, at a small distance from the upright pipes, two cylindrical casings, one within the other, and fill up the space between the two casings with sand, ashes, or other material which conducts heat but slowly; and i close up the upper end of the casings over the boiler and the dry pipes with a covering in the form of a dome, and out of this enclosure i make the flue to pass to and around the working cylinder of the engine, whence the flue carries the smoke and little remaining heat away in any convenient manner; and i make my boiler-pipes, rings, and casings by preference of iron or copper, and my dry pipes of copper or other strong metal not liable to rapid oxidation by heat when in contact with steam; and i supply my boiler with water by means of a forcing pump, so adjusted as to keep the water of the proper height. "and i do hereby further declare, that the nature of my said invention, as regards the improvements in the application of steam-power to navigation, consists in the drawing of water into a receptacle placed near within the stern of the navigable vessel, which water is drawn in through an orifice in the stern with a moderate degree of velocity in the direction of the course of the vessel, and ejected with great force and speed in a direction opposite to the course of the vessel through the same orifice, reduced to about a quarter of the area by means of a valve opening as the water enters, and partially shutting as the water is ejected; and thus i propel the vessel with great force, derived from the recoil of the water set into rapid motion in a direction opposite to the course of the vessel, the rapidity of the jet of water to be at least equal to double the required speed of the vessel to be navigated. "and i further declare, that by preference i effect the purpose of receiving and of ejecting the water, and of deriving a motive force from its recoil, by means of a large vertical cylinder of cast iron or other metal, closed at both ends, in which a piston is forced up and down by a piston-rod sliding through a stuffing box in the lid, which piston-rod receives its motive force from a steam-engine; and i fix a tube into the after side of this cylinder, near the bottom, in communication with the space below the piston, which tube leads through the stern of the vessel, as low down as practicable, and opens on one side of the rudder; and i fix another tube into the after side of this cylinder, near the top, in communication with the space above the piston, which tube also leads through the stern of the vessel, as low down as practicable, but opens out on the other side of the rudder; and i place in the mouth of each of these tubes a valve opening inwards, to allow the water free entrance, equal to the bore of the tube, and partially shutting when the water is ejected, so as to reduce the opening through the stern to about one-fourth of the area of the tube. "and i do hereby further declare, that the nature of my said invention, as regards the improvement in the application of steam-power to locomotion, consists in the application of such a boiler, together with the expanding apparatus as aforesaid, to locomotive engines, whereby a diminished weight of boiler and quantity of water and fuel is obtained; and in farther compliance with the said proviso, i, the said richard trevithick, do hereby describe the manner in which my said invention is to be performed, by the following description of its various parts in detail, reference being had to the drawing annexed, and to the figures and letters marked thereon, that is to say:-- "_description of the drawing._ [plate xvii.] [illustration: plate . trevithick's patent boiler and engine, . london: e. & f.n. spon. , charing cross. kell lith. london.] "figure represents a series of vertical sections through the various essential parts of the boiler, the dry pipes, the steam-pipe, the working cylinder, the propelling cylinder, and the flue, together with sections and views of other minor parts, serving to show the connections of the essential ones. the places at which these sections are taken are shown in figure by the dotted line from a to b, from b to c, from c to d, and from e to f. figure represents a plan of figure , with the top coverings of the boiler and working cylinder removed. figure shows the manner of uniting the shorter upright pipes over the fire doorway with one of the adjoining ones, so as to give free circulation of the water in all the pipes. figure represents three pairs of syphons, which in their places stand in a circular form, but in this figure are shown as spread out into a plane, in order the better to explain their structure and joinings. similar small letters and numbers of reference are used to denote similar parts in all the figures; _a_, the upright boiler-pipes, the upright and lower ends of which are contracted to leave room for bolt-heads and nuts, without throwing the pipes too far asunder; _b_, the tubular ring having a flanch projecting inwards and outwards at the upper side, perforated with apertures upon which the upright pipes are bolted, and another flanch at the bottom, projecting inwards, to bolt the ring down to the foundation plate; _c_, the foundation plate; _d_, the fire-grate; _e_, the fire doorway; _f_, the upper tubular ring, having a flanch at the bottom projecting inwards and outwards, and perforated with apertures corresponding with the tops of the upright pipes upon which the tubular ring lies, and to all which it is bolted; _g_, the level of the water in the boiler-pipes; _h_, the dry pipes formed like inverted syphons, so as to require no joining at the lower part near the fire; one leg of each of the two syphons shown in figure is in section, and broken near the bottom; an outside view of the other leg appears partly behind the section; _k_, the short bent pipes, each bolted to two syphons, to unite them into one continuous pipe; _l_, the bent pipe uniting the upper tubular ring with the first in succession of the syphons; the proper situation for this pipe is that shown in figure , but for the sake of clearness and simplicity in the drawing, it is shown in figure as if on the left-hand pipe and syphon; _m_, the throttle-cock on the bent pipe _l_; _n_, the safety-valve lever, and weight on the same; _p_, the pipe of communication from the last in the succession of syphons to the working cylinder of the engine; _r_, the throttle-cock in the pipe _p_; _s_, a four-way cock, worked by the hand-gear, to direct the steam alternately under and over the piston; _t_, the safety-valve in communication with the dry pipes; _u_, the two cylindrical casings surrounding the boiler-pipes, the space between the two being filled up with a slow conducting medium; _v_, the domical covering over the cylindrical enclosure; _w_, the flue leading out of the enclosure into the casing of the working cylinder; _x_, the casing of the working cylinder forming a continuation of the flue; _y_, the further continuation of the flue to the chimney; _z_, the waste-steam pipe leading into the chimney; , the steam-pipes leading from the working cock into the top and bottom of the working cylinder; , the working cylinder; , the piston with metallic packing; , the piston-rod passing down through a stuffing box at the bottom of the working cylinder, and also continuing downwards, to form the rod of the propelling piston; , the propelling cylinder; , the water or propelling piston; , the upper aperture leading to one of the tubes opening through the stern of the navigable vessel; , the lower aperture leading to the other tube, opening also through the stern of the navigable vessel; these apertures are made as wide as the cylinder will allow, in order that they may have but little depth, and not occasion an inconvenient length of the propelling cylinder; , a frame supporting the steam-cylinder upon the propelling cylinder; , the feed-pump for supplying the boiler with water; , an arm fastened on the piston-rod to work the feed-pump and hand-gear; , the hand-gear. "now, whereas i claim as my invention, firstly, the interposing between the boiler and the working cylinder of the steam-engine a long many-curved heated pipe, through which the steam is forced to pass with great rapidity without being permitted to come in direct contact with water, by which arrangement the steam is made to absorb additional heat, and at the same time allowed to expand itself into a greater volume. "secondly, placing the working cylinder of the engine within such part of the flue or chimney as shall ensure the cylinder to be kept hotter than the steam used in it, by which means the expanding of the steam is still further promoted. "thirdly, propelling a navigable vessel by the force of the recoil produced from water received with a moderate degree of velocity, into a receptacle near within the stern, in the direction of the course of the vessel, and ejected with great velocity in a direction opposite to that course, the velocity of the jet being at least double the required speed of the vessel to be propelled, provided always that the same be effected in manner hereinbefore described. "fourthly, applying a boiler combined with a steam expanding apparatus, as before described, instead of a boiler alone, to a locomotive engine, whereby the power of the steam is applied after the steam has undergone the expanding process, and whereby a diminution is effected in the weight of the boiler, and in the weight and consumption of water and of fuel." the two great objects in this patent were superheating steam in tubular boilers, and propelling ships by forcing a stream of water from the stern at a speed of at least double that of the vessel. similar ideas may be traced in his patent of , where a tubular boiler gave superheated steam, and in his patent for propelling steamboats "consists of a tube of considerable length disposed horizontally in the water, and the stroke of rowing is made by means of a piston with valves." an engine of -horse power was ordered in shropshire to be placed on board the government ship to test the value of those patents of and . one consequence was that a gentleman who had helped this scheme with his money wrote:-- "my case with trevithick is strictly this; he was represented to me as a man of property; and as to his talents for mechanics, no man could be in his company long without being struck with them. i was induced to trust him to the amount of nearly _l._, and i then learned for the first time that it was only on the possible contingency of a grant from government that he relied for the payment of my claim." a company called the new improved patent steam-navigation company was formed, of which trevithick was a member, though apparently not a subscriber, for a note in november, , informed him that "if in seven days he did not pay up his calls, his shares would be entirely forfeited." this company, among other proposals, opened negotiations for sending steamboats to buenos ayres to help in the commerce of the port and inland river. in the waterwitch company made experiments with those plans, propelling by forcing water through pipes, since which a government ship of war called the 'waterwitch' has been so propelled. twenty years ago the writer saw steamboats so propelled in daily use on the meuse; they needed no rudder, for by turning the mouth of the exit-water pipes on either side of the ship it was made to turn in its length, or even to move sideways. messrs. john hall and sons, of dartford, also experimented on these two patents, and from this the tubular condenser was called hall's condenser. i think the boat it was first tried in was called the 'dartford.' trevithick's difficulties in urging so many and great changes in marine propulsion may be estimated by the acts of other engineers. "mr. rennie was engaged for many years in urging the introduction of steam-power in the royal navy. in , we find him writing to lord melville, sir j. yorke, sir d. milne, and others on the subject. in july, , he laments that he cannot convince sir g. hope or mr. secretary yorke of their utility, but that he is persuaded their adoption _must_ come at last. on the th may, , he writes james watt, of birmingham, informing him that the admiralty had at last decided upon having a steamboat, notwithstanding the strong resistance of the navy board."[ ] [footnote : 'lives of the engineers,' by smiles, vol. ii., p. .] so that mr. bennie, as professional adviser of the navy board, had to persuade for three years, with a knowledge of trevithick's prior experiments, before active steps were agreed to; for twelve years had then passed since trevithick's nautical labourer and iron steamboat had been tried on the thames, and five since his experiments with the screw-propeller. an article in 'the times' gives in strong contrast the relative value of screw and paddle-wheels as propellers. the 'syria' was originally a paddle-wheel steamer, having oscillating cylinders worked with steam of lbs. on the inch, and hall's tubular condenser; after a time the paddle-wheels were removed for a screw-propeller, driven by two steam-cylinders side by side, of different diameters, the high-pressure steam exerting its full force in the small cylinder, and then expanding in the larger cylinder. all the leading features in this improved steamboat of the present day, such as high-pressure expansive steam in one or two cylinders, with tubular condenser and screw-propeller, had been publicly proved by trevithick fifty years before. [illustration: plate . compound marine engine, . london: e.& f. n. spon, , charing cross. kell bro^{s}. lith. london.] "_screw against paddle._--an interesting and important trial trip has recently been made, which serves to exhibit the advantages of the screw over the paddle as a means of propulsion for ocean-going steamships. in , the steamship 'syria,' of tons, was built for the peninsular and oriental company by messrs. day, summers, and co., and fitted with paddle-wheel engines of -horse power. the 'syria' then attained a speed of · knots per hour, and the consumption of coal was at the rate of tons per diem. the builders have lately converted her into a screw-steamer (for carrying the mails between southampton and the cape of good hope), who, without in any way disturbing the configuration of the hull, have fitted the 'syria' with compound inverted engines of nominal horse-*power. these engines have two cylinders, respectively of in. and in. diameter, with a stroke of ft. in. on monday last the 'syria' attained an average speed of · knots, with a consumption of coal equivalent to tons per diem; thus showing a difference of only · knot per hour, with a lessened power of horses, and a saving in consumption of coal of tons per diem; while the carrying capacity of the ship, arising from the economy of space in the engine-room, has been enormously increased, as she can now stow tons of cargo against tons previously."[ ] [footnote : see 'the times,' may th, .] mr. husband, of the firm of harvey and co., of hayle, has obliged me with the annexed sketch (plate xviii.) of a modern high-pressure steam expansive compound marine engine, with surface condensers, on which the grandsons of trevithick are now working, to be placed in the 'batara bayon syree,' an iron yacht for an indian rajah, embracing the modern improvements of direct-action compound engines, and illustrating the principles which governed the constructors of the 'syria.' the first glance shows a seeming resemblance in outline to trevithick's patent drawing of , having one cylinder above the other; but a closer examination proves the application of the principles of his patents of and , embracing screw-propeller, direct-acting engines, tubular boilers, high-pressure steam used expansively, and condensation by cold surface preventing the necessity of using salt water in the boilers. this engine, in outline, has a strong likeness to trevithick's engines, going back even to his first patent of ,[ ] followed by the direct-action high-pressure steam yacht of ,[ ] and again in [ ] by the iron steamer with direct-action long-stroke cylinders, with highly expansive steam and surface condensers, to which, in ,[ ] was added the patent compound expansive steam pole and piston engine and screw-propeller, embodying during the first fifteen years of the present century, both in principle and in detail, the most approved form of marine steam-engine with fewness and simplicity of form of moving parts; but compare it with the watt patent engine, and its difference is obvious; no beam or parallel motion, no injection-water necessitating the air-pump, no low-pressure steam. the late mr. william wilson, of perran foundry, son of boulton and watt's financial agent in cornwall, informed mr. henwood that he was with mr. watt when some one stated that mr. trevithick was working his engine with steam of lbs. on the inch; when mr. watt replied, "i could work my engine with steam of lbs. to the inch, but i [would not] be the engineman."[ ] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] [footnote : henwood, address to the royal institution of cornwall, .] progressive experience, with increasing demand for economy and speed, have caused the principles and the details of trevithick's steam-engines to be matters of national importance seventy years after their discovery, for as far back as that he used highly-expansive steam,[ ] and on the question of a separate cylinder for expansion as used in the modern steamboat combined engines, he wrote, "i think one cylinder partly filled with steam would do equally as well as two cylinders; that one at worcester shuts off the steam at the first third of the stroke, and works very uniformly with a considerable saving of coal."[ ] those modern marine engines use about the same steam pressure and expand about in the same proportion. with the direct action from the piston-rod to the crank-shaft, the multitubular boiler and screw-propeller, and the surface condenser perfected in and , at which time his construction of a marine steam-engine would have been just what it now is forty years later. those latter patents also embrace the principle of superheating steam, practically shown many years before,[ ] and still used by marine engineers of modern times. [footnote : see trevithick's letter, nd august, , vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see trevithick's letter, th july, , vol. ii., p. .] [footnote : see trevithick's letter, th may, , vol. i., p. .] in tracing the wisdom of his designs just before the close of an eventful life, reference may be made to the trial of a common road locomotive in :--"experimental trip of the indian government steam train engine, 'ranee,' from ipswich to edinburgh.--the results of the trial with the 'chenah,' though satisfactory so far as the engines proper were concerned, were vitiated by the failure of the boiler; on the completion of the second engine, the 'ranee,' the field boiler and variable blast-pipe were used; the boiler is about feet diameter at the bottom and feet high."[ ] [footnote : 'the engineer,' th october, .] the form and dimensions of the exterior of the ranee tubular boiler are very similar to trevithick's patent drawing and specification of ; even the variable blast-pipe was used by him in .[ ] [footnote : trevithick's letter, nd august, , vol. i., p. .] the last years of trevithick's eventful life were chequered with hopes and disappointments when, in the early part of , he wrote to his friend gerard:-- "this morning i called here for the purpose of forwarding my information to the committee of the house. i called on mr. thompson to inform him what mr. gilbert said respecting it. his answer was, that the direct method would be by forwarding a petition in the way proposed when at the lobby. in consequence, i have forwarded the petition to sir matthew ridley. yesterday i took the coach to highgate, by way of camden town, and of course had to walk up highgate hill. i found i was able to walk up that hill with as much ease and speed as any of my coach companions. however strange this maggot may appear in my chest and brain, it is no more than true. i wish among all you long-life-preserving doctors you could find out the cause of this defect, so as to remedy this troublesome companion of mine." his health was breaking down, and his petition for a gift from the public purse, so hopefully commenced two years before, was doomed, after another year's bandying from pillar to post, to be forgotten and unanswered. "dear trevithick, "eastbourne, _december th, _. "i am sorry to find that you have not any prospect of assistance from government. i have not any copy or memorandum of my letter to mr. spring rice, but it was to the effect of first bearing testimony to the large share that you have had in almost all the improvements on mr. watt's engine, which have altogether about trebled its power; your having made a travelling engine twenty-eight years ago; of your having invented the iron tanks for carrying water on board ship. i then went on to state that the great defect in all steam-engines seemed to be the loss by condensation of all the heat rendered latent in the conversion of water into steam. that high-pressure engines owed their advantages mainly to a reduction of the relative importance of this latent heat. that i had long wished to see the plan of a differential engine tried, in which the temperatures, and consequently elasticities, of the fluid might be varied on the opposite sides of the piston without condensation; that the engine you had now constructed promised to effect that object, and that in the event of its succeeding at all, although it might not be applicable to the driving water out of mines, yet that for steam-vessels and for steam-carriages its obvious advantages would be of the greatest importance; and i ended by saying that although it was clearly impossible for me to ensure the success of any plan till it had been actually proved by experiment, yet judging theoretically, and also from the imperfect trial exhibited on the thames, i thought it well worthy of being favoured. "your plan unquestionably must be to appoint some one with you, as mr. watt did mr. boulton, and i certainly think it a very fair speculation for any such person as mr. boulton to undertake. "it is impossible for me to point out any individual, as never having had the slightest motive with such or with manufacturers in any part of my life, i am entirely unacquainted with mercantile concerns. i cannot, however, but conjecture that you should make a fair and full estimate of what would be the expense of making a decisive experiment on a scale sufficiently large to remove all doubt; and that your proposal should be, that anyone wishing to incur that expense should, in the event of success, be entitled to a certain share of your patent; on such conditions some one of property may perhaps be found who would undertake the risk, and if the experiment proved successful, he would be sure to use every exertion afterwards for his own sake. with every wish for your success, "believe me, yours very faithfully, "davies gilbert." the statement of the president of the royal society, that the power of the watt engine had been trebled by trevithick, brought him no gain. he never troubled himself with politics, but the passing of the reform bill caused him to suggest that it should be commemorated by a pillar higher than had ever before been erected. the following memorandum is in his own writing:-- "'morning herald,' july th, . "_national monument in honour of reform._--the great measure of reform having become the law of the land, it is proposed to commemorate the event by the erection of a stupendous column, exceeding in dimensions cleopatra's needle, or pompey's pillar, and symbolical of the beauty, strength, and unaffected grandeur of the british constitution. "in furtherance of this great object, a public meeting is proposed to be held, of which due notice will be given, to set on foot a subscription throughout the united kingdoms, limiting individual contributions to two guineas, but receiving the smallest sums in aid of the design. "the following noblemen and gentlemen have signified their approbation of the measure:--his grace the duke of norfolk, of somerset, of bedford; the right honourable earl of morley, of shrewsbury, of darlington; lord stafford; sir francis burdett, m.p.; joseph hume, m.p.; r. h. howard, m.p.; win. brougham, m.p.; j. e. denison, m.p.; a. w. robarts, m.p.; j. easthope, m.p.; general palmer, m.p." "design and specification for erecting a gilded conical cast-*iron monument. scale, feet to the inch of feet in height, feet diameter at the base, and feet diameter at the top; inches thick, in pieces of feet square, with an opening in the centre of each piece feet diameter, also in each corner of inches diameter, for the purpose of lessening the resistance of the wind, and lightening the structure; with flanges on every edge on their inside to screw them together; seated on a circular stone foundation of feet wide, with an ornamental base column of feet high; and a capital with feet diameter platform, and figure on the top of feet high; with a cylinder of feet diameter in the centre of the cone, the whole height, for the accommodation of persons ascending to the top. each cast-iron square would weigh about tons, to be all screwed together, with sheet lead between every joint. the whole weight would be about tons. the proportions of this cone to its height would be about the same as the general shape of spires in england. [illustration: plan and sectional elevation of proposed reform column.] "a steam-engine of -horse power is sufficient for lifting one square of iron to the top in ten minutes, and as any number of men might work at the same time, screwing them together, one square could easily be fixed every hour; squares requiring less than six months for the completion of the cone. a proposal has been made by iron founders to deliver these castings on the spot at _l._ a ton; at this rate the whole expense of completing this national monument would not exceed , _l._ "by a cylinder of feet diameter, through which the public would ascend to the top, bored and screwed together, in which a hollow floating sheet-iron piston, with a seat round it, accommodating persons; a steam-engine forces air into the cylinder-column from a blast-cylinder of the same diameter and working feet a second, would raise the floating piston to the top at the same speed, or five or six minutes ascending the whole height; the descent would require the same time. a door at the bottom of the ascending cylinder opens inwards, which, when shut, could not be opened again, having a pressure of lbs. of air tending to keep it shut until the piston descends to the bottom. by closing the valve in the piston it would ascend to the top with the passengers floating on air, the same as a regulating blast-piston, or the upper plank of a smith's bellows. the air apparatus from the engine should be of a proper size to admit the floating piston with the passengers to rise and fall gradually, by the partially opening or shutting of the valves in the top of the piston. supposing no springs or soft substance for the piston to strike on at the bottom of the column-cylinder, descending feet a second would give no greater shock than falling from inches high, that being the rate of falling bodies, or the same as a person being suddenly stopped when walking at the rate of two miles an hour. the pressure of the air under the piston would be about / lb. on the square inch; the aperture cannot let the piston move above feet a second, but this speed may be reduced to any rate required by opening or shutting the valves on the floating piston." [illustration: general view of reform column.] to trevithick's soaring genius nothing appeared very small, or very large, or very costly; not even the cast-iron column feet high covered with gold. the stone monument of london, feet high, is admired by many; others climb into the cross on st. paul's cathedral, feet high; some make a long journey to the great pyramids, feet high. how much more pleasant would be trevithick's proposed floating feet upward on an air-cushion, controlled by his high-pressure steam-engine, and having, from the loftiest pedestal of human art, surveyed imperial london, to be again lowered to the every-day level at a safe speed, regulated by valves closed by such simple acts as rising from the seat; but should this be neglected, the passage of compressed air escaping from under the piston-carriage would only allow of its descent at a speed of feet in a second, giving but the same shock on bumping the bottom as jumping off a -inch door-step. perhaps the king in could not take an active part in advocating a memento of the golden days of reform; but this is no reason why the suggestion should have been so slightly noticed in , to erect it in memory of the good and wise prince albert. various meetings were held, and after nine months the plan had so far advanced as to be placed before the king. "sir herbert taylor begs to acknowledge the receipt of mr. r. trevithick's letter, with the accompanying design for a national monument, which he has had the honour of submitting to the king. "st. james's palace, _ st march, _."[ ] [footnote : the column was suggested in as a suitable monument to the memory of the late prince albert.] within two months from the date of the design for a gilded column trevithick had passed away. his family in cornwall received a note, dated nd april, , from mr. rowley potter, of dartford, stating that trevithick had died on the morning of that day, after a week's confinement to his bed. he was penniless, and without a relative by him in his last illness, and for the last offices of kindness was indebted to some who were losers by his schemes. the mechanics from the works of messrs. hall were the bearers, and mourners at the funeral, and at their expense night watchers remained by the grave to prevent body-snatching, then frequent in that neighbourhood. a few years after the funeral, the writer was refused permission to go through the works to inquire into the character of the experiments that had been tried, but the working mechanics were glad to see the son of trevithick, and their wives and children joined in the welcome as he passed through the small town. trevithick's grave was among those of the poor buried by the charitable; no stone or mark distinguished it from its neighbours. he is known by his works. his high-pressure steam-engine was the pioneer of locomotion and its wide-spreading civilization. england's mineral and mechanical wealth on land or sea are indebted to its expansive power, its applicability, and durable economy. his comprehensive and ingenious designs, given to the world seventy years ago,[ ] are still instructive guides; and many of his works, dating from the dawn of the present century, remained as active evidences of his skill almost to the present day, with their three-score years,[ ] while some few reaching three-score years and ten still remain good servants[ ] in the solitude of the peruvian mountains, where no mechanical hand repairs the errors of human skill or the wear and tear of time.[ ] [footnote : see patent, vol. i., p. .] [footnote : see vol. i., pp. , , , .] [footnote : agricultural engine, vol. ii., p. .] [footnote : see vol. ii., p. .] if these material proofs fail to convince, the reader has but to ponder on the bitterly natural reflections written by himself a few months before his last illness to his friend davies gilbert:-- "i have been branded with folly and madness for attempting what the world calls impossibilities, and even from the great engineer, the late mr. james watt, who said to an eminent scientific character still living,[ ] that i deserved hanging for bringing into use the high-pressure engine. this so far has been my reward from the public; but should this be all, i shall be satisfied by the great secret pleasure and laudable pride that i feel in my own breast from having been the instrument of bringing forward and maturing new principles and new arrangements of boundless value to my country. however much i may be straitened in pecuniary circumstances, the great honour of being a useful subject can never be taken from me, which to me far exceeds riches." [footnote : mr. john isaac hawkins.] index to volume ii. a. abadia, don pedro, , , , , , , , , . abinger, lord, . adams, mr., . admiralty, , , , , , , . adriatic steamer, . aËrated steam, , . agricultural engine, , , , , , , , , , , . agricultural machine, . air-engine, . air-pump, , , . ajerbi river, . alverado, , . amalgamation, . amputation, . application to parliament, , . aquacate, . arismendi, don josÉ, , , , . armstrong, sir william, . artha, captain, , , , . 'asp,' ship, , . b. bailiffs, . banfield, mr., . banfield, mr. j., , , . barnes and miller, . bedford, duke of, . beeralstone, , . bennetts, frank, . bickle, mr., . binner downs, , , , . blacklead, , . blast by cylinder, , . blast by screw, . blast-furnace, . blast-pipe, , , , . blewett, captain, . blewett, mr., . boiler, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . bolivar, president, , . booth, mr., . borer of rock, , . bottle-neck boiler, . breakwater, . bridgenorth, , . brougham, mr., . bryant, john, , , . budge, mr., . buenos ayres, , , . bull, mr., , , , , , , . bullan garden, , , , . burdett, sir francis, . burral, jun., mr., . burral, sen., mr., . bushel, , , , . bust, . c. camborne, . campbell and co., , . canal boat, . carloose engine, , , , . carriage-wheels, . carthagena, , , . castro, nicolas, , , . causon, william, . caxatambo, . central argentine railway, . cerro de pasco, , , , , , , . chain-and-bucket, . chain-pump, , . chaper, mr., . chili, , . circular motion, . clark, henry, , , , . clay mill, . coalbrookdale, , , , . coal-lifting engine, , , . cochrane, lord, , . collins, mr., . colombia, . common-road locomotive, , , , , , . competition, , , , , , , , , , , . compound engine, , , . comptroller of the navy, . condenser, . cooking by steam, . cook's kitchen, . copiapo, . copper-ore furnace, . coralillo, . cordillera, . cost-all-lost-all, . cost of engine, , , , , , , , , , , , , , . costa rica, , , , . cowie, mr., . crichton, mr. alexander, . cylinder, , , , , , , . cylinder-case, , . cylindrical boiler, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . d. daniel, mr., . darlington, earl of, . dartford, . davey, captain john, . davey, captain william, , , . davies, mr., . day, mr., . dedunstanville, lord, , , , , . denison, mr., . derbyshire, . dixon, mr., . doble, mr., . dolcoath, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . domingo gonzales de castaÑeda, . dredger, , , , , . driving wheels, . dundonald, lord, , , , . duty of engines, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . e. easthope, mr., . eccentric, . 'echo,' steamer, , . edmonds, mr. richard, , , , , . edmonds, mr. thomas, . edwards, mr., . empson, mr., . 'encyclopÆdia britannica,' . erskine, mr., , . essential oil, . exeter bridge, , , . expansion, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . explosion, . f. fairbairn, mr. james, . fairbairn, sir william, . falmouth, . farey, mr., , . faucett and co., . feed-pole, . feed-water, , , , . fire-arms, . fire-bars, . fire-engine, . follett, sir william, . four-way cock, , , , , . foxes, messrs., , , , , , , , . france, . g. galloway, mr., . gamboa, . gear-work, . geological society, . 'george and vulture,' . gerard, mr., , , , , , , , , , . gibbs, mr., . gilbert, davies, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . gittins, mr., . glanville, captain, , , . globular boiler, , . gossett, colonel, . gould, mr., , . government, , , , , . governor, . green, mr., , . greenwich, . gregor, captain, . greytown, . gribble, , . grinding engine, . grip, . grist mill, . grose, captain samuel, , , , , , , , , , . guayaquil, . guildhall, . gun-carriage, , , , . gundry, mr., . gunnery, . h. haarlem lake, . hall and sons, , . hall, mr., . hall, mr. b. n., . hall's condenser, , , . halse, mr., . hardy, sir t. h., . harris, mr., , . harrow by steam, , , . harvey, mr. henry, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . harvey, mr. nicholas, . hawkins, mr., . hawkins, sir c., , , , , , , , , . hayle harbour, . hazeldine, mr., , , , , . hearse-boiler, , , , , . heat lost, . heating apparatus, . henwood, mr., , , , , . herland, , , , , , , , , , , , , . high pressure, , , , , , , , , . hill, mr., . hodge, captain, , . holland, , , , , , . holman, mr., . homfray, mr., , , , , , , . horizontal cylinder, , . hornblower, , . horse-power, , . hot blast, . hot-house, . hot-house store, . howard, mr., . hume, joseph, . husband, mr., . hydraulic crane, . i. ice making, . illness, , . illogan, . incline, , . injection, , . invoice, . iron furnace, . iron ships, , , , . j. jamaica, . jasper, mr., , . jeffry, richard, , . jenkin, mr., , , . joaquin de la pezula, , . johnstone, captain, . josÉ gonzales de prada, . josÉ lago y lemus, . juan mora river, . judson, mr., . k. kendal, mr., , . kenny, captain, , , . king, captain, , . l. 'la belle machine,' . law proceedings, , . lean, mr., , , . lean, mr. john, . legassack, . leith, captain, . letters,--edmonds, mr. richard, ; , aug. , ; , nov. , ; , jan. , ; , jan. , ; fairbairn, mr. james, , nov. , ; gerard, mr., , nov. , ; , jan. , ; , feb. , ; gilbert, davies, , jan. , ; , feb. , ; , dec. , ; , dec. , ; hall, mr. b. n., , dec. , ; harvey, mr., , nov. , ; , april , ; , aug. , ; hawkins, sir c., , march , ; homfray, mr., , dec. , ; , jan. , ; liddell, captain, , nov. , ; smith, mr. t., , march , ; thomas, captain c., , march , ; trethuoy, mr. w., , may , ; trevithick, richard, , sept. , ; , jan. , ; , march , ; , dec. , ; , april , ; , dec. , ; , nov. , ; , jan. , ; , feb. , ; , feb. , ; , march , ; , dec. , ; , aug. , ; , march , ; , feb. , ; , april , ; , may , ; , june , ; , june , ; , july , ; , oct. , ; , jan. , ; , jan. , ; , march , ; , aug. , ; , july , ; , sept. , ; , sept. , ; , dec. , ; , dec. , ; , feb. , ; , march , ; , march , ; , march , ; , april , ; , oct. , ; , jan. , ; , july , ; , feb. , ; , march , ; , march , ; , march , ; , march , ; , may , ; , may , ; , june , ; , june , ; , june , ; , june , ; , june , ; , sept. , ; , sept. , ; , sept. , ; , oct. , ; , oct. , ; , oct. , ; , dec. , ; , march , ; , feb. , ; , nov. ; , , nov. , ; , jan. , ; , feb. , ; , april , ; , june , ; , june , ; , july , ; , sept. , ; , jan. , ; , dec. , ; , dec. , ; , dec. , ; , dec. , ; , july , ; , nov. , ; , nov. , ; , aug. , ; , march , ; , jan. , ; , june , ; vivian, captain a., , may , ; williams, mr. m., , jan. , ; williams, messrs., , nov. , . liberality, . liberty, wheal, . liddell, captain, . lima, , , , , , , , , , , , , , . linthorn, mr., . locomotive, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . logan, dr., . london engine, . losh, mr., . low pressure, , , , , , , , . lowe, mr., . lowndes, lord, . m. machuca, . magdalena, . man and his man, . manchester, , , . man's power, . marazion, . marratt, mr., . matina, , . maudslay, mr., . mellinear mine, . melville, lord, , . meux's brewery, . miers, mr., . mills, mr., , . mint engine, , , , , , , , , . mitchell, mr., . model, . momentum, , , , , . mont cenis, , . montelegre, mr., . montelegre river, , , . moore, dr., . morley, earl of, . moyle, captain m., . mule-power, , , . murdoch, , , , . n. nankivill, mr., . navy board, , , , . neath abbey, , . nelson, lord, . neville, mr., , . new steam navigation company, . newcastle-upon-tyne, . newcomen, , , , , , , , , . nicaragua lake, . norfolk, duke of, . number of engines, , . o. oats, james, . odgers, captain, . open-top cylinders, , , , , , , . oval tube, , . p. paddle-wheel, . padre arias mine, . padstow engine, , , . page, mr., , , , , , . palmer, general, . pape, mrs., . parallel motion, . patent laws, , , . patents, of ; of ; of . paynter, mr., . penponds, . penydarran, . perceval, mr., . perrier, mr., . peru, , , . petition to parliament, , , . phillip, mr., , , . phillips, henry, . pickwood, mr., . pinneys and ames, , , , , . pinto, don antonio, . ploughing by steam, , , . plummer, barham, and co., . plunger-pole pump, , . plymouth breakwater, , , , , , , , . plymouth dockyard, . pneumatic elevator, . poldice, . pole-engine, , , , , , , , , . pole, professor, . pooly, william, . population, , . portable engine, , , , , , , , , , , , , . power of engine, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . praed, mr., , , . price, mr. joseph, . price, sir rose, . proney, mr., . puffer-engine, , , , , , , , , , , , . pumping engine, , , , , , , , , , , , , . pumps, , , , , , . punta de arenas, , . q. quarrying, , . quebrada-honda, . r. railway, . 'ranee' locomotive, . rastrick, mr., , , , , , , , , , . rawlings, mr., . rees's cyclopÆdia, . reform column, . rennie, mr., , , , , , , , , , , , , . reynolds, mr., , . rhine river, , , . rice, spring, , . richards, mr., , . ridley, sir matthew, . robarts, mr., . roberts, mr., . robinson and buchanan, , . rock boring, , . 'rocket,' . roland, mr., , . rolling mill, , , , , . rotterdam, . rowe, george, . rowe, mr., . s. safety-plug, . st. agnes head, , . st. aubyn, sir john, . st. ives, , , . saltram stream, . san josÉ, . san josÉ river, . san juan de nicaragua, , , . san martin, . sandys, carne, and vivian, . 'sanspareil,' . santa rosa, . saunders, james, . savery, , , . sawing by steam, . screw-bit, . screw-power, . screw-propeller, , . serapique, , , . shammal engine, , , , . sharratt, mr., . sheffield, mr., . ships of iron, . silver statue, . sims, mr., , , , , , , . sinclair, sir john, , , , . sing, mr., . smelting furnace, . smiles, mr., . smith, mr., , . smith, mr. thomas, , . smoke burner, . soho, . somerset, duke of, . south america, , , , , , . spade by steam, , . spanish government, , . spanish merchants, . spring steelyard, . steam agriculture, , , . " boat, , , , , , , , . steam crane, , . " cushion, . " mash-tub, . " navigation company, . " paddle, . " plough, , . steam pressure, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . steam stone-boring, , , , . " users' association, . stephenson, , , , , . stevenson, mr. w. b., . stone-borer, , , . stone-crusher, . stone-splitter, . stourbridge, . stray park, , , , , , . strength, . strokes, , , , , , , , . stuffing box, , , . sugar-boiling, . sugar mill, , . superheating steam, , , , , . surface-air condenser, , , , , , . surface-water condenser, , , , , , , , , , , . swaine, charles, . sycombe, mr., . symonds, captain, . 'syria,' steamboat, . t. tanks, . 'tasmania,' steamboat, . taylor, mr., , . teague, captain, , , . telford, mr., . thomas, captain charles, , , . thomas, captain jacob, . thomas, captain josiah, . thompson, mr., . thorne, dr., . thrashing engine, , , , , , , , , , . tilly, captain, . tin croft, , . tormentor, . treasury, wheal, . trecothick, mr., , . treskerby, , , , , . trethuoy, mr. william, . trevarthen, captain, , . trevithick, r., jun., . trevithick, sen., . trevithick, mrs., . trewithen, , . trinity board, , . tubular boiler, , , , , , , , , , , , . tyack, mr. john, . u. united mines, . upright boiler, , , , , . uville, mr., , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . v. vacuum, , , . valley puffer, , . valves, . viceroy, , , . vivian, captain andrew, , , , , , , , , , , , . vivian, captain henry, , , , . vivian, captain joseph, , . " captain nicholas, , . " henry, . " mr. simon, . w. ward, mr., . warren, mr., . warsop, mr., . water-pressure engine, , , . water-propeller, . waters, mr., . waterwitch company, . watkin, sir edward, . watson, mr., . watt, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . welsh locomotive, , . west india docks, , . west india engine, , , , , , . west, john, . " william, , . wheal, abraham, , , . " alfred, , , , , . wheal clowance, . " concord, . " damsel, , . " gens, , , , , , . wheal jewel, . " kitty, . " liberty, . " lushington, . " prosper, , , , . " regent, . " seal-hole, , . " towan, , , , , , , , . wheal treasure, . " vor, , . whims, , , , , , , , , , . whitehead, mr., . 'wildman,' ship, . williams, messrs., , , , , , , , , , , . williams, william, . wilson, mr., . winding engine, , , , , , . windmill, . wollaston, dr., . wood, mr., . woolf, arthur, , , , , , , , , . woolwich, , . worcester, . y. yanacancha, . yonge, don, . z. zuyder zee, . london: printed by w. clowes and sons, stamford street and charing cross * * * * * * transcriber's note: inconsistencies in spelling and punctuation are as in the original. beyond light by nelson s. bond venus was civilized ... so the universe thought! but deep in its midnight caverns ... beyond light, beyond the wildest imaginings of an ordered system ... dwelt horror. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories winter . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] they stood in the _orestes'_ tiny observation turret, mallory's defiant arm still tight about the slim and lovely girl, just exactly as bull-voiced captain lane had found them. the shimmering reflection of the planet venus, only a few thousand miles ahead, bathed the trim, hard-jawed man and the softly pretty girl in a gentle glow, but it failed to soothe the grizzled space ship skipper. "what in hell does this mean?" mallory, remembering an old forgotten saying--something about a soft answer turning aside wrath--spoke rapidly. "sorry if we gave you a shock, sir," he said. "but your daughter and i are engaged." few medical men would have guaranteed space captain jonathan lane a long life at that moment. his usually ruddy face was a violent mauve-scarlet, his eyes hot pin-points of anger, his lean, hard body was atremble with emotion. "engaged. _engaged!_" he made a convulsive motion. "did you say engaged? to this inane young fool. you're talking nonsense. go to your cabin, girl." dorothy lane sighed and looked hopefully up at mallory. tim mallory had forgotten his old and wise quotation. "why not engaged," he snapped. "what have you got against me?" "what," growled captain lane. "he asks me _what_!" he had a reason; one which he shared with all fond parents who have ever seen a beloved child slipping from their arms--jealousy. jealousy and grief. now his mind pounced on a substitute for the true reasons that he would not--could not--name. "well, for one thing," he said curtly, "you're not a spaceman. you're nothing but a blasted earthlubber!" mallory grinned. "you can hardly call me an earthlubber, captain. i spent two years on luna, three on mars; i'll be five or more on venus--" "pah! luna ... mars ... venus ... you're still a groundhog. i'll not see my girl married to a money-grubbing businessman, mallory." "tim's not a businessman," broke in dorothy lane. "he's an engineer." and anyone seeing her young fury would have smiled to note how much alike she was to her bucko, space captain father. "engineer! nonsense! only an astrogation engineer deserves that title. he's a--a--what is it you do? build ice-boxes?" "i'm a calorimetrical engineer," mallory answered stiffly. "my main job is the designing and installation of air-conditioning plants where they are needed. on airless luna, the cold martian deserts, here on venus. the simple truth is--" "the simple truth is," stated the skipper savagely, "that you're a groundhog and a damned poor son-in-law for a spaceman. you being what you are, and dorothy being what she is, i say the hell with you, mr. mallory! perhaps i can't prevent your marriage. but there's one thing i can do--and that is wash my hands of the two of you!" he watched them, searching for signs of indecision in their eyes. he found, instead--and with a sense of sickening dread--only sorrow. sorrow and pity and regret. and tim mallory said quietly, "i'm sorry, sir, that you feel that way about it." lane turned to his daughter. "dorothy?" he said hoarsely. "i'm sorry, too." her voice was gentle but determined. "tim is right. we--" then her eyes widened; sudden panic lighted them, and her hand flew to her lips in a gesture of fear. "something's wrong! venus! the ship--!" * * * * * captain lane did not need her warning. his space-trained body had recognized disaster a split-second before. his legs had felt the smooth flooring beneath him lurch and sway. his eyes had glimpsed, through the spaceport, the sudden looming of the silver disc toward which they had been gliding easily but now were plunging at headlong, breakneck speed. his ears howled with the clamor of monstrous winds that clutched with vibrant fingers the falling _orestes_. in a flash he spun and fought his way up a sharply tilting deck to the wall audio, thrust at its button, bawled a query. the mate's voice, shrill with terror, answered: "the dixie-rod, sir! it's jammed! we're trying to get it free, but it's locked! we're out of control--" "up rockets!" roared lane. "up rockets and blast!" "they're cut, sir! the hypo's cold. we'll have to 'bandon ship--." abandon ship! tim mallory did not need dorothy's sudden gasp to tell him what that meant to the trio caught in the observation turret. earthlubber he might be, but he knew enough about the construction of space craft to realize that there were no auxiliary safety-sleds anchored to this section of the _orestes_. venus was no longer a beaming platter of silver in the distance. they had burst through its eternal blanket of cloud, now; the world below was no longer a sphere, it was a huge saucer of green, swelling ominously with each flashing second. tempests screamed about them, and the screaming was the triumphant cry of hungry death. no ships. no time to seek escape. life, which had but recently become a precious thing to tim mallory, was but a matter of minutes. he saw the agony of indecision on captain jonathan lane's face, heard, as in a dream, the skipper delivering the only possible order. "very well, carter! 'bandon ship!" and the pilot's hectic query, "but where are you?" "never mind that. cut loose, you fool!" "no, captain! you're below. i can't let you die. i'll keep trying--" "'bandon ship, carter! it's an order!" and the faint, thin answer, "aye, sir!" silence. tim turned to dorothy, and from somewhere summoned the ghost of a smile. his arms went out to her, and as one in a dream she moved toward him. there was, at least, this. they could die together. and then captain lane was between them, bellowing, commanding, pushing them apart. "avast, you two! this is no time for play-acting. mallory, jerk down those hammocks. tumble in and strap yourselves tight! it's a chance in a billion, but--" tim swung into motion. the old man was right. it was a slim chance, but--a chance! to strap themselves into the pneumatic hammocks used by passengers at times of acceleration, hope that by some miracle the _orestes_ would not be crushed into a metal pancake when they crashed, pray that it might land on a slope, or some yielding substance. it was a breathless moment and a mad one. frenzied winds and the groan of scorching metal, the thick panting of captain lane as he strapped himself into a hammock between tim and dorothy, dorothy's voice, "tim, dear--" and his own reply, "hold tight, youngster!" then heat increasing, heat like a massive fist upon his breast, hot beads of sweat, salt-tasting on his lips, an ear-splitting tumult of sound from somewhere.... a swift, terrifying glimpse of solid earth rushing up to meet them.... the last, wrenching shudder of the _orestes_ as it plunged giddily groundward. heat ... pain ... flame ... suffocation.... then darkness. * * * * * out of the darkness, light. out of the sultriness, a thin, cool finger of breeze. out of the silence of death, life! tim mallory opened his eyes. and a thick, wordless cry of thanksgiving burst from his lips as he stared about him. the impossible had happened! the ship had crashed. its control-room was a fused and twisted heap of wreckage smoldering in the giant crater it had plowed. but somehow the observation turret, offset in a streamlined vane of the _orestes_, had escaped destruction. great rents gaped where once girders had welded together sturdy _permalloy_ sheets, purposeless shards lay strewn about, even the hammocks had been wrenched from their strong moorings, but he and his companions still lived! even as tim fought to loose the straps that circled him, captain lane groaned, stirred, opened his eyes. dully, then with wakening recollection. and his first word-- "dorothy?" "safe," said mallory. "she's safe. we're all safe. i don't know how. we must bear charmed lives." he bent over the girl, loosened her straps, chafed her wrists gently. her eyes opened, and the image of that last moment of panic was still mirrored in their depths. "tim!" she cried. "are we--where's daddy?" "easy, sugar!" soothed tim. "he's here. it's all over. we pulled through. it was a miracle." he said it gratefully. but captain lane corrected him. the safety of his daughter assured, the old spacedog's next thought had been for his ship. he had walked forward, studied the crumpled ruin of the control-room. now he said, "not a miracle, mallory. a sacrifice. it was carter. he didn't bail out with the others. he must have stayed on in the control-room, fighting that jammed dixie-rod. it must have come clean at the last moment, slowing the ship, or we wouldn't be here. but it was too late, then, for him to get away--" his voice was sad, but there was a sort of pride in it, too. dorothy began to cry softly. captain lane's hand came to his forehead in brief, farewell salute to a gallant man. then he rejoined the others. "it was the first time," he said, "he ever disobeyed my orders." tim said nothing. there was nothing he could say. but for the first time he realized why captain lane, why all spacemen, felt as they did about their calling. because the men who wore space-blues were of this breed. for a long moment there was silence. then the old man stirred brusquely. "well, we'd better get going." "going?" tim stared about him. it was a far from reassuring scene that met his eyes. they had landed in the midst of wild and desolate country, on a plateau midway between sprawling marshlands below and craggy, cloud-created hills above. the shock of the crash must have stunned into silence all wild-life temporarily, for upon awakening, tim had been dimly conscious of a vast, reverberant quietude. but now the small, secret things were creeping back to gaze on the smoking monster that had died in their midst; small squeals and snarls and chirrupings bespoke an infinitude of watchers. the hour was just before dawn; the eastward horizon was tinged with pearl. "going?" tim repeated. "but where are we?" * * * * * captain jonathan looked at him somberly. "in the badlands," he said. "and the term is not a loose one; they _are_ bad lands, mallory." he pointed the hour hand of his wrist-watch at the pale mist of rising sunlight. "i don't know exactly where we are, or how far from civilization, but it's far enough." tim said determinedly, "then we'd better pack up, eh? hit the trail?" the skipper laughed scornfully. "what trail? we'd be committing suicide by heading into those marshes, those hills, or those jungles. our only chance of survival is to stay close to the _orestes_. five of the sailors bailed out, you'll remember. in safety-sleds. we've got to hope one or more of them will reach venus city, start a rescue party out after us." "but you said 'get going'?" "to work, i meant. we're going to need protection from the sun." again captain lane glanced at the sky, this time a little anxiously. "i know this country. after that sun gets up, it will be a bake-oven. a seething cauldron of heat. damp, muggy heat. steam from the marshes below, the raw, blinding heat blazing down from the rocks above. this is venus, mallory--" he laughed shortly; but there was no mirth in his laughter. "this isn't an air-conditioned home on earth. come along!" silently, tim followed him. they picked their way through the tangled wreckage of the _orestes_, stopping from time to time to salvage such bits of equipment as lane felt might be of use. flashlights, side-arms, vacuteens of clear, cold water, packets of emergency rations. through chamber after shattered chamber they moved, captain lane leading the way. tim and dorothy following mutely behind. everywhere it was the same. broken walls, bent and twisted girders, great rents in what had once been a sturdy spacecraft. and finally lane gave up. "it's no use," he said. "there's no protection in this battered hulk. shading ourselves in one of these open cells would be like taking refuge in a broiler." "then what can we do, daddy?" "there's only one thing to do. break out bulgers. they're thermostatically controlled. we'll keep cooler in space-suits than anything else. mallory, you remember where they were?" "yes, sir!" tim went after the space-suits, grateful for a chance to contribute in some way to their common good. the storeroom in which the bulgers had been locked was no longer burglar-proof; one wall had been sheared away in the crash as if cleft with a gigantic ax. he clambered into the compartment, broke out three bulgers, gathered up spare oxytainers for each of them. he had just finished lugging the equipment out of the storeroom, sweating from the exertion of lifting three heavy space-suits beneath a sun which was now glowing brazenly in an ochre, misted sky, when a sharp cry startled him. "daddy! behind you!" it was dorothy who screamed the warning. and then, "tim! _tim!_" "coming!" roared mallory. he was scarcely conscious of the weight of the bulgers now. in a flash he was plunging toward the source of the cry, tugging at the needle-gun in his belt. but before he had taken a dozen steps-- "never mind, mallory!" roared captain lane. "stay where you are! back, you filthy--!" there came the sharp, characteristic hiss of a flashing needle-gun, the _plowp!_ of some unguessable, fleshy thing exploding into atoms. "stay where you are! we'll come to you. quick, dorothy!" * * * * * then their footsteps pounding toward him, dorothy rounding a bend of the ship, white-faced and flying, captain lane on her heels, covering their retreat with his gun. as mallory sprang to join them lane flashed him a swift glance and tossed curt words of explanation. "proto-balls! giant, filthy amoebae. pure proteid matter. _aaah!_ scorched that one! damned needle-guns won't stop 'em, though. just slows 'em down. only thing'll kill 'em is an acid-spray. we've got to get out of here!" "but where, daddy?" "got those bulgers, mallory? climb into 'em. and hurry. saw caves in the mountainside up there. they won't enter caves. need sunlight. _look out!_" again that sharp, explosive hiss. mallory leaped back, feeling the brief, furtive brush of something foreign across the toe of his boot. the attacking proto-balls were of all sizes; they ranged from huge, oily-glistening, foul-odored spheres to tiny globules the size of a baseball. one of the latter size had rolled swiftly toward him; for a second, before captain lane's gun splashed flame upon it, it had come in contact with mallory's foot. where it had touched was now a patch of crumbling gray that had been leather! "eat anything!" rasped lane. "didn't touch you, eh, mallory? good. start backing away. and get into the bulgers. move!" mallory climbed swiftly into his space-suit. its weight disappeared as he touched the grav control button; the heat which had begun to oppress him fled, too, when he closed the face-port. he touched lane's shoulder, thrust the remaining bulger at him. "i'll hold them while you get into it!" and he did. it was an unequal battle, though. the proto-balls were the next thing to imperishable. the needle-gun could not destroy them, it only slowed them down. an occasional perfect bull's-eye shot, striking a vulnerable spot, would burst a proto-ball into a thousand pieces--but when that happened, each of the pieces, amoeba-like, curled instantly into a tiny daughter proto-ball and surged forward again. yet there must have been some elementary nervous-system in these creatures, for while it could not kill them, still they seemed to fear the flaming ray of the needle-gun. and it was to this fear that the trio of earthlings owed their existence during those next hectic minutes while they stumbled, ever backward and upward, giving ground steadily, toward the cave-mouth captain lane had pointed out on the hillside. tim did not even know the cave was near. shoulder to shoulder with the old space-captain, he maintained a rear-guard defense against the proto-balls, gun flaming without cessation, his eyes aching from the strain of constant watchfulness against an unexpected flank attack. and then-- and then, suddenly, incredibly, a shadow fell under his stumbling feet; at that line of division between glowing sun and somber shade the proto-balls stopped, quivering and oozing viscous droplets of slime, hesitated, and turned away. lane's roar was gleeful. "good work, young fellow! we made it!" they were safe in the black harbor of the cave. * * * * * when he turned to stare into the depths beyond him, at first he could see nothing but a great orange ball, which was his photo-image of the dazzling sunlight whence they had fled. then tortured nerves surrendered to the soothing dark and he could see that they stood at the mouth of not a cave but a great, many-corridored cavern that stretched--for all mallory could tell--clear down into the murky bowels of venus. jonathan lane was loudly exuberant. "this is fine!" he declared. "we owe those grease-balls a vote of thanks. this is an ideal refuge. shady and cool and safe--and look! we can even see the ship from the heights, here! if anyone--i mean, _when_ they come to rescue us, we can signal them." mallory hoped the slip had passed unnoticed by dorothy. "_if_ anyone--" the skipper had started to say. which meant that he, too, had misgivings as to the likelihood of rescue. but that was a question mallory would not press. he hurdled the awkward moment with a swift response. "we'll have to have something to signal with, sir. our bulger audios won't operate that far, will they? we'll have to build a fire, or at least have one ready to be kindled when they arrive." "right," agreed the skipper. "but we can't gather wood until those protos have gone away. we'll take care of that later. meanwhile--" he glanced into the jetty depths beyond them. "it will be some hours before we can expect to get relief. time to waste. why not amuse ourselves by exploring this cave?" "explo--" began tim. it was a childish idea. one _so_ ridiculous, in fact, that it was on the tip of mallory's tongue to make caustic rejoinder to lane's suggestion. but even as the comment trembled on his lips, his eyes met those of the captain--and in lane's shrewd, pleading glance, tim found a reason and an answer for this subterfuge. lane feared that very thing which he, himself, had dreaded. this cave might be their refuge for a long, long time! there might be no rescue party. if so, and since a trek across the badlands was suicidal, their only chance for ultimate salvation was to find a place where they could live. this cave was such a place. if it had water, and if it were undenizened by wild beasts; if in it, or near it, they could find food.... he hoped his voice was not too suspiciously hearty. "great idea!" he agreed. "splendid. it should be a lot of fun. what do you say, dorothy?" dorothy looked from her lover to her father, back to her lover again. and her voice was grave and fearless. "i say," she said quietly, "you are the two finest men who ever lived. but you're not fooling me for a moment. i know very well why we must explore this cave. and i say, let's start!" there came swift lightness and heart-warming humor to her tone. "after all, if a gal has to keep house in a place like this, she ought to know how many rooms it has!" tim looked at her long and gravely. and then, "you," he said, "are swell. once i called you wonderful. i didn't really know--then." "wonderful?" snorted captain lane. "of course she is! she's my daughter, isn't she? well, come along!" grinning, tim fell in behind him. and into stygian darkness, preceded by a yellow circle from the flashlight of the _orestes'_ skipper, moved the marooned trio. * * * * * the main cave opened out as they picked their path forward; the walls pressed back, the ceiling lofted, until they were standing in a huge, arched chamber almost two hundred feet wide and half as high. this amphitheater debouched into a half dozen or more smaller corridors or openings; for a moment captain lane stood considering these silently, then he nodded toward that on their extreme left. "might as well go at it in orderly fashion. we'll try that one first. no, wait a minute!" he halted tim, who had pressed obediently toward the corridor-mouth. "try not to be a groundhog all your life, mallory! you should know better than to stroll aimlessly around a place like this. a confounded labyrinth, that's what it is! if we got lost down here, we might spend the rest of our natural lives trying to find a way out." he slipped his needle-gun from his bulger belt, let its scorching ray play for an instant on the rocky floor of the cavern. hot rock bubbled, and a fresh, new groove shone sharply in the shape of an arrow. "every time we make a turn we'll do this. then we can retrace our steps." lane smiled sarcastically. "but a hot-and-cold engineer wouldn't think of a thing like that, i suppose?" tim made no reply. but he reproached himself secretly for not having considered this necessity; it did not make him feel much better that dorothy, standing beside him, pressed his arm in mute encouragement. the corridor was a short one, opening into another cavern like that which they had just quitted. similar, but not quite the same. for as lane played his light about the walls of this inner, deeper, chamber, all three adventurers gasped with the impact of sudden, breathtaking beauty. the ebon walls, warmed by the light, flashed into a glittering, scintilliscent miracle of loveliness; a galaxy of twinkling stars seemed to appear from nowhere and hang in dark space burning and gleaming. "it--it's magnificent!" breathed the girl. "what is it, daddy? jewels? it looks like the fabulous caves of ali baba." it was tim who supplied the answer. "they're not jewels. just nitre crystals protruding through a coating of black oxide of manganese. i've seen the same thing on earth--in the mammoth cave of kentucky." and they moved on. deeper and yet deeper into the lethean depths, pausing from time to time to char a signpost for their retreat. miracles without wonder they saw. domes huge enough to house a spaceship, stalactites lowering like great, rough fangs from ceilings lost in dizzy heights, twin growths springing, oftimes without apparent reason, from the cavern floor--stalactites formed by centuries of slow lime dripping from the roof. and gigantic columns, hoariest monsters of all, columns of strange, iridescent beauty. once they passed a pit so deep, so dark, that even the skipper's probing beam could not penetrate its majestic depths. from somewhere far below came the whispering surge of churned water; in the light of the flash there seemed to hover above the rim of this chasm a faint, white, wraithly film. lane frowned, unscrewed his face-port for an instant, sniffed, and hastily ducked back into the bulger. "ammonia," he said. "i thought as much. keep your bulger-ports closed. venus caves aren't earth caves. queer things here. no telling what we'll bump into." he didn't mention the all-too-obvious fact that so far they had not "bumped into" that thing which they sought. a fuel supply, a water supply, signs of an underground grotto wherein might be found food. nor had their winding way at any time moved them toward the surface, toward a possible second exit from the caverns. their movement was ever down, deeper into the bowels of this weird, faery wonderland. * * * * * once, for a heart-stopping moment, they thought they had found their desire. rounding a bend, they came upon a cavern alive with color; towering vines and trees laden with great clusters of grapes; bushes aflower with myriads of gorgeous buds. dorothy sprang forward with a cry of joy--but when she touched one of the mock roses it shattered to fine, white, powdery snow; upon investigation the trees, the vines and "grapes" turned out to be of the same, perishable nature. and tim remembered their name. "oulopholites," he said. "sulphate of magnesia and gypsum. mother nature _does_ repeat herself, you see. she uses the same forms, but these are lifeless mimicry." and he looked at his watch. "guess we'd better turn back, eh, skipper? we've been two hours on the prowl, and there doesn't seem to be anything in this direction. shall we go back and try another corridor?" lane nodded slowly. "i suppose so. but--oh, while we're this far, we might as well peek into that next cavern. won't take but a minute. and if there's nothing there--" the words died on his lips. as he spoke them, they had moved through a short archway; the yellow circle of his flashlight had swung about a cavern larger than any in which they had yet stood. the floor of this cavern sloped sharply downward, narrowing into a funnel. and at the end of that funnel.... "great gods of space!" whispered captain lane, awestruck. "am i crazy? do you see what i see?" for that upon which his lightbeam had ended, the incredible structure from which its glow was now reflecting in shimmering clarity, was--_a massive door of bronze_! golden in sheen, strong and secure, obviously the work of intelligent craftsmen, it met their wondering stares with bland imperturbability. and tim gave a great shout. "a door! venusians! we're all right now. food and rest ... they'll tell us how to get back to civilization...." and then-- "quiet!" rasped captain lane. his flashlight beam faded abruptly, darkness closed in about them like a shroud. but only for an instant. because a new effulgence lit the scene. the massive door was slowly swinging open--and from its widening groove came a pallid, greenish glow. like some monstrous, hungry mouth the door opened wider and yet wider. dim shapes were shadows behind it, vague at first, dark and sinister.... and then, out of the ghoulish semi-gloom, suddenly two figures stood limned in stark relief. but they were not the figures of earthmen, neither were they fat, friendly shapes of venusians. they were tall, lean creatures, thin-faced and hungry-fanged, garbed with what appeared to be huge mantles covering them from their shoulder-blades to the tips of their long, prehensile fingers! two wobbling, awkward steps they took from the now completely opened door; for an instant tim heard the shrill, piping chatter of their speech--then their "mantles" spread and became huge, jointed wings on which they soared straight across the cavern toward the spellbound trio! captain lane's cry was thick with horror. "good god, mallory! shoot, and shoot quick! we've found the gates of hell. they're the bat-men--the vampires of venus!" * * * * * even as he spoke, he was tugging his own needle-gun from its holster; now its fiery beam lanced squarely at the foremost of the two attackers. nor was tim mallory slow in heeding. his weapon was out in one swift movement; its beam slashed a hole in the gloom as it sought one of the silently winging creatures above. but they might as well have taken aim at a will-o'-the-wisp. the dim glow from beyond the open door illumined only a portion of the cavern; the heights above were a well of jet, against which the crepuscular creatures were all but invisible. again and again the two heat-beams stabbed black shadows, once tim thought he heard a brief, whimpering cry, but no winged creature, charred in death, hurtled from the eyrie point of vantage. only the sound of great wings beating persisted--and once an ebon shape flung itself from an ebon shadow to rake sharp claws gratingly across tim's bulger helmet. it had glided away again, mockingly, before he could spin to flame a shot after it. then lane's free arm was thrusting at him. lane's voice was sharp, incisive. "out of here! dorothy first! maybe there are just two of these devils--_ooow!_ damn your rotten hide!" he had turned to speak over his shoulder. in that moment of inattention, one of the bat-men had rocketed down upon him, slashed viciously at his gun-arm with clawed hands. metal clattered on rock; captain lane went swiftly after the lost gun, groping for it blindly, down on his knees. tim had taken a backward step; now he moved forward again to cover the frenzied fumbling of the older man. his eyes were suddenly dazzled as lane, desperate, used his flash to search for the weapon. and the skipper groaned. "it's gone! it fell down that fissure! mallory--quick! do you have another gun? they're closing in--" beads of cold sweat had suddenly sprung out on tim mallory's forehead. not only did he _not_ have another gun--but the one he now held was about to become useless! a dim shape wheeled above him; he pressed the trigger, but no red flame leaped from the muzzle. just a spluttering, ochre ray that simmered into nothingness a few feet above his head! the gun's charge was practically exhausted. battle with the proto-balls ... the constant drainage of raying their route-turns ... these had done it! there were fresh capsules in his ammunition kit, but in the length of time required to recharge the gun.... "a minute!" he cried. "fight 'em off a minute! i have to--" and he reached for a new capsule. but the skipper, misunderstanding, impatient, turned peril into disaster with his next, impetuous move. "don't stand there like an idiot, you earthlubber!" he howled. "here--give that to me!" and he jerked the useless weapon from tim's hand! for a stark instant, tim was wrenched in a vise of indecision. to fight the winged demons without a weapon was madness. wisdom lay in hurrying back to the ship, equipping themselves with new guns. but--but lane had said these bat-men were vampires. the vampires of venus, he had said. and tim had heard stories ... the word "vampire" meant the same in any language, on any planet. but there was dorothy to consider, too. he groaned aloud. his instinct bade him plunge forward, weaponless or not; common sense advised the other course. and then, in a split-second, the decision became no longer his to make. for as if the victory of the first two bat-men had determined the action of the entire clan, out of the bronze gateway flooded a veritable host of the sickening winged creatures! then a battering-ram smashed him crushingly and he choked, gasped, felt the weakness of oblivion well over him like a turgid, engulfing cloud. he was conscious of raking talons that gripped his armpits, of sudden, swift and dizzy flight ... of a vast, aching chaos that rocked with hungry, inhuman mirth. * * * * * captain lane's voice was an aeon away, but it came closer. it said, "--be all right now. you must have been in a hell of a fight, boy!" and dorothy was beside him, too. there were tears in her eyes, but she shook them away and tried to smile as tim pushed himself up on one elbow. tim's head was one big ache, and his body was bruised and sore from the buffeting of the bat-men's hard wings. he looked about him dazedly. "wh-here are we?" the room was a low-ceilinged, square one. it had but one door, a bronze one similar in design, but smaller, than the gateway that had led to the city of the vampires. elsewhere the walls were hewn from solid rock. "where are we?" he repeated. he started to unscrew his face port, but the skipper stayed his hand. "don't, mallory! we tried that. it's impossible. the air's so ammoniated it would kill you. from that." he pointed to a trough-like depression in the room. a curious arrangement. probably for purposes of sanitation. liquid ammonia, or something akin, entered the trough from a gushing tube set low in one wall, transversed the room, and exited through a second circular duct. these were the only openings in the chamber, save for--tim glanced up, noticed several round holes. he studied these curiously. lane answered his unspoken query. "yes, that's right. ventilation. these devils may be inhuman in form but they're clever. they've built this underground city, equipped it with heat, light, ventilated it to maintain circulation--" there was something wrong there. tim frowned. "ventilation? yet you say that stream is ammoniated enough to kill a man. then how do they live?" "they're not men," replied lane bitterly. "they're vampires. heaven knows how they can breathe this atmosphere, but they can. the ingenious, murdering..." * * * * * he didn't complete the sentence. for at that instant there came the scrape of movement outside their dungeon door. the door swung open. a bat-man entered. his hooked claw signalled them to come forth. tim glanced at the older man. lane shrugged resignedly. "there's nothing else to do. maybe we can strike a bargain with them. our freedom for something they want." but there was no hope in his voice. tim threw an arm about dorothy's shoulders. they followed their guide out of the room. there a cordon of other bat-creatures circled them, and tim, for the first time, got an opportunity to see his captors at close range. they weren't much to look at. they were such stuff as nightmares are made of. tall, angular, covered from head to toe with a stiff, glossy pelt of fur. their faces were lean and hard and predatory; their teeth sharp and protruding. their wings were definitely chiropteric; the wing-membranes spanned from their shoulders to their claws, falling loosely away when not in use, and were anchored to stiff, horny knobs at clavicle and heel. they walked now, guarding their captives, but it was apparent that flight was their usual method of locomotion. anything else would be awkward, for their knees bent backward as did the knees of their diminutive earthly prototype. they turned, at last, into a huge chamber. and before them, perched obscenely on a platform elaborately laid with jewels and tapestries, was the overlord of the harpies. * * * * * no man, by the wildest stretch of the imagination, could have considered any of the vampires attractive. but of all they had seen, this monster was the most repugnant. it was not only that his frame was tauter, skinnier, than that of his fellows; it was not that his furry body was raw and chafed, as if from ancient, unhealed sores; it was not only that his pendulous nose-leaf perpetually snuffled, pulsed, above a red-lipped, vicious mouth. it was the unclean aura of evil about him that made tim feel dirty. as though by merely looking on this thing he had profaned himself in some strange, inexplicable fashion. dorothy felt it, too. she choked once, turned her face away. and captain lane growled a disgusted curse. "lord, what a filthy beast! mallory, i wouldn't mind dying if i could get one shot at that pot-bellied horror first!" he did not expect--none of them could have expected--that which happened then. there came a high, simpering parody of laughter from the thing on the dais before them. and the words in their own tongue-- "but you cannot, man! for here _i_ am the master!" lane's jaw dropped; his eyes widened. tim mallory felt the small hairs at the nape of his neck tighten coldly. the bat-thing could speak! was speaking again, its cruel little mouth pulled into a grimace remotely resembling a grin. "you are surprised that i speak your language? ah, that is amusing. but you are just the first of many who will soon discover how foolish it was to underestimate the intellect of our ancient race. "with fire and flame you forced us to the caverns, man-thing. but we are old and wise. we built our cities here, warmed them against the dreadful damp and cold. soon we shall burst forth in all our might. and when we do--" he stopped abruptly; the tensing of his claws told the rest more eloquently than words. he rapped a command to one of the guards. "take off their garments! i would see what prizes have stumbled into our refuge!" obediently, the bat-creature shambled forward; his talons fumbled at captain lane's face-port. tim cried out, "no! don't let him! the atmosphere--" the vampire overlord grinned at him cunningly. "fear not, earthman. the air in this chamber will not harm you. we have other plans--" his wet, red tongue licked his lips. then lane's headpiece was removed, and his bulger was stripped from him. a dazed expression swept across his forehead. he said, "mallory--it--it's _hot_ in here! and the air is breatheable!" but by that time, tim, too, had been removed of his space-suit; he, too, had felt the sultry, oppressive heat of the cavern. it was incredible but true. the vampires had found a way to make their underground city warm as the surface from which men had hunted them. that then--it came to tim with sudden, startling clarity--that was why-- the overlord was speaking again. his tone was one of gratification. "the men will do. we shall feast well tonight--_very_ well! the woman--" he gazed at dorothy speculatively. "i wonder?" he mused in a half whisper. "i wonder if there is not a better way of undermining earthmen than just crushing them? a new race to people venus? a race combining our ancient, noble blood and that of these pale creatures?" his eyes fastened on dorothy's suddenly flaming loveliness. "that is a matter i must consider. "that will do!" he motioned to his followers even as tim, white of lip and riotous with rage, took a forward step. "allow them to don their clumsy air-suits again; take them back to their dungeon. we shall bring them forth again when the time is ripe." strong claws clutched mallory, staying him. short minutes later, surrounded by their guards, they were once more on their way to the nether prison. * * * * * it was a grim-faced captain lane who paced the floor of their dungeon. there was anger in his eyes, and outrage, too. but beneath those surface emotions was a deeper one--fear! the dreadful, haunting fear of a powerless man, caught in a trap beyond his utmost devising. "if there were only something we could do!" he raged savagely. "but we're weaponless--helpless--we can't even die fighting, like strong men. i'd rather we had all died in the _orestes_ than that this should happen. you and i, mallory, a feast for such foul things. dorothy--" he stopped, shaken, sickened. dorothy's face was pale, but her voice was even. "there is one thing he overlooked, daddy. we still have the privilege of dying cleanly. together. we can take off our suits. here. before they come for us." lane nodded. he knew what death by asphyxiation meant; he had seen men die in earth's lethal chambers. but anything, even that, was better than meek surrender to the overlord's mad, lustful plan. "yes, dorothy. that is the only way left to us." he thought for a moment. "there is no use delaying. but before we--we _go_, there is one thing i must say--" and he looked at his daughter and her lover in turn. "i was wrong in forbidding your marriage. you're a _man_, mallory. it's too bad i had to learn that under such circumstances. but i want you to know--at the end--that if things had turned out differently, i--i'd change my mind." tim said quietly, "thank you, sir." but his thoughts were only half upon the older man's admission. there was a tiny something scratching at the back of his mind. something that had occurred to him, dimly, in the hot chamber above. he couldn't quite place his finger on it, but-- "i still find it in me to wish," said captain lane, "that you had been a spaceman. but there's no use talking about that now. what might have been is past. there remains only time to acknowledge past faults, and then--and then--" he faltered. and dorothy took up the weighty burden of speech. "shall we ... do it now?" her hands lifted to the pane of her helmet. for an instant they hesitated, then began to turn. and then-- "_stop!_" cried tim. he struck her hands away, spun swiftly to the older man. "don't do it, skipper! i've got it! got it at last!" lane stared at him dazedly. "wh-what do you mean?" tim's sudden laughter was almost hysterically triumphant. "i mean that this is one time a 'groundhog engineer' knows more than a spaceman. there's no time to explain now, but quick!--you have some gun-capsules, haven't you?" "y-yes, but--" "give them to me! all you have. and hurry!" * * * * * as he spoke, he was emptying his own capacious ammunition pouch. capsule after capsule poured from it, until he had an overflowing double handful. with frenzied haste he broke the safety-tip off the first, tossed the cartridge into the stream that ran through their prison. as it struck, it hissed faintly; bubbles began to rise from the fluid, and a thin, steamy film of vapor rose whitely. "do that to all of them. toss them in there! i'm right! i know i am. i _have_ to be!" bewilderedly, captain lane and dorothy began doing as he ordered. a dozen, a score, twoscore of the heat-gun cartridges were untipped, thrown into the coursing stream. the white film became a cloud, a fog, a thick, dense blanket about them, through which they could barely see each other. and still tim's voice cried, "more! faster! all of them!" then the last capsule had been tossed into the fluid, and their only contact with each other was by speech and the sense of touch. they were engulfed in rolling billows of white; vapor that frosted their view-panes, screened the world from view. for half an hour they stood there waiting, turn with a thousand mingled doubts. until, at last-- "i can't stand it any longer, tim!" cried dorothy. "what is it? what do we do? what is this wild plan?" the vapor had thinned a trifle. and through gray mists, she saw a form loom before her. it was tim's shape, and his hand stretched out to her. his voice was tense. "now--" he said. "now we walk from our prison!" and he flung open the door. "careful!" cried captain lane. "the guards, son! 'ware the harpy guards!" but no guards sprang forward to bar their passage. there were guards, a dozen of them. but not a single one of them moved. and dorothy, wiping a sudden veil of hoar-frost from her view-pane, saw them and gasped. "dead!" she cried. "tim--they're all dead!" tim shook his head. "not dead, darling. just--sleeping! and now let's hurry. before they waken again!" * * * * * when they had reached the uppermost corridor of the caverns, they paused for a moment's rest. it was then that captain lane found time for the question that had plagued him. "you were right, tim. they were sleeping. i could see that overlord's nose-leaf quivering with slow breath just before i shot him. but--but what caused it? anesthetic? i don't understand." "no," grinned tim, "it was not an anesthetic. it was a simple matter of remembering a biological trait of bats, and applying a little technical knowledge. the knowledge--" he could not resist the dig. "the special knowledge of what you called a 'hot-and-cold' expert. refrigeration! "bats are hibernating creatures. and hibernation is not merely a matter of custom, tradition, desire to sleep--it is a physical reflex which cannot be avoided when the conditions are made suitable. "bats, like many other hibernating mammals, are automatically forced into slumber when the temperature drops below °f. knowing this, and realizing that was the reason the harpies--bat-like in form and habit--kept their underground chambers superheated i applied an elemental principle of refrigeration to cool their city below that point!" dorothy said, "the--the ammonia--?" "exactly. the set-up was perfect. our apparatus was, perforce, crude, but we had all the elements of a refrigerating unit. ammoniated water, running in a constant stream, capsules of condensed and concentrated heat from our needle-guns--a small room which was connected, by ventilating ducts, with the rest of the underground city. "the principle of the absorption process depends on the fact that vapors of low boiling point are readily absorbed in water and can be separated again by the application of heat. at °f, water will absorb about times its own volume of ammonia vapor, and this produces evaporation, which, in turn, gives off vapor at a low temperature, thereby becoming a refrigerator abstracting heat from any surrounding body. in this case--the rooms above! "it--" tim grinned. "it's as simple as that!" captain lane groaned. "simple!" he echoed weakly. "the man says 'simple'! i don't understand a word of it, but--it worked, son! and that's the pay-off." "no, sir," said tim promptly. "what? what's that?" "the pay-off," persisted tim, "comes later. when we get back to civilization. you said something about removing your objections to our marriage, remember?" captain jonathan growled and stood up. "confound it, do you think of everything? well--all right, then. i'm a man of my word. but when we get back to civilization may be a long time yet." "i can wait," grinned tim. "but i've got a feeling i won't have to wait long. maybe i'm psychic all of a sudden. i don't know. but somehow i've got a hunch that when we get to the cave-mouth, we're going to find a rescue party waiting for us up there. i just _feel_ that way." "humph!" snorted lane. "you're a dreamer, lad! a blasted, wishful dreamer!" but it was a good dream. for the hunch was right.